She's Always a Woman to Me

Who knew that being 6-years old would be an utter maelstrom of indignation, independence, neediness, affection, stand-offish ness, and most any other impossible and contrary collection of emotions imaginable.  The cool thing about it is that you never have to wonder when her mood will change, because it's inevitable.

With all of this burgeoning womanhood occurring (WAY EARLIER THAN SCHEDULED), I try to find the really cute little-kid things that she still does and hold on to them like they are the reigns of a 12-horse runaway wagon.  Mostly I love the way she dances when no one is looking, and doesn't really stop when someone does watch...she actually dances HARDER if that is even possible.  She still smiles with her gappy tooth smile and cares not about the booger in her nose or the strawberry jam on her cheek.  She has scuffed sneakers and skinned knees and bruises abound.  She is proud of the fact that she can brush, braid, and put her hair up in a ponytail herself, yet neglects to do any of those things on a daily basis without throwing a huge amount of sass my way.  She cries if you win during a game, but cheats like a mo-fo if you aren't looking and refuses to see any shame in that.

Recently on a family road trip, we were listening to ALL of Billy Joel's songs.  This is how we like to torture our children.  (Typically the hubs and I will decide on an artist, preferably from our childhood, preferably ridiculous, and exhaust their song catalog, and our vocal chords, to entertain ourselves on the road while the children cover their ears in the backseat.)  Well, you can guess what song came on, and you can guess who we immediately thought of.

She can kill with a smile

She can wound with her eyes

She can ruin your faith with her casual lies

And she only reveals what she wants you to see

She hides like a child

But she's always a woman to me

She can lead you to love

She can take you or leave you

She can ask for the truth

But she'll never believe

And she'll take what you give her as long as it's free

Yeah, she steals like a thief

But she's always a woman to me

Oh, she takes care of herself

She can wait if she wants

She's ahead of her time

Oh, and she never gives out

And she never gives in

She just changes her mind

She will promise you more

Than the Garden of Eden

Then she'll carelessly cut you

And laugh while you're bleedin'

But she'll bring out the best

And the worst you can be

Blame it all on yourself

Cause she's always a woman to me

Oh, she takes care of herself

She can wait if she wants

She's ahead of her time

Oh, and she never gives out

And she never gives in

She just changes her mind

She is frequently kind

And she's suddenly cruel

She can do as she pleases

She's nobody's fool

But she can't be convicted

She's earned her degree

And the most she will do

Is throw shadows at you

But she's always a woman to me

Brown Hair Don't Care

Sydney is 6.  SIX.  That means it's been roughly six years since I've added anything to this blog.  Because that is how much LIFE Sydney takes.  SIX YEARS WORTH.  I know that I may sound dramatic, and to those of you who agree, I will bet you $14,000 that you have never met Sydney.

Tonight, during our bedtime routine, she asked to brush her teeth in my bathroom.  As a clean-tooth fanatic, we have toothbrushes in practically every bathroom in this house.  I agreed, and as I stood there watching her watch herself in my mirror, the mirror that I critique myself in each day (well, each day that I pay attention and actually put on makeup, so let's be generous and say every-other day), I was truly struck by the fact that I had created a woman.  Albeit a tiny one, but a budding woman-child who is so excited to greet (and conquer) the world and has not yet been defeated by anything, especially an older brother.

I tried really hard not to tear up.

OK, I tried really hard to not show that I was tearing up.

She spotted it immediately.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked, toothbrush half-out of her mouth and a string of toothpastey-drool hanging down.

"Me?!" I asked, as I feigned having something in my eye.

She looked at me skeptically as she continued her messy dental cleanup.

I took a deep breath and braved her new world.

**ASIDE:  You see, she's SIX.  And not just SIX, but a really brilliant SIX.  She remembers EVERYTHING.  She's already reading at a 3rd grade level and she is only halfway through Kindergarten.  She is savvy.  She is saucey.  She GETS it.  I know that the things that are already happening to her and the things that I tell her will live with her always, and shape the person she grows into being.  DUDES.  This is a huge responsibility.  I'm pretty sure I did not sign any paperwork on this when conception occurred.

