That's What She Said

I am sure when people witness me with the lil' dude, my phone firmly in my hand, they assume I'm just like every other overworked and over-connected parent in the world.
Well, I am not.
I mean ... yes. I am overly-connected. Guilty.

But when it comes to time with my daughter, I am avidly documenting every single she says, thinks, does, and looks like with that phone. I have a note started that has her Quotes of the Day on it. I have 4,000 pictures of her. I don't ever, ever want to forget her nuances, creativity, fears whether legit or not, or misheard lyrics. Phone in hand; baby girl in heart.

Here are some of my current fave lil' dude-isms:

At my bedside one sunny morning, Do you have pants on under there? If you don't I am not getting in with you. 

On seeing Kim Kardashian on TV, She is SO pretty! But where did she come from?

On having the sun in her face when it was -2* outside, The sun is NOT doing its job today! It's out but I am still freezing!

Driving down a stomach-dropping hill, Whoa! That made my tushy worried!

On her Daddy's skills, If he built the Beagle's doghouse, why couldn't he build a barn for my real-life horse?

On why Saturday morning basketball isn't very awesome, I figured it out, Mama. It's because there is NO music in that gym!

On being asked to be her Godfather's Flower Girl in May, If I don't get to wear a flower actually in my hair, I don't get why they call it that?

On listening to CeeLo Green's newest song, Mama ... he says a BAD word in that song! I want to tell you what it is ... can I if it's bad? Well ... he said (as I brace for the eff-bomb or worse) ... stupid!

On future plans, I hope (Bestie) E. goes to college with me. I want to French braid her hair in the dorm.

On her new, kiwi-flavored and green GoGurt, Ummmm, the blueberries are rotten in this. I won't eat it!

On possessions, When can we have that garage sale to sell my baby stuff? I want a new American Girl cat and bed and my piggy bank is out of paper money. (over her mother's dead body)

On anything, everything, and all the time, I am freaking out. I am going to freak out.

On her Daddy's singing skills, Daddy you are cancelled from singing all girl songs Mama and me like on the radio.

On practical uses, handing me back her banana 10 minutes after she wanted to eat it, Well, I didn't want to eat it ... I just wanted to know what it was like to hold with the peeler open.

On infinite love, I love you to the universe ... because it's bigger than the earth.

Stuck Like Glue

Imitation is the highest form of flattery ... especially when it comes in the form of tiny, blonde sprite.
Hello, my name is Lil' Dude's Mama and my five-year-old is in love with me.
And I'm the happiest girl on the planet.

The Dad and I were away last weekend and Kid Rock was left in the care of her grandparents for three delicious days. When we came home, I had a tiny barnacle stuck to me and we're still going strong all these days later. Since she and I were both off Monday, we trekked to our fave coffee shop. We quickly realized the combination of President's Day and local students and lunch time meant "our" spot was taken. We settled in at the counter to wait for $21 of coffee shop ridiculous awesomeness.

Mama, this isn't working. I can't see you this way. We need a booth. I will watch for people to leave, she told me, scanning the crowd. I assumed she meant she needed her space to set out Monopoly, the Star Wars version, of course, or a puzzle or Go Fish. Our standard routine.

No. What she needed was her Mama, front in center.

She found us a booth and we resettled into our space where we went on to have a killer conversation for a few hours, completely devoid of distractions other than hamming it up for the camera, lipgloss applying, and whipped cream stealing. We just sat and visited like little chatty birds, woman-to-woman,  big to little.

Days like Monday leaving me shaking my head in disbelief; she's only five? I have known her forever, she's woven into my soul and pumps through my veins. She's my purpose and retribution and focus and flight. She's literally ... me.

Tuesday morning we rocked matching infinity scarves and stunner shades. She told me she'd tried wearing her scarf all day like I do, even though she doesn't understand why I'd want to.

She loved it, all day long.
Warm neck + fashion = For the win. Teach 'em young!

Yesterday, I came out in long-sleeved and short-sleeved layered tees, busted up jeans, a belt, and boots. So did she. We even had to perfect her front-tuck like Mama. Hashtag, trend.

She sings my songs. And I sing hers. She steals my glitter and feathers and buttons and pearls. I tell her she's capable and brave and hilarious and a rockstar.

We're women; we spar. I tried to reason and so does she. We're cut from the same cloth and come from a long line of headstrong women who make no excuses or apologies for the way they are. I try to remember she is literally watching every move I make right this second. I try to remember this as I love myself. As I exhibit politeness on the street. As I judge humanity. How I talk about how lucky we are to have what we have. As I eat vegetables, take vitamins, send thank you's and count my blessings.

She walks on her tip-toes in her Uggs; emulating the way I walk in my heeled boots.
She reminds me to cross my legs when we're sitting.
Just like my Mom or Grandma would.

She races to read my Bible, People, before I even do.
That's dangerous ground, girl ...
She looks for her favorite actress, Amanda Seyfried, and we discuss her style.
A+ - always, AND, she has a dog she never is without.
Amanda, babe, you have the tiniest, fiercest fan out here in the Midwest.
Be good!

Because she's watching you like she's watching me and that's the most important thing ever.
In the history of ever.

On Being Fancy

She's a girl, that's for sure.
She thinks pants are lame. Lame.
So bedtime ritual includes laying out the next day's outfit because that shit takes forever when you're five and your walk-in closet is better than your mother's.

Pre-K schedule has the lil' dude playing outside on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. So, preparation for those days includes pants. It's the worst ... but not worse than managing a wardrobe malfunction including snow pants, a skirt or dress, and tights.

So yesterday was a fancy outfit-approved day since no snow pants were involved.
She laid out the ruffliest ensemble she owned in anticipation.
And then we got a blizzard, and school was cancelled and when she woke up just shy of noon, she donned her Monday fancy anyways. I told her she didn't need to waste that outfit on a day at home that included eating fistfuls of CheezIts, painting, singing Katy Perry into my round brush, and cuddling with Mama.

Waste? It's not wasting my dress, Mama. Today is just another today and I wearing the outfit I already picked out! I like feeling fancy. It makes me happy and today, I am happy.