She's a Realist

Today Ellie came running in and exclaimed, "Mom! I drew a picture of you and me."

Like you, I wasn't sure exactly where I was in the picture. So I asked.

"You're in the house. Cleaning."

Dear Santa 2009

One of my favorite Christmas traditions is sitting down with my kids to have them write their Christmas wish letters to Santa. Of course, since neither of them can write as well as they can draw, their letters are typically more of a visual work of art than a literary one.

This year Lindy has expressed her most sincere hopes for any of the following items:

Bubblegum machine, bike, i-Dog, Bendaroos, Leapster game, roller skates

And Ellie is convinced Santa will think her wish list is chock full of the best ideas:

Thumbelina Movie, Leapster, Belle doll, 3 Muskateers Barbie, Tinkerbell game, My Little Pony

Here they are...on their way to the mailbox:

And the letter is on it's way. Santa will surely try his best to make these cute little girls happy and grateful this Christmas.

Powers of Observation

Out of the blue Ellie asked, "Mom, where is daddy's work?" I responded, "At the airport...he drives up there to fly the airplanes." A split second of profound silence was followed by an incredulous, "WHAT?"

I wasn't sure what her "WHAT?" was in reference to, but it suddenly seemed possible that my 4 year-old had no idea that her father was a pilot. I looked her square in the face and explained, "Daddy flies airplanes from the airport and back for his work." The look on her face was enough...she was awash in disbelief. As I watched her adjust to the idea I could tell she thought it was pretty cool.

Or, as Ellie would say, "Awethome!"

POST EDIT:

Not long after posting the what-do-you-mean-my-daddy-is-a-pilot story, Ellie asked me the following: "Do boy babies come out of daddy tummies?" At which point I reminded her of my very pregnant & very large tummy all full of baby boy Curtis.

I'm beginning to wonder what else she's missed.

I Should Treat Them Better

First, a disclaimer: I don't want anyone to panic or feel like I'm all in a lather over here. I'm not. I'm perfectly balanced and happy with life. Pinky promise.

The other day I started turning my house upside down looking for a book. A particular book. And so far I've been unable to find it. The only conclusion I've arrived at is that I've lent it out to someone. I do that. I enjoy doing that. I've said, and I'll continue to say, "the Amy Jones library welcomes you!" My only problem is I'm a horrible librarian. I love my books but I'm not sure I take adequate care of their well-being. I have sent them out into the world to circulate but I haven't necessarily taken steps to ensure their safe return.

This librarian is, therefore, turning over a new leaf. This morning I purchased a lovely little book whose sole purpose will be record-keeping. Call it my little black book of books (though, by choice, it is not black). My goal is to write down the location of all my beloved tomes.

That being said: I'm hereby requesting information. Not books--yet--just information. If you have one (or more) books from the Amy Jones library, please comment and let me know what you have. I'll record the information and we'll be set.

I really do, however, want to find this one:

If you have it...and aren't in the middle of it...can I beg it back?

I Feel Like Crying

This morning started off as any other. Lindy and I bickered and fought over clothes, hair, socks, shoes, breakfast choices, and various other semantics of the day. Typical. As I drove her to school this morning I was, to be honest, quite sick and tired of dealing with her.

As she bounded out of the van, however, my heart caught in my throat as I watched her trip, limbs flailing, up the sidewalk. It was quite a fantastic fall. She immediately turned and caught my eye and I watched helplessly as her little face crumpled. I had a sudden, forceful, urge to jump out of my van to gather her in my arms and make it all better. But, before I could move, I saw my brave little girl gather her dignity around her like a jacket and courageously march into the school.

Suddenly I was the one fighting back tears. Because being a mom is tough. All the nuances of the day can be...well, exhausting. But, this morning I realized we've only just begun. Dealing with my daughter's idiosyncratic behavior will never be more challenging than having to stand on the sidelines and watch while she faces pain. And the problem is this: pain is the plan.

And that really stinks.