It's MY turn!

There is a certain person in the family, "Q", who, shall we say, knows exactly how to "press my buttons". We are two very different people, who, if not for the fact that we love the same people, would never seek one another out as friends. We do our best to get along. And truth be told, in spite of our differences of opinion, we actually love each other too. That said, "Q" irks the "be-jaysus" out of me from time to time. I try not to dwell on it, I try not blog about it, but sometimes, like today, the steam pressure under my cap is just so tremendous that if I don't let some off I feel like I truly might lose my head.

This story however, is not so much about what "Q" said or did (it's almost always "said") to piss me off today. The story is about the great epiphany I had about the whole situation - because heaven knows, today was not the first time I have been pushed to the brink by "Q", and it certainly won't be the last.


There has been a particularly virulent strain of pestilence running through our estate this week. It's the flu...and no, so do not even say it or I may scream, it is not the swine flu. (do you think I would neglect to mention that I have the freaking swine flu?, really?) Anyway it hit me, it hit First Son and Paddy and it very sadly hit my sweet Curly Girl the hardest of all. She ran a fever of 104' for two days straight, and then followed it up with a day and a half of 102'. For three whole days she barely came out of her bedroom. She couldn't eat, she couldn't walk. She missed her last days of preschool, and we have had to postpone the sprinkler party playdate that we had planned for the whole class. Very sad right? I know. Now during this time, I have been recuperating myself from a bout with the same flu as well as an upper respiratory infection. I have also been taking care of my three other children who have all been touched by the illness, including one very active 2 1/2 year old asthmatic whom I have been feeding steroids in order to build up and heal his lungs. Do you know what a 2 1/2 year old on steroids is like? Good, now imagine that is what he is like all the time, and then give him steroids. Oingo Boingo...off the walls, and I can't leave the house. I am dealing with it as best I can. We manage, we have been through much worse, and "this too shall pass".

So, today comes and I can no longer put it off. I must go to the store. Supplies are running low. Sure, I probably could have made it through a few more days before I had to replenish the Cheerios (on second thought, they are a staple of Dexter's diet, so maybe not) but I absolutely positively could not go another hour without purchasing....diapers! Seriously. All clean nappies in our possession were secured to heineys. I had to go to the store. Also, I think there are serious health benefits in getting up, getting dressed and getting out. Sometimes mental health is quite neglected in the name of physical health. Curly's temp was only 100' this morning and she quickly perked up after a dose of Tylenol. She was happy to get dressed and excited to get out of the house. Steroid boy needed a change of atmosphere, and Dexter loves to see the sights.


We all got washed and dressed and so, to Costco we were headed! Then...the phone rang. I had purposely not called "Q" this morning because I knew that no good would come of it. The ringing persisted, so I picked up the phone and dutifully gave "Q" the rundown. Updated on all the symptoms, etc. I had no choice but to mention our outing, though I did so reluctantly. As expected, "Q" made all of the usual passive aggressive comments alluding to my parenting skills and I did my best not to be too snarky in return, but rather tried to coolly change the subject and quickly end the call. (I tried not to be too snarky - I didn't say I was a model of diplomacy)



In general, I don't give a rat's ass what anyone thinks of me. I am notoriously independent and sure of myself. However, you touch a nerve when you imply that I do not know what I am doing as a mother. When I feel that I need to defend myself for going out to buy diapers, (diapers people, not crack cocaine) when you try to make me feel like the decisions I make are at the expense of my children's well-being, I become slightly "on edge". Actually, I fly into a rage. I called dear Hubby and warned him that I needed to vent about "Q". I lit into the whole story, yelling and screaming at poor, innocent and extremely understanding Hubby. A few minutes later Aunt Tay called, and I told her the whole story with equal verve. My blood was boiling.


Nothing I could do about it, I needed diapers post -haste. We got in the car and headed off to procure the necessary items, and I continued re-hashing the whole thing over and over in my mind. Outwardly I was trying to calm down, but inside I kept replaying the entire episode in my head. I must say it irks me that I am so easily irked.


Now my sweet, precocious Curly Girl is quite concerned with her future as a mother and wife. (bear with me) She often starts sentences like this "When I am the Mom...." as in: "When I am the Mom I am going to let my kids watch SpongeBob, and I will watch it with them" or "When I am the Mom I will drive a mid-size car when I have just two babies, or one". It is cute and funny and endearing to listen to her. She doesn't know it, but she is figuring out her values, and she is forging a healthy separation from me. I love hearing her talk about when she is a grown up (even though I am still trying to broker a deal with the devil himself to keep her little).