"You're weird," she reported, accurately.

"I know.  But that's OK.  We all have our own version of normal, and there will always be people that disagree with that."

"Don't I know it!" she exclaimed, Dolly Parton-style, and completely honestly, as she rinsed her toothbrush and put it in the mug.

**ANOTHER ASIDE:  If there has ever been anyone in this world that can render me speechless, I'm pretty sure that she's the only one.

She turned to leave the bathroom, but looked back at me to see if I was coming.

"Are you just going to stand there looking gorgeous?" she asked.

"No baby, I'll take a break from that and follow you anywhere." I replied.

Please, please World, do not do anything to change this inexplicably precocious and wise woman-child that has wonderfully fallen into my mama-lap.  I cannot live without her.

Trail of Tears

Stanley: Oooh, it's raining?  I can't poop in the rain.
Me: Well, you're not coming in until you do it.
Stanley, standing in the rain: I REALLY DON'T HAVE TO POOP!  LET ME IN!
 ...20 minutes elapse...
Stanley: I totally don't know why, but someone pooped in the living room.  

Bedtime Stories

Sydney has graduated from having stories merely READ to her, and now often demands tales spun on the spot.  Here's last night's:




A long time ago, in a far away land called Virginia, a happy young girl lived a peaceful live, devoid of children.  She had only to worry about her own dirty laundry, dishes, and occasionally pick up the poop of her puppy, Stanley.  It was glorious.

Wait, I was going somewhere with this.  Oh yes, The girl's parents lived across the river in a place called Maryland, and to get to their home, she had to cross a mighty bridge, called the American Legion Bridge.  This bridge had six lanes going in either direction, and usually a lot of assholes driving across it at any time.  As the girl often traversed this route, she noticed a peculiar thing: shoes.  There would be random shoes, never in pairs, scattered on the shoulder of the bridge.  Sometimes only one boot.  Sometimes several differing varieties.  But never, upon crossing that bridge, did the girl NOT see a shoe.

This perplexed her (as did many things in that far away place), and she began to develop theories while she sat in the hours of miserable traffic trying to cross that bridge.

Perhaps a boot truck overturned earlier that morning?

Perhaps star-crossed lovers who couldn't be together left each other reminders of their love on that bridge via footwear.

Maybe the bridge was haunted by a shoe manufacturing magnate who drowned in an unfortunate kayaking incident on the river under the bridge.  His soul can never be set free until child labor laws are passed in Indonesia.

OR, maybe there is a wind tunnel that sweeps over part of the bridge and sucks the shoes off of unsuspecting passengers who are, at that exact time, hanging their feet out of the window...as one often does when driving in DC traffic.

Sadly, the mystery was never solved, and the girl and her dog moved away to a magical place called North Carolina and never missed their old home.

Until one day many years later.

Over the years that silly girl and her silly husband had decided to have NOT ONE, but TWO!!! children.  (They should have listened to the dog.  He protested when they got the not-as-smart, and overly-poopy second dog.)

The second of these two children was a beguiling and beautiful girl, who often disobeyed her magnificent, albeit sometimes silly, mother.  Her mother was kind-hearted and let the child survive, however not everyone was happy about this.  (Including the dogs.)

One day, as the little girl was getting ready to leave for school, she could not find her shoes.

"I can't find my shoes." She announced, unhelpfully.

"Where did you have them last?"  Her mother asked.

"On my feet."  The hideous child replied.

And so began the long, and weary hunt for the shoes.  They could find ONE of many different pairs of the child's shoes, but alas, a matching set eluded them.

Then it occurred to the mother that maybe that gigantic bridge in her past was the mecca for lost shoes!  They all congregated there, in an effort to be seen by as many people as possible, in hopes that one day they would be found and reunited with their twin!

