The Tooth

The girl has cemented teeth. 

We think her chocolate milk obsession has NOT helped in the "losing teeth" department. 

So much calcium in her bones and teeth that they aren't willing to part with one another. 

And it brings the girl to tears. 

Big, fat, rolling down her cheeks tears. 

Gigi has only lost two teeth and those fell from the bottom of her gumline last year. 

She's had a few other teeth in the "kinda loose" arena, but they seem to suck themselves back into her gums. 

She wiggles them and has her fingers in her mouth so often I think she's now become immune to all of the nasty germs she's depositing in there on her grubby 7 year old fingers. 

She's been eating apples for the last few days. 

Trying desperately to get that somewhat loose top incisor tooth out of her head. 

My children were very slow to get teeth as babies.

So slow that we were wondering if they were born without teeth in their little heads at all. 

All we could picture were gummy 10 year olds and visits to the denture doctor in their futures. 

Our dentist and pediatrician have both told us that kids who are slow to get teeth are also slow to lose those teeth. 

Gigi has been hoping for missing teeth since preschool. 

She used to come home and tell me about her 3 and 4 year old pals who had already lost teeth. 

She didn't seem to care when her father and I told her 3 and 4 year olds shouldn't be loosing teeth yet. 

These kids didn't have a proper diet, too much sugar and too little calcium. 

Time and patience would have to be our daughters' best friends. 

My kids hate those "friends."

And I think time and patience are now Gigi's #1 enemies. 

Yesterday, Gigi got off of the bus and came to find me emerging from the barn in the back yard. 

She had a napkin over her mouth and was walking towards me. 

I thought to myself, "oh, please tell me you have that napkin over your mouth because your tooth has fallen out and you're containing the blood that's oozing out, please, please, please, please." 

We connected on the path to the barn and she took the napkin from her mouth and started bawling. 

"EVERYONE at school is loosing their teeth and my tooth is NEVER EVER going to come out!!"

"Did someone lose a tooth today in class?" I asked. 

"YES! Cami did!" she howled. 

Oh crap. 

Crap, crap, crap. 

Cami is one of her besties. 

How DARE she do this to Gigi. 

Ugh. 

I spent the next few minutes reassuring her that her tooth would fall out soon. 

It would, it just needed more time. 

She couldn't hear me over her despair. 

She went inside and ate an apple. 

At dinner last night her sister did the unthinkable. 

She pulled out her own tooth, a premolar, that had been loose for a few weeks. 

And the howling and bawling and giant tears flowed from her sister right at the dinner table. 

And the dinner table happened to be out in public. 

Where we were eating bacon cheeseburgers and fries and now we had blood and a tooth in the palm of Zoe's hand. 

Great timing Zoe. 

I need time and patience to get through this, too. 

And I need to restock the apple supply in the kitchen. 

Frederick The Mouse

Gigi read 280 books for school in February. 

She read to get to the goal of a cheeseburger, fries, ice cream lunch from a local hamburger joint. 

She was determined to get the top prize, and she did. 

Along with five other first graders. 

Last week all of first grade celebrated, yet again, reading books as their sole homework in February. 

As a top reader, Gigi got to pick a free book that came with a stuffed animal. 

She chose this fat mouse. 

His name is Frederick. 

He's the star of a book written by Leo Lionni in1967. 

Frederick is an artist at heart. 

He's not like the other mice in the burrow. 

Gigi has been sleeping with Frederick every night. 

If we are having rice for dinner, she sets a plate of rice out for Frederick. 

She and Frederick drink chocolate milk together in the morning. 

He has a special little plastic tea cup to drink from. 

Her imagination is bursting when it comes to this pudgy mouse with the droopy eyelids. 

And I smile openly when I see her talking with him. 

And then my mind wanders. 

Wanders to her sister. 

And I remember that Zoe never did things like this when she was seven. 

Zoe had an imaginary friend when she was two. 

Her name was Fajohnna. 