Today as we were driving to Costco, my mind all a whir because of my earlier aggravating phone conversation, she started in on one of these tangents. I started thinking quite innocently that all kids at one time or another must make similar declarations, dreaming of the day to come when they get to make the rules. I know that First Son has declared that when he is the Dad he is going to let his kids buy any kind of sugar cereal they want and take them to Disney every single vacation, and I am fairly certain that Paddy boy is hatching some type of plan that involves all lollipops, all the time. Many of us adults, saddled with the realities of responsibility have lost touch with our idealist former child selves. We enforce sensible rules and probably never eat ice cream for dinner. We are...grown-ups. In thinking about this sad fact I tried hard to remember what types of things I was determined to do so well when I finally got to be the grown-up, and if I could remember something, anything, I was going to do it with my children just because I can, because I am after all, "the Mom".

That is when it hit me. I am "the Mom." That's it. It is my turn. Everybody else has either had their shot, will get their shot or is maybe in the middle of their shot right now, and so should leave me the heck alone and take care of their own business. It's true that one day my cherubs will get to be the grown-ups, and make their own rules, either for their kids or for themselves. Today is not their day, it is mine. Today is not "Q"'s day either, that was yesterday. Everybody gets their turn to make the rules, decide what is best. Today is my day, I earned it. I dreamed about it and planned for it since I was a little kid. When I was small and thought of the day I would get to be the grownup, the thing I wanted most was to get to be the grown-up, to be the Mom, and now my day is here. I am not going to let "Q" or anyone else make me feel like less of a mother just because I decide to go get diapers. I am the Mom, thank you very much. As "the Mom" I declare that when the diaper baskets run out of diapers, I will go get more. It is my prerogative to make that rule and no one else's.

It's my turn. You had your turn. Go home. I am too busy scooping the ice cream we are eating for dinner to talk to you anyway.

Happy Birthday Sweet 16

Last night we had the pleasure, and honor, of attending the super sweet sixteen. Our dear babysitter (who we don't employ nearly as often as we wish we could) had a fabulous party. She has been helping us out with the kids since she was eleven and now she's sweet sixteen. Where does the time go? It was a great party, not over the top, just enough for a girl who deserves it way more than any of those spoiled rich kids on MTV! Sam is a girl who has her stuff together. She is smart, beautiful, talented, nurturing, eloquent, confident and basically everything I want to be when I grow up. Her parents are awesome people and great friends. Cara and TP, cheers to you!
It was a fun party. All of our friends were there, there was dancing and laughing and, oh yeah, drinking. There was also some crying. Happy tears. The DJ played a video montage of the last 16 years from hospital pictures right through the present day. It is ridiculous how fast 16 years go by, but when you see it in pictures it really hits home. I couldn't help but think about my own cherubs as I watched the video, and how I will blink my eyes and they will be all grown up. Then there was the father daughter dance, which gets me every time. It makes me think of my Dad, how we danced at my own sweet 16 party, and when we danced together for the last time, on my wedding day just six months before he died. It also makes me think of my Sweet Curly girl, and I think to the future, and see her all grown up dancing with Hubby - I don't know how I will keep it all together. Finally, there was the candle lighting ceremony. Wow. Talk about a great kid. Sam had chosen special people to come up and help her light each of the 17 candles on her special cake, and she said a few words about each person. She thanked her Mom & Dad for being great parents, adding that she hopes to be as great a woman as her Mom, and to find as perfect a man as her Dad. She professed her love for her younger brothers, all of her grandparents, and her very best friend.
The party last night had me reminiscing quite a bit. For as much as it made me realize how quickly my kids will grow up, I also realized that my own life has passed by just that quickly. I had a sweet 16 party, though it wasn't as fabulous as Sam's Super Sweet 16, it came from exactly the same place, a place of love. It was thrown by my brothers and sisters, and it was in a VFW hall, and there was no DJ, just a bunch of party tapes that we continuously flipped. Still, we danced and we laughed and yes, we lighted candles. I think now about the people who I had lighting the candles on my cake that night. They were so important to me then. Now, I don't talk to most of them, except for family. There was no fight, no great "falling out", just "growing up". We all went in different directions. Still, my friends are plentiful. They are people who are in the same place I am. They complement (and sometimes even compliment - but never falsely) me. If I had to put together an elaborate ceremony for the candles on my next cake, well, let's just say I would set the roof aflame. I am so blessed by the people in my life. Some of them may or may not still be here in another 16 years (okay, my sweet 16 was 17 years ago - you got me. OK, Ok. 17 1/2. Fine 17 3/4 - but that's it!) and that is okay. The important thing is that they are here now. And they were there last night. And we had just as much fun as any group of 16 year olds!
Anyway, Happy Birthday Sam. Congrats to TP and Cara. I truly do love you guys.