With that in mind, the mother set about crafting for the child a new set of cardboard shoes for the long walk to Virginia.  A gift, so that one day, she too would have bedtime stories to tell her own children.

Super Pooper

So we have a bunny now.  We adopted it after pet-sitting for a friend who eventually confessed that she would be happier if the bunny lived with us permanently.  This was a win-win situation.

The bunny's gender-orientation was a little hazy; we were told it was a girl.  It is rather hard to determine a gender in a young bunny, given the extremely fluffy pelvic area and the INCREDIBLE CUTENESS.  I figured that bunnies were almost sexless, you know like cupid or GOD.

Supreme Being

After an unexpected (and rather disturbing) incident involving my forearm and rapid-fire humping, I started to doubt that this bunny was female.  Feeling slightly violated, I decided that this bun needed to get to the vet.  Pronto.  Before I gave birth to a litter of bunnies.

Come Hither Lounging

When I called to make the appointment, the vet told me that adult male rabbits have "inordinately large" testicles that should be "very visible."  This did not help me, as this bunny is only around 4 months old.  Upon professional inspection, the vet told me that he was "90% sure that this is a female."

Now that we are mostly sure, we can move on with the naming process.  The rabbit's name was "Manger" which reminds me too much of mange, a parasitic condition affecting animals with fur.  So here are the list of candidate names (please feel free to add to it):

• Rabberta
• Pepper
• Layla
• Tabitha
• Pat

Twenty-five ways to annoy a 4.5-year old...

1. Describe their age as a whole number.
2. Do not allow them to attend elementary school, but force them to go to preschool with all of the other 4.5-year olds.
3. Brush their hair.
4. Don't brush their hair.
5. Say mean things to them, like you need to wear shoes outside in the snow, or, no, you cannot have chewable Advil for a snack.
6. Insist that they put their butt in a chair for longer than 26 seconds.
7. Tell them that you moved the laundry from the washer to the dryer and then turned the dryer on all without their supervision/assistance.
8. Ask them to pick up a toy.
9. Give birth to children prior to their birth.
10. Don't help them get dressed.
11. Help them get dressed.
12. Use your phone to have a conversation longer than 2 minutes without explaining to them who is on the other end and why.
13. Hang up without letting them talk to that person, regardless of who that person is.
14. Order pizza with pepperoni.
15. Order pizza without pepperoni.
16. Punish them for picking the bunny up by the ears.
17. Crack an egg and stir it without their help/supervision.
18. Refuse to put all of the remaining Band-aids in the box on the doll they just threw down the stairs.
19. Help them buckle their seat-belt.
20. Don't help them buckle their seat-belt.
21. Neglect to give them their second after-school-pre-pre-dinner-snack.
22. Buy fruit chews that are only in the shape of "boring fruit."
23. Inquire as to what fruits they consider to be engaging and/or entertaining.
24. Store the chips where they cannot reach them without assistance, because it interferes with their ability to sneak chips from the pantry.
25. Don't allow them to eat their chocolate milk from a bowl with a spoon.

Things I have heard today...

Sooooooo Sydney is home from school today because of an incident that occurred last night, which I will get into later.  I'm struggling to get work done with her here, and the background chatter is borderline amazing...sort of like a cross between what you might overhear in a crackhouse or an old folks home:

• Look at me!  I have yogurt braces!
• Relax!  I only picked one side of my nose.
• I'm still hungry.
• Uh, excuse me, I need another snack.
• Why does it smell bad in here?  Did I fart?
• I want to do some fruits.
• Let it Go!  Let it Go!  Let it Go!  Let it Go!  Let it Go!
• Did you fart?
• Is a burp a fart that comes from your mouth?
• What comes after 20?
• Can we make "lime-lade?"
• Maybe the bunny is farting.
• When do we get to meet Katy Perry?
• I ate all of the "Vanilla Wipers."  They're all gone.
• HERE I STAND!  LET IT GO!  LET IT GO!  HERE I STAND!
• I miss the dog.