Pronounced fa-john-ah. 

Fajohnna would call her on the phone. 

She would come over for dinner. 

Zoe didn't have a real sister, so she made herself a playmate. 

When we moved to the farm she had a new friend. 

Haykin the deer. 

She claimed that one of the many deer that wandered into our yard was her pet deer Haykin. 

When she would see him (they all looked the same to her father and I, mind you) she would grab the dog's leash and run out the door.

All the while yelling "Haaaayyyykiiiiiin!"

Of course the deer would all run away. 

And she would slump her head down and slowly trod back into the house. 

Until the next time she saw him. 

Then the same scene would play itself out, head slump and all. 

Once she had a real playmate, her sister Gigi, she dropped Fajohnna and Haykin. 

But, quickly became discouraged when her new infant playmate wasn't actually playing with her. 

We said "Give your sister time. She doesn't understand what you want her to do yet. One day she will play with you."

And since Gigi learned to walk at 9 1/2 months, she was mobile and chasing her sister around sooner than her sister was probably prepared for. 

But there was joy. 

Always joy. 

When she was talking to Fajohnna on the phone. 

Calling for Haykin to come inside the house. 

Or hiding from her sister in the yard. 

She had joy. 

Then she had cancer. 

Her five year old balloon was rudely popped. 

Her rainbow of childhood joy became colorless. 

Her world became one of gray colors. 

Clumps of hair on her pillow after a restless night's sleep. 

A world of fevers and extreme lethargy. 

A world no child should be in. 

And her childhood was put on hold. 

She couldn't run after her deer friend anymore. 

She could barely walk. 

She couldn't talk to Fajohnna on the phone anymore because her mouth was full of sores from chemo. 

Her sister was still there, but she was a reminder to her. 

A reminder of what she couldn't do. 

Gigi would visit her sister when Zoe was hospitalized with a fever. 

Gigi would make videos on the iPad of herself dancing and singing, and you can see Zoe behind her in these videos. 

Laying in a hospital bed. 

Too tired to move. 

Miserable from fever. 

Her small body fighting off an infection. 

It's surreal to see these videos now. 

As a mom, I was in the hospital making sure my very sick daughter got the best care from the medical staff. 

But my other daughter, my healthy daughter, needed me as well. 

So there was a duality seen in these videos. 

Two sisters, in sickness and in health. 

Zoe's fine now. 

She's been given a clear bill of health. 

And she doesn't remember Gigi making the videos. 

Unless we pull them up and all giggle at Gigi's antics. 

And see Zoe miserable in the bed. 

And I'm sad for her. 

I'm sad that she missed a few years of her childhood. 

Childhood shouldn't be interrupted. 

It should be carefree. 

It should be joyful. 

It should be full of imagination. 

And Zoe's imagination was halted and I see that when I see Gigi feeding Frederick a piece of her donut. 

My mind wanders...back to a time that seems like just yesterday.

We can have a clean bill of health for our daughter, but cancer never really ever goes away. 

There are future tests for her growing body. 

The memories have yet to fade for us, her parents. 

They are absent or fuzzy for Zoe. 

She's, luckily, making new memories. 

And we don't forget that, either. 

Big, Fat Mama

As soon as I walked in the back door, she was there waiting for me. 

The blonde girl.  

I had barely put down my first bag of groceries before she started speaking. 

"Mom!"

Quieter, "mom"

"Yes?" 

"When you were gone dad got so mad.  He was saying damn, and mother bleeper, and shit."

"Why was he saying that?  What was he mad at?" 

"The garbage can. He was yelling at the garbage can."

"Huh" I said, my mind's ideas swirling around as to what had happened in the hour that I was not at home. 

"There was a hole in the garbage bag and he got sooooo mad at it."

I tried not to smile too much as I went out to get more groceries from the car. 

Gigi loves two things.

Well, more than two things, but I'm focusing on two of her loves right now. 