Party Prayer

About a week or so before their birthdays I start regaling my children with stories that begin " 6 years ago today ( or 5, or 2 , or ...1) my belly was SO fat." The older ones are used to it by now, in fact, I dare say they look forward to my silly stories about the creature kicking me from inside, reveling in the fact that I am talking about them. Then we talk about how the doctor made a little cut in my belly and pulled the baby out, announcing with joy "It's a Boy/Girl!" and then how, the baby cried, and Mommy cried, and even Daddy cried, because we were all so happy to finally meet each other. We talk about LOVE. We share hugs and kisses, and lots of shnuggles.

Birthdays are such a happy time in our house. We plan months in advance, and we celebrate much more than just a day. We always start at the beginning, with breakfast. Usually, pancakes with a candle. (this year Curly announced days before her fete that she was "sick of pancakes" [we do eat a lot of pancakes] , and so she blew out a candle on a cinnamon muffin, but otherwise it's pancakes). Sometimes there is a special birthday outfit, and balloons. There are usually about 3 "parties", maybe four if you count the cupcakes I send in to school. There's the day of your birth, which mandates dinner, cake and presents; and then we have your friends over for a playdate/party extravaganza, and then finally the whole dam fam comes over to celebrate on the weekend.

I vow that no matter how old I get, no matter how wrinkled and saggy and "decrepit", I will always, always be joyful on my birthday.

This month (okay, the month that just passed) we celebrated two fabulous birthdays in our house. I am exhausted. First, my sweet Curly Girl turned 5 on 5-5. Margarita anyone? Well yes, but not until we've had a proper tea. Curly had 6 of her best buddies and their favorite Dollies over for a tea party. And I do mean a proper tea. Crazy party mama - that's me, btw - rented table and chairs, china and linen. We decorated with tulle and silks and set to brewing blueberry tea and pink lemonade. There was musical chairs, and ring around the rosy, and hot "teapot" - our own version of hot potato. We ate cucumber tea sandwiches and scones with cream, and finished off with pink creampuffs. Curly was gifted with her very first American Girl doll ( I don't know who is more excited, she or I?!)
Just ten days later the milestone of milestones...Dexter, my baby - turned one. To quote First son - "that was fast". We celebrated this weekend with a grand fete. We decorated with bright colors, cooked up a storm and invited anyone and everyone to join in our glee. It was a great day. Dexter's Godmom arrived from Philfadelphia and helped with all the details, the weather cooperated and I only lost one balloon in the parking lot of Party City. Almost everyone who said they were coming showed up, and most even stayed long enough to see the cake cut. I had lots of cheerful help from friends, family and neighbors, and we had a lot of fun. It was a great day.

I love my children's birthdays. I look forward to them so much. It isn't just because I love to plan a party, although I truly do. Their birthdays mark a day in my life, when life became so much richer, the day they were each born, I was reborn. For me, my child's birthday is a day of thanksgiving. I am just so grateful that God has gifted me with each of these beautiful creatures, I overflow with joy. Who am I that I deserve these blessings? I am not worthy, but I am so grateful - I need to celebrate. Can a party be a prayer? I must say, if I am the one throwing it, it sure can be.

My Curly Girl

I didn't think I would be this sad. To tell the truth, I had taken to joking that when the time came, I would send Curly out the door with a swift kick to her behind and a wave "bu-bye". Today is a big day. I am taking my Curly girl to "Kindergarten Orientation", and while I must say that I am much more well adjusted this time around than I was two years ago when it was First Son's turn and I practically needed to be hospitalized for emotional incompetence, I am still quite melancholy about the whole thing.

