I have a lot to say about a certain blond in my life, and no real subject was consistent.
So this is a really random post, but isn't that life with a three-year-old, anyway?
I used to say, my kid will eat like a rockstar. She'll possess a very diverse, experimental palate.
My kid loves to eat cold turkey dogs, dry wheat bread, and cereal (the sugary, taboo kind) for dinner.
I pick my battles; eating is not one of them.
Trust me when I say, that was a hard thing to die to.
Thursday night, she ate a baked potato (dry) and the Dad and I just stared, silently.
She won't eat jelly, chocolate milk, popsicles, or ice cream ... but add starchy russets to her list.
This week, that is.
Fell in love with this photo when I edited it. Love, love it. Might even make the dining room wall for the big 4th birthday party this winter. Look at me, talking about her 4th birthday like it's no big deal! Why is that? Well, because you see, for the past 232 days, the lil' dude has talked about her next birthday. Not a single day goes by without at least a tiny mention of invitees, menu, or wish lists. I created a monster ... every April, it's all about Mama and her 30 days of birthday wonderfulness. Ask my people!
And what was my sweet daughter doing in this photo?
Earning room and board.
I can't believe I am posting these photos. But if it's honesty we're after, this is as honest as it gets.
It's no secret I clean the bathroom while the lil' dude bathes. It's so time efficient. I can pay attention to her, while paying attention to my grout. But this week, for whatever reason, she lost her shit when I started to scrub the toilet, wailing for me to save it for her.
By all means.
When she is 12, and cleaning bathrooms is on her permanent chore list just as they were on mine at that age, I am going to remind her how much she loved it at three. It will never get old. For me.
Yesterday, she came into our room at 6:53am.
No thank you.
I turned her around, and climbed into her bed with her.
Where we both promptly fell asleep until 10am.
That's more like it.
When I opened my eyes, she was a millimeter from my face.
Mama. Thank you for sharing my bed with me. We were both sleeping in here.
It was 99* at our house yesterday.
The Dad and I were in the back yard talking about our ginormous raspberry bush.
When our daughter came onto the deck in just her t-shirt.
I just got too hot and sweaty in my undies and shorts. I am gonna come outside without 'em.
Her imaginary friend is 7'0" tall.
His name is Kevin.
He wears #5.
In Celtic green.
And, according to the lil' dude, was playing a real-live basketball game in the yard.
With Rondo and crew.
She begged her Dad to sit and watch the game with her.
I don't know which one of them is crazier.
Her, for her imagination.
Or him, for putting it in her head in the first place.
I have an injury on my big toe.
A pair of heels, 6 hours of dancing, and one NKOTBSB concert later, I am missing a portion of my toenail.
I am way too old for that shit.
But will never learn.
This morning, sporting a Scooby AND a Cinderella Band-Aid on my wound, the lil' dude spies me slipping on my sky-high wedges.
Mama, are you sure your owwie is going to be OK in those shoes?
Always a critic.
Where was she Friday night when I made that foolish footwear decision?