Gigi loves to tattle on others and she loves any opportunity to use curse words. 

When I saw my husband a few moments later when he sauntered into the kitchen, I mentioned to him what Gigi had told me. 

"She's such a nark!" he declared. 

I prefer to think of it as honesty. 

Gigi is very honest. 

She's yet to learn how to stifle her thoughts. 

But, then again, why should she stifle her thoughts?

Why aren't we all so honest?

As honest as a 7 year old.

Who will tell you when your breath stinks as you go in to kiss her. 

Who will tell her doctor that her farts feel like the wind. 

Who will tell her sister, you hurt my feelings because you don't want to play school with me anymore. 

Even though sister has been playing with her for the last two hours. 

Who will lovingly tell me "I love you big fat mama" and not mean anything malicious by those words. 

I'm her mama. 

She loves me. 

And she thinks I'm big and fat. 

But I don't think I'm big and fat. 

I mean, YES I could stand to lose some pounds. 

But she weighs 55 pounds. 

So, in her wee little eyes and mind...

I'm big and fat. 

I need to be more honest. 

With people in my life. 

With people who have hurt me. 

Who continue to hurt me. 

And if I need to, I need to cut some ties. 

Because life is too short to have insincere strings connecting knotted up and frayed relationships. 

Honesty can be one of the hardest things to effectuate. 

Being honest can feel as if you're standing naked in a snowstorm. 

The vulnerability felt. 

The unknown reaction awaiting. 

But to a 7 year old, it's just how it is. 

Here's what you did and here's my response. 

I need to take some lessons from my daughter. 

But it's a scary lesson plan to look over. 

Why do we allow ourselves to shy away from honesty the older we get?

I have no answer. 

I'm still searching for "The Big Book Of Life's Answers". 

And I've lost the call number. 

I hope Gigi stays honest. 

I hope she doesn't go through life not telling it how it is. 

I hope she stands up for what she believes. 

Even if it goes against the grain. 

Even if it seems bizarre to others. 

Because sometimes the most bizarre ideas are in fact, the best ideas. 

I hope Gigi stays true. 

True to herself. 

True to her sister. 

True to her heart. 

True to those she loves the most. 

Especially big, fat mama. 

Teeny Tiny

My second child was an average sized baby upon her birth. 

Almost 8 pounds. 

She wasn't as chubby through her first year of life as her sister was. 

Her sister was a fat baby. 

A few chins. 

Tubular arms. 

So cute and squishy. 

First child was bottle fed. 

Second child was breast fed. 

Second child was fat, but not like her sister had been. 

She was by no means a puny baby. 

But, we did notice a difference in baby size for them. 

And then toddler hood. 

Second sister was petite.

Petite yet sturdy. 

Just because she was little, that did not mean she was prone to breakage. 

Nope. 

She was solid. 

She still is. 

And she's not as petite as she was. 

I think. 

It's hard to tell. 

When I see her among her peers she seems on track with them. 

Similar heights. 

Weights, well that is different.

The weights of 6-7 year olds varies immensely. 

There are obese children, average sized, and profoundly thin kids.

My kids are right in the middle. 

Not too big. 

Not too small. 

Now, second sister loves all things little. 

Little cats. 

Little trees. 

Little shoes. 

I think my mom has had an influence on this. 

My mom is short. 

She was sent home from school by the crossing guard in kindergarten because he thought she was too small for school. 

He thought she had just followed her siblings and he sent her home.

My mom is 4"11. 

Well, she's shrinking, but I'm not allowed to publicly talk about it. 

She also likes little things. 

Little chip clips. 

Little candy bars. 

Little ziploc bags. 

And since second sister's hair became blonde, around the age of 20 months, grandma has declared something. 

Declared it because she saw her little self in second sister. 

My mom was petite with blonde curls as a child.

So is my girl. 

And we often heard these words three words...

"Just like grandma!"

My second baby's hair has stayed blonde, but it's not as curly as it was. 