I sat on the edge of her bed last night watching her sleep and stroking her sweet little face (so familiar, it's like looking in a mirror), thinking about how quickly my little baby has become a little girl. She has always been fiercely independent, even as a baby she preferred to fall asleep in her crib rather than in your arms. She marches to the beat of her own drummer for sure. She is an amazing personality: so kind, and nurturing - she takes care of everyone; she is generous and easy going - often willing to give in to her big brother rather than fight, but by no means a push-over (she will kick your a-- and not look back if you wrong her); she is smart as a whip, but uninterested in being outwardly academic; Curly loves to play teacher but is wary of anyone who tries to teach her; she worries about who she will someday marry and whether she will be a good Mom - I tell her that she will be an amazing Mom. She crawls into bed with me in the mornings after her Dad has left for the day and she swings her little arm over my shoulders. We play "baby animals" - a game of our own creation where everybody, even the mammals, hatch from an egg made of blankets. She lets me brush her hair. She loves cooking shows, Rachael Ray is her favorite, but she'll watch the Barefoot Contessa too, because it's my favorite. She helps me in the kitchen - an expert at egg cracking and floor scrubbing. My Curly Girl loves intensely. She gives her whole self. She loves Jesus, and she loves Mary. She gives glory to God for all things. She falls asleep each and every night with a book in her arms, yet claims ignorance of the alphabet. She sings songs -her own compositions, loud and out of key. She is polite; and she loves to clean the bathroom sink. She has a smile that could melt an iceberg, and a deadly stare that will bore holes through a steel fortress. She is my scrumptious Curly Girl, my pride and joy.

Next year the big yellow taxi will come and take two of my loves away. When First Son was a baby and made the big move from bedside bassinet to bedroom baby crib Hubby lamented that he was "leaving for college", I thought it was silly at the time, but now I think I know what he meant. Our precious children are ours for such a short time.

I am happy for my Curly Girl. She is going to adore school. She will make tons of friends, and she will learn to read. She will continue blazing her own trail, and at the end of each day I will meet her at the corner and we will hold hands and talk about all of her adventures.

My little baby...such a big girl, I hope she always knows how much I adore her.

Stay Little

It started with a pair of pink converse all-stars. A cute, little pair of sneakers adorning a tiny pair of feet attached to an adorable little girl about two years old. She reminded me so much of my Curly girl, even though she had straight black hair, olive skin and would certainly grow up to be bilingual. It was the outfit. She had on these little cargo pants with a satin lined belt and a pink calico print shirt with a ruched top. She finished it off with the pink converse and an infectious smile. Well, it was the outfit and I think also the way you could tell just by looking at her that she was so....loved. Anyway, it touched my heart.

It may have also had something to do with the pediatrician mentioning that Curly's upcoming physical will also be her Kindergarten physical.

It was well documented here that I had a very hard time sending First Son off to school. And to be honest, even though his school experience has been nothing short of spectacular, I still regard the big yellow taxi with a bit of resentment. Still, I thought that sending Curly off to school would be no big deal. I even joked about it, that when it came to be her turn to get on the bus I would wave with a big fat smile.

Why then, did I cry myself to sleep last night? I don't want to send her off. I want to keep her! Why can't they just stay little??? She's my only girl, I am going to miss her terribly. 5 years is just not enough time!!! I want to soak her up, bathe in her sweet innocence, and not share her for 6 hours a day with anyone! I want to dress her up in cute pink converse sneakers and bounce her on my knee.

Now, my good friends JD and JT assure me that "The Secret of Life is Enjoying the Passage of Time" ....I try, but I don't know.....

It's going to be another long summer.

Christmas Joy

I guess that I have kept you waiting long enough. It wasn’t my intention, of course. If I had my way there would be 60 hours in each day and I would always be able to use at least one for blogging. Life however, does not go along with my intention, and I am unfortunately left to cram as much as I can into a measly 24 hours. Sadly, the last few weeks my blog habit has not been making the cut. To be honest, at the moment I really should be doing other things with my time than blogging. First, I should be acting as a catechist in my children’s religious formation program, but it seems there is a nasty bug that has taken up residence in my lungs. I have decided to be charitable and NOT spread my germs among 13 little children one week before Christmas (Bonne Noel from Moi) – and so I am sitting in what is quite arguably the largest Starbuck’s I have ever been to, sipping a cup of tea that required way too many adjectives to order, while my children are off being “formed” by catechists other than their Mama. (I believe that there are inherent risks one accepts when dining out in public places, and one of them is that the soccer Mom at the table next to you may actually be Typhoid Mary, so I will not feel guilty about spreading my germs around this coffee house) Secondly, I should be working on my annual Christmas card, complete with adorable pictures of my sweet cherubs, however, what I thought was “free” Wi-Fi actually requires a subscription to AT&T Internet, and I do not hold any such subscription, therefore I cannot log on to any cute photo editing sites, and so I am left to work offline on this here post. Well, it kind of puts me behind schedule, but lucky you, a blog from me!

