weddings on the brain

"Hey Daddy, on our way to our married, let's stick out tongues out at each other and do taco tongues!"

I think a little flower girl is over the top for weddings and getting married.

i think this was about her dad

"Dear Jesus,
Thank you for this nice day. Please help for me to get married someday when I get bigger, if you want, cuz I really want to.
In Jesus' Name,
Amen."

mama's girl, in the best way

"I have to ask my mommy first because that's what we're supposed to do. I'll be right back."

Said by Pink to the (older & slightly more mischievous) friends in our complex that she's been playing with lately. Ohhhh, is there any way to make this last another, say, 20 years?

maybe i'm not accepting my age well

Really, the numbers hadn't bothered me all that much the past couple years. Turning 30 wasn't as hard for me as it is for some, and 31 & 32 passed uneventfully.

However. As a "happy birthday" present this year, the DMV sent me a license renewal notice with a picture required. I sat in the car in the parking lot to touch up my makeup & hair, attempting in vain to hide the signs of aging that have bombarded me the past few months as 33 approached, as well as the annoying post-Lizzie "baby hairs" that are growing out and looking altogether lovely. Thoughts of commercials promising a reduction in the visible signs of aging started running through my mind, and I wondered why I hadn't prepared more vigorously for this day by exfoliating & penetrating & shrinking & minimizing.

And it hit me even harder than it did on my b-day: I will never again, as long as I live, look young. Sure, I don't get offered senior citizen discounts, and I do look like I'm in my 30s (with the amount of sleep I usually get, it's often my late 30s), but I will never again pass for a 20-something. If I'm carded, it will be by some 20-something kid who's trying to butter me up for a bigger tip. I look old, and there's no going back.

OK, not OLD, old. But you know, old. To the teens I teach, I'm somewhere in the same group as their parents. To the kids at the local college, I'm in that "your old but your hair's not gray, so I don't have to be nice to you, right" age group. And these days, when some guy pays attention to me, it's because my child is making off with a candy bar at the store and he's warning me of the impending shoplifting charges, should she get away.

Sigh. Aging. How did this happen?

wordless wednesday

beach hair

ps- I also get beach hair. Why can't it look this cute?

this is me eating my words

They are both upstairs in separate rooms right now, screaming at the top of their lungs in outraged defiance, kicking walls & slamming doors (ok, Lizzie was only kicking her crib and to my knowledge, did not slam any doors; I'm exaggerating). They are supposed to be sleeping peacefully. I've only been home 30 minutes and I've given two spankings and broken up two fights. Occasionally the raucous is strikingly similar to the earthquakes we've been having.

I vaguely remember saying something both last night and this morning about making progress with sleeping and behavior. Ummm, yeah. Some progress.

she doesn't smell like a baby anymore

Lizzie went and embraced real food, and so, her baby smell went out the window. When she's just finished nursing, I can still catch a whiff of that heavenly scent on her neck. Until she poops that awful big-baby stuff that bears no resemblance to the non-offensive, sweet smelling "mustard" of 100% nursing babies. I'm happy for her and all, and it's exciting to see her grow, and I don't actually want her to stay a baby for ever, but that smell is so sweet and small and new and precious. Ugh. At least her skin's still soft. That is, until she finally remembers that she knows how to crawl and starts roughing up those baby knees.