But, she hasn't lost her love of little things. 

Her favorite things are little. 

Little yogurt cups. 

Little munchkins from Dunkin Donuts. 

Little purses. 

Little, little, little. 

She recently opened up a package of her sister's Legos that had been sitting around. 

And she poked her way around in them and found her favorite things. 

A little magnifying glass. 

A little hat. 

A little shield. 

Her birthday is coming up. 

She will be seven. 

She came as a surprise to us. 

Little did we know that our second girl would be one of the greatest joys of our lives. 

Her little curls. 

Her little laugh. 

Her love for little toys.

She told me recently that she wants this for her birthday. 

She saw it at Target. 

It's full of little things. 

Little fruit. 

Little shelves. 

Little things to step on and loose under the bed. 

Little things to go along with all of her other little things. 

Like her little tiny babies. 

I'll buy it for her. 

Because my little girl with the BIG imagination will love it. 

And I couldn't imagine life without my little girl with her big ideas. 

And her big heart. 

Being Five

Gigi went to school today. 

Kindergarten. 

Today was the first day she left home and was alone without her sister around (like when she was at summer camp). 

Today she had to leave her mother and father and become a full time student. 

And it was hard for her. 

Very hard. 

She has a lot of anxiety with new situations. 

When she's put in an alien environment. 

She threw up her chocolate milk this morning. 

She twisted up her dress with her hands when I tried to take her photo on the porch. 

She felt twisted up inside herself. 

It's hard to grow up. 

It's hard for someone like Gigi. 

Who had a sick sister and who had to give up her mom and dad for a time because the hospital beckoned them. 

Time will heal all of her inner wounds. 

And she'll someday be able to face new challenges as well as her sister does. 

Because she's a brave girl. 

I know she is. 

Even if she's still not too sure. 

The Bag Lady

Our second child Gigi was a surprise. 

You're supposed to say that instead of "accident" because that sounds worse for some reason. 

I guess a child is never an accident if you and your spouse do "the nasty" ever. 

So, anyway, I guess we did "the nasty" at some point in early 2008 because our SUPRISE came in November of that same year. 

She was definitely meant to be a part of our lives. 

Here's why...

Her sister Zoe was diagnosed with cancer at the age of 5. 

Gigi was 22 months old. 

And while she didn't really understand what was happening, she had to know something was up. 

Her sister was always gone. 

So were mom and dad. 

We saw her at this big building that was a long car ride from grandma's house. 

There were many lights and machines that made noise around her sister. 

Ladies in outfits with cats and bears on their shirts let her play with their stethoscopes. 

Doctors in white coats looked in her ears with their otoscope because she felt left out. 

Strangers would bring her pudding, Popsicles, and toys to take home anytime she asked. 

She didn't care to be left out of this mysterious "fun" her sister got to be a part of. 

The floor her sister lived on had a computer room and an even more exciting playroom. 

With toys we didn't have at home. 

It was amazing!

Gigi showed us her true self at this fun, amazing, big building far from home. 

Maybe she became this person because she had to. 

To cope. 

Was it nature versus nurture?

Circumstance versus DNA?

She would run down the halls. 

Take a sharp left at the nurses' station and run down the other hall. 

Back to sissy's room where she would make a funny face (and not even wait for the reaction she always got) before high tailing it out the door to do it again. 

And we let her do it. 

Because it made us laugh.

She made us laugh. 

Laughter is what we needed. 

Her sister needed to giggle and be the child she really was. 

Not someone who was fighting for her life. 

And Gigi kept us laughing. 

Through 2 1/2 years of chemo. 

We laughed. 

Gigi has continued the show. 

Cracking us up on a daily basis.

With her bad knock-knock jokes. 

With her insane outfits even Alexander McQueen would never have attempted. 

And her ability to turn a regular visit to the store into a giggle fest. 

Not just for us, but for anyone she passes. 

And that's no accident. 

This girl has been a surprisingly bright light in her sister's life. 