So, there is this guy “Lenny” who comes into the coffee shop where I work each Sunday. He is a “regular”. He comes in alone, usually, and sits at the counter where we engage in some playful banter. Sometimes it is even intellectual banter – and that is really fun. I totally love this guy. Not in a smoochy, kissy, I want to marry him kind of way, more like a “would you like to marry my sister and be a part of the family cause you’re a fun guy who I’d love to have around” kind of way. So the other day he is sitting at the counter and I asked him how he was doing with his Christmas shopping. He told me that he was going to be wrapping up one of his hats to give to everyone. Everyone gets a hat. The look on my face pretty clearly conveyed my thoughts – “huh?” He went on to say that he has collected quite a number of baseball caps over the years and that he is going to choose one for each family member and make it their Christmas present. Hmmm. Here comes the sarcasm. “So…I guess you must be the favorite uncle, huh?” He chuckled and admitted that yes, as a matter of fact he is. Okay, so I still don’t get it – and he must have gotten that, because he went on to explain. His grandfather, his father’s father, died when his Dad was just 8 years old. He suffered a heart attack... as he was bringing home the Christmas tree. Wow. I can see how that would put a damper on Christmas merriment. So Lenny explained that his own Dad was always very sensitive to the “stress” of the season, and made every effort to lessen it. Lenny’s family puts a whole different spin on the celebration of Christmas, which is sweet, although he does admit that they did get kind of screwed on the whole present thing.

I would like to learn something from Lenny’s story. I want desperately to cut down on the commercialism, consumerism and stress of my own Christmas, but it is hard. It is hard to balance it all. I have so many fond memories from when I was a child that I want to recreate for my children, the truth is, I want to re-live them with my own children. There is also so much from my own childhood that want to do-over, make better with my own children, my second-chance. I want my house to be decorated beautifully, inside and out. I want to bake and cook delicious things. I want to remember to always say “Merry Christmas”, and never ”Happy Holidays” I want to send gorgeous Christmas cards, I want to give perfect gifts. I want to make the best Christmas pageant costumes. I want to visit and entertain in style. And I want to balance it all out with the right amount of charity, religion and gratitude and oh, yeah, budget. We’re back to the conundrum those measly 24 hours present.

This year I have started a new tradition with my family, and it is one I am rather proud of. I saw in a magazine a homemade advent calendar made with decorated gift bags strung across the room and filled with dollar store trinkets. I thought it was adorable, but then I started to do the math. I have 4 kids. 24 days to “count down” plus gift bags –that’s easily $100 – for what amounts to…dollar store junk – and more stuff that we certainly don't need! So I started thinking some more and came up with an idea that I think is even better. I purchased a packet of small envelopes and a package of Christmas theme stickers. I sat down with my kids magic markers one night and decorated each envelope with different funny handwriting with the numbers 1-24, and threw a few stickers on to decorate. I then strung some ribbon across my china cabinet and used binder clips to hang each envelope from the ribbon. Each night after dinner we take turns opening an envelope as we count down to Christmas. Each envelope has a special message inside with instructions for a Christmas activity we are to do as a family. Sometimes it is something simple but wonderful like: have hot chocolate...with whipped cream. Sometimes it is something slightly more challenging like...make and send a Christmas card to a soldier. Sometimes it is reading a Christmas story all jammied and shnuggled up in the King bed, or watching a Christmas movie. One night the card in the envelope gave only the instruction to get jammied up and buckled up in the car....then we drove through the Holiday Lights display in our town. One night we worked together to make a beautiful paper chain to decorate one of our two Christmas trees. One night we all decorated a gingerbread house (of course Paddy boy has already eaten most of the candy off of it!). The kids love the "envelopes". I swear I should write "clean your room" one of these days, because no matter what it says they are so excited. I am so proud of this new tradition not only because I am such a "divine Martha" for thinking of it, but because I am truly making memories with my family. Yes, I have added another thing to my already heaping plate, but it is forcing me to do the most pleasurable thing I can think of...spend quality time with my cherubs. When was the last time that you really sat and watched "A Charlie Brown Christmas", or "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer"? This is one of the great things about having children (either your own or someone else's - this time of year there are plenty of parents willing to loan out their kids in exchange for a few hours to "get things done")...it gives us an excuse to be kids again, if only for a moment.