Even if she is a bit embarrassing at times...

Thursday Photo

My five year old is sick. 

She's had a nasty, wet cough for over a week. 

A fever on and off. 

But yesterday she didn't eat much and then threw up at 5am. 

So, I called our ever trusty pediatrician, Dr. Brooks. 

A Medicinal Saint in my book. 

And I'm not even Catholic. 

We got right in to see him this morning. 

Her Co2 was a bit low. 

He heard a bit of crackling and "wetness" in her lungs, upper airway. 

Bronchitis. 

Blech. 

Beats cancer, though. 

Zoe was 5 when she was diagnosed with cancer, so 5 makes me apprehensive. 

I know it's irrational. 

But anytime one of my kids gets a rash or a fever or a cough or a headache or a bruise, something in me internally cries "no, no, no."

So for me, bronchitis seems okay...

Keeping Our Lives Upside Down

Part Two in a series from my Homesteaders & Homeschoolers group blog topic..."When and Why to Start a Family--Highlights and Lowlights"

We were only going to have one child.
It's easy to get around with just one child.
We could drive a small car.
Vacation would be that much cheaper.
Zoe was such a good kid.
No problems ever.
Then it happened.

I was so tired the spring of 2008.
I would tell Zoe (who was 3 years old) that mama was just going to close her eyes for a bit.
Two hours later I would wake up.
Remember, I said Zoe was a good kid.
She completely kept herself busy while I was zonked out on the couch.
Something felt "off" and I told Chad to pick up a pee stick for me on the way home from work.
Silence.
"Just do it!" I bellowed.

I peed on that stick, ate dinner, then went to check on the pee stick's status.
Sigh.
Positive.
I didn't want to be pregnant.
At all.
When did this conception even take place for gosh sakes?
Well, if I was going to be pregnant it had better all be for another girl.
Since I was over 35 years of age (another reason I didn't want to be pregnant) I had to go to a Maternal/Fetal Specialist.
The ultrasound tech that day was a man.
As was the doctor I saw.
Manness was ripe in the air that day.
They both declared that the fetus within my over 35 aged body was a male.
WHAT?!
I called Chad as I was leaving my appointment.
I paused on the skywalk when he answered.
"Thanks a lot."
He knew by those three words that there was a boy in my belly.
He knew that the sperm determines the sex of a fetus and he apologized.
Again and again.

I did come to terms with the fact that a wee penis was forming in my body.
I bought boy type clothing.
I bought boy type bedding.
We even discussed names and after some thought we decided our son would be named Oliver Ash and that he would grow up to be a MLB player.
I was good with things now.
I had conceded and had accepted that I would have a daughter and a son.
Zoe and Oli.
I had no morning sickness...again.
I received zero stretch marks...again.
It looked like a super-duper, extra-large pumpkin was stuffed under my shirt.
All was good.

Another planned c-section.
I was not going to do that VBAC crap (vaginal birth after cesarean) that the OB was pushing on me.
I had never felt a labor pain and was fine going to my grave having never felt one.
We picked the date of November 14th.
I had a real gung-ho doctor and she scheduled things bright and early.
So, Zoe went to grandma and grandpa's house for breakfast and Chad and I headed to the hospital to welcome our new son to the world.

So, as I'm strapped down in the crucifix position with painful gas bubbles rising up into my shoulders and a barf bucket next to me when it happened.
The baby was plucked from my uterus and the nurse standing behind me declared "that's not a boy."
Well then what in the hell was it?!
I'm supposed to be having a boy!
Was it really a cat this time?
Or was his hardware so mangled that he was going to need surgery to repair his stuff and he may look more like a mangled her?
The doctor then said "Nope that's a girl!"

After much explaining to my parents, the new big sister, relatives and friends whom Chad called, we were elated to have another daughter in our family.
We had to come up with a name quickly.
Oliver then became Gigi.
That's not short for anything, folks.
Just Gigi.

I'll never forget for as long as I live what my girlfriend Kelly told me later on..."I never knew anyone who could will away a penis like you did."
"If you want something bad enough, you can make it happen" was my response.
And I'm very thankful toward Chad's sperm.
I'm not mad at him anymore...

Check out my fellow Homesteaders & Homeschoolers "second in the series" blog stories on motherhood...
Laura @ Where Love Starts
Melissa @ Teach Academy
Carla @ Our Happy Chaos

There Are Days...

There are days...

When I use the girls' fruity toothpaste because I simply want a bright and fruity burst in my mouth instead of a harsh and adult minty one.

When my proudest moment of the day as a mother is when I hear my four year old singing along to:
     Thriller by Michael Jackson
     Sparkle and Shine by Steve Earle
     Rumour Has It by Adele
and I know that I am indeed succeeding as a parent in terms of musical appreciation.

When the words that I hear coming out of other parents' mouths is both shocking and not. 
We live in a society that is scared of everything, so much that some parents read books before allowing their kids to read them. 
What is everyone afraid of?
Are these the same people who would join the "Ban Books" club for parents if there was one near them?

When I just scratch my head...like when Gigi says she's going to grow up to be a Princess.
Zoe says "you can't do that!" and I hear myself saying "sure she can! she just needs to get out into the world and hang out where the Princes do and win one over!"
Did I just say that?

When my kids fight like wild badgers over a snake.
Then the next day they get along as sweetly as honey over ice cream.
This is why I'm mentally unbalanced...all moms are like this, right?
Right?!

When I just need sunshine.
The winter months always drag on and right now I'm using my memories of standing on the pool deck, scooping leaves out of the water with the sun beating down on me, sweat pooling under my boobs, just to get me through these dark and chilly winter days.  

Hermit Crab Joy

Hermit crabs.

They are boring.

Those are Zoe's words.

And I would have to agree.

They burrow into the dirt in their tank and we don't see them for days.

They don't eat.

They don't drink.

Are they pooping?

Who knows.

The only way we know if they are still alive and breathing their little crab breaths is to dig them out and put them on mom's kitchen table.

Nice.

Then they are all like "here we are!"  

They are rather gross to look at up close.

And I like gross, but it's almost too alien for me. 

This is Gigi's hermit crab.

Her name is Jesse.

And this is how she usually stays when she's on the table.

She even stayed like this when she pinched the crap out of Gigi's hand a few weeks ago.

Do you know how hard it is to get a hermit crab to release it's pinch from a four year old's hand?

Hard.

All Gigi cared about was this..."why doesn't Jesse like me?"

Gigi was wearing a hooded sweatshirt at the time and I told her that Jesse just didn't recognize her with her hood on.

She bought it.

And doesn't wear a hood around the crabs anymore.

Jesse did eventually come out of her shell when we had them on the table the other day.

Took her about 35 minutes, though.

   

Hermit crabs.
They are so interesting.
Not.
Really, we should have gotten a guinea pig.

Thanks For Reading

Today is the last day of November and I will have completed the Blog*A* Day challenge from BlogHer.
I'm sure some of you are saying "whew!" and others have no idea that this is being said because they long ago stopped reading.  
But, for those still reading, I say thanks.
Thanks for sticking by me and my various thoughts.
Thanks for reading the daily borings of my life and listening to some of my rants.
I thought I would end this month of blogging with some Gigiisms.  
Well, they aren't really isms as much as just crap she's said that I have found amusing. 
I'll throw in some of her sister's more serious thoughts.

Here it goes...

"I love you big fat mama."

Said to Zoe: "I'm just going to go tell mama I love her."
Then said to me: "Zozo just tooted!"
From Zoe in the next room: "Giiiiiiiiiiigiiiiiiiiiii!!"   

"Look at my ass!"
This was said while nude and shaking said ass.

"I love you sissy, I tooted."

Have you noticed the pattern here?