So, if you have been getting cranky about my lack of blogging lately, I love you all but...get your panties un-bunched and go do something fun with your family instead, because that is probably what I am too busy doing myself!

Seriously, enjoy your families, and have a very merry, very blessed Christmas!

First Day of First Grade

That's it. The big yellow taxi has taken my love away. Off to First Grade. It's true what they say, time flies. I still haven't finished uploading the pictures I took at his end of the year picnic back in June, and now he's a big First Grader. He climbed up on the bus and went right to the back - the last row. He wasn't allowed to sit in the back when he was in kindergarten, he wasted no time today. He smiled that adorable smile and waved enthusiastically. He likes school. I like that he likes it. I just wish time didn't have to go so fast. Hubby recently switched his work schedule to a 9/80 work week - 80 hours in 9 days. Why can't they do that with school? Give them Friday off - or let them "work from home" one day?
The bus pulled away, and I smiled and waved, wished him a good day and told him I loved him and was proud of him. Then I cried. Am I the only mother who hates the first day of school? No, I am sure I am not, and truthfully, hate is too strong a word. I am happy to be getting back into a routine. I am excited to see all of the new things he will be learning, and to meet the new friends he will be making. Chances are that I will make a new friend or two myself.
Oh well, now that he's gone, the babies and Curly girl are all still sleeping so...I'm going back to bed!! Next week I'll be getting Curly out to preschool! I'd better sleep while I can!

There were doubts but...

We did it. We survived the first day of school (we, because I deserve at least as much credit as First Son). And with flying colors, I might add. It wasn't easy getting up and having everything ready, since we had just gotten home from Disney at 9PM the night before, but we did it. First son climbed right up the steps of the bus and waved back to us with a great big smile. I waited until the bus pulled away and then broke down sobbing, as was my right. I did NOT, however, get in my car and follow the school bus, which is more than I can say for some of my neighbors. Yeah! me!

My little baby boy, who just 5 years and one month ago was cradled safe and snug in my arms, is now out in the world, without me. It is hard to believe it, because it really does go by so fast. That is what everybody (especially older people) tells you when you are a parent of young children, "enjoy it, it goes so fast" It really does.

For the past five years my little guy has been by my side every single day. All of a sudden I see him for half an hour in the morning and then boom, he's off on the yellow wagon till the dredges of the afternoon roll around. By ten in the morning I looked at hubby and said " I am so lonely". So, I baked a cake. It came out pretty good too, at least I think so. (come on stroke my ego a little, I could use it)

First son had a great time at school, where he was greeted by his favorite stuffed animal, Super Bear (his real name!) His teacher is nice, Hubby and I went up and met her in the afternoon, and I have filled out the form to become "class mother". I will know in a few days if I get it or not. So, first PTA meeting is set for 9/17. As I said, once I made the decision to go ahead with the public school thing I would jump in with both feet. Whee!

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Shake, rattle & roll!

He rolls! Yeah, finally! Tonight, just as I was starting to worry, Paddy boy decided to roll! 6 months, 8 days. What a relief.
His big brother caused me the same anguish. He got to the point where I said "if you don't roll over today, I am calling the Dr. tomorrow!" What do you know? Flip. So tonight was Paddy boy's night! Curly rolled at exactly 3 months. The boys? Not so much. First son did hit every other milestone on the nose or early, and walked younger than his sister (the "rolling over over-achiever"), so there is hope for Paddy Boy. The down-side? He is growing up! Soon he'll be holding his own bottle, and then it is all over, he won't need me anymore!
Also, I managed to get curly girl's hair into a pony tail tonight. It looks more like a puffy bun, but still. She looks so old. And beautiful.
Why don't they just stay little? To quote First son, "you stay little, I am growing up!" - aged 30 months.