"I have big feet!"...this is said approximately 48 times a day and her feet are propelled into your face as she's declaring this.

And from Zoe, who is by far the more serious of the two...

"I want to thank you for pulling my tooth.  Really, thank you." 

"Yes, Gigi, we know you have big feet.  Geesh."

"big sigh" followed by "big sigh" followed by (you guessed it) "big sigh."

I'll continue with the blog, just not everyday.
I'm surprised I've had something to say everyday.
I guess my head's just full of big fat thoughts. 

BF

Someone has Beiber fever...gross.

It's Gigi's Day!

At 7:51am in 2008, we were surprised with a baby girl.
A sister for a sister.
A girl who looked exactly like our first born.
A girl who would grow up to not look like our first born.
A girl who is full of spunk and laughter.
A girl who definitely has a mind of her own.
Happy 4th Birthday to Gigi Willow.
A bundle of energy and a beacon of shiny, blinding light.
We wish her a happy life full of good health, giggles, and chocolate cookies.

Countdown...1

She was a surprise all around.

We weren't expecting to be expecting.

We were told "she" would be a "he"...enough with the surprises!

She has astonished us with her spunk, her sense of humor, her curly blonde hair, her appetite for candy.

We are thankful for her joy of life and hope she keeps that flair going as she gets older.

Our Gigi Willow is almost 4 years old!

Watch out world!

You're never fully dressed without a smile.

~ Martin Charnin 

Countdown...2

Gigi has turned into a ray of light for her sister during her illness.

She has grown up with hospitals, chemo, and doctors.

She knows nothing different.

She makes us laugh when we need it the most.

She declares " I love you" about 35 times a day.

Never has a more tender heart been seen.

A squirmy hug, a silly face to ease the pain, a hand to hold when Zoe is getting her blood drawn.

I don't think either girl understands the bond that they have, now and forever.

They both have really needed one another these past two years, for different reasons.

Different yet so very similar.

Sisters to the end.

Gigi is a sister of immense proportions in a little bitty package. 

Countdown...3

The countdown is on.
The countdown of having a four year old in our house.
Gigi turns another year older on Wednesday.
Gigi mean small and spunky in French.
She has lived up to that!
So, from now until then I will be gracing these pages with pictures of her "then" and "now".

Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart.

~Kongzi

Gigi Did What?!

Parents Of The Year Award will NOT be presented to us this year.
Not that we did something really horrible like let our daughter wear a spring jacket to school on a very cold day or eat candy before dinner (who does that?!), but we haven't been as on the ball with kid number two like we were with kid number one.
Because unbeknownst to us, Gigi can now write her name.
Who knew?
Not us, that's for sure.
She can also write some numbers.
When did this happen?
I guess this school thing is paying off for her.
Now don't get me wrong, I have TRIED teaching Gigi things at home like letters and numbers, shapes and colors.
Shapes and colors are easier to teach because when out and about you can say "what color is that car?" or "who sees a circle?" as you pull into Target (Gigi started drawing the Target logo a year ago...so proud.)
But letters and numbers.
Not so much.
Zoe was so eager for me to help her.
We bought those workbooks you get for moms with too much time on their hands and she practiced tracing letters and numbers.
She loved it...I think.
Anywho, she did them nonetheless.
I have tried with Gigi, really tried.
But she always either runs away or throws the pencil across the room shouting "I don't want to learn my name!!"
Okay!
Geesh!
I gave up.
But last night the girls were at the table doing some art with stencils and stampers and Zoe came in and said "look what Gigi wrote!"
Chad and I both guffawed, "Yeah, right.  You wrote that didn't you, Zoe?!"
She swore on her favorite sparkle sneakers that she did not do it.
She said that Gigi had said she was going to write her name on the picture and Zoe thought it would be a scribble like usual.
But it was her name!
We asked Gigi for proof and she did it again right in front of us.
Could.  Not.  Believe.  It.
That kid is more than just cute, she's got the smarts, too.
I think she gets it from her mother...

So Dope

It's interesting to see how your child changes when she goes out into the world.
How others influence so much.
It would be nice to keep the kids in a bubble.
Not to have them introduced to things that aren't to your liking.
But of course that can't be.
There's a big world out there and my girls will come across all types of people, raised by all types of parents.
Parental views spills into their children's brains.
They way they speak, the way they handle situations.
Zoe started acting differently as soon as she started going to school all day.
In kindergarten she would come home with some sass-mouth.
Speaking back to me as she had never done before.
In first grade she started it again.
The freedom of being away from home all day with people as goofy and unsure of how to act in a new situation as she was.  
I think the same thing happened at the start of this year.
She goes to school in August, she comes home and is talking back for two weeks, she is immediately put in her place and the sass stops.

Then there are the things that just come out of their mouths...
"he's got junk in his trunk," "I love Justin Beiber," she is so dope."
Oh wait, I think that last one was me talking to my mom in 1985.
Gigi says the Justin Beiber thing.
We have never listened to the Beiber in this house.
I have no idea how she discovered him. 
I'm guessing school?
Isn't three and a half too young to sing "baby, baby, baby?"
But it's really not too bad.
She could be singing "I'm sexy and I know it!"
Oh wait, she says that, too.

The "junk in the trunk" comment rubs me the wrong way because it's derogatory, it's calling someone fat. 
She may as well be saying "he's got a fat ass." 
I don't like it.
I don't want comments like that to be overlooked by me, for Zoe to think that I think it's okay to say that about someone.
I asked her where she heard that, what it means.
Her responses were "I don't know" and "it means someone has a big butt."
I then stated that I don't want to hear that from her anymore.
I got a long and drawn out "ooooookkkkaaaayyyyy!"

A consciousness towards others starts to form early.
It's formed by what our parents instill in us.
In how we want to view others and how we are viewed by those others.
And I think that is so dope. 


Me and my peeps looking dope in 1989. 




     

A Conversation With Gigi

A typical conversation with Gigi at 3:00...

Mom: "Hey! How was your day?"

Gigi: "good"

Mom: "What did you do today?"

Gigi: "nothing"

Mom: "Did you have a snack?"

Gigi: "cotton candy"

Mom: "They gave you cotton candy?"

Gigi: "uh huh"

Mom: "Oh, there's your teacher! I'm going to go ask her why you were given cotton candy today at school for a snack!"

Gigi: "NO! It's a secret."

Mom: "Oh, okay. What else happened today?"

Gigi: "The bathrooms didn't work so we couldn't go pee all day."

Mom: "Really?!"

Gigi: "uh huh"

Mom: "Wow! Did you sing any new songs?"

Gigi: "nope"

Mom: "Learn a new letter?"

Gigi: "nope"

Mom: "then what did you do today?"

Gigi: "nothing"

She seems to really be enjoying school so far...

Getting IT!

My dad had (still has) a Bill Cosby album that we used to listen to.

We would laugh and laugh while it turned around under the needle and Bill's voice would boom from the fabric covered speaker panels of the full-sized stereo system my dad had (still has!) that held an LP player, tape deck, and radio all contained in a huge brown wooden structure that was displayed in the living room as just another piece of beautiful furniture.

Nostalgia moment over...

He would talk about the different things his wife and he would say to the kids as they were growing up.

I've held onto a few of these sayings and have added a few of my own in my parenting goals of threatening my own children into good behavior.

You do this, too, right?

Right?

Whatever...

My favorite from that album is:

"I brought you into this world and I can take you out!"

Cracks me up every single time.

But I deliver it with a stern face.

I usually get stares when I loudly declare this.

No one really takes me seriously.

But they should!!

Another saying I have that I seem to say only to Gigi is:

"you're going to get IT!"

which I then follow with
"I'm not sure what IT is, but when I find out you are getting IT!"

She usually shows me her butt and runs away.