the straw

Adelaide has handled all the upheaval this summer—spending every third week with her father, having grandma take over the to-and-from camp stuff, and moving into a new house—like a rockstar, but I think maybe all of it culminating in the start of a new school year killed our camel.

She was an emotional wreck today about everything: crying, whining (my favorite), foot stomping and arm folding about the smallest things.

At dinner, when I caught her holding a stick of butter to her mouth—about to take a bite as though it were a block of cheese—and told her it wasn’t for eating (not like that, anyway) she sobbed so hard I had to hold her in the other room for a few minutes.

Because I wouldn’t let her eat butter.

She gave herself the hiccups.

Because I wouldn’t let her eat BUTTER.

The whole day was like a surprise psych evaluation. Not quite sure I passed.

Things I considered in the darkest moments:

  1. Hiding in a closet until bedtime
  2. Shouting, “barbaric yawp” style, at the ceiling
  3. Faking my own death
  4. Peeling off my face

I’m pretty sure cherubs threw rose petals on us as we made our way through tonight’s bedtime routine.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow will be better.


First ride vs second ride … although she went back to that face (and clenching my hand almost to the point of pain) once it started moving.

She finds ghouls and skeletons completely delightful but how (not remotely) high the horse on the carousel goes is frightening. Go figure.

And yet she insisted we ride it twice.

Maybe I have a thrill seeker on my hands?


We bought lots of slightly too large in order to get the most mileage out of them as possible school clothes today, but a few weeks ago we purchased new shoes and both a new backpack (physically necessary) and a new lunch bag (emotionally necessary).

These are they.

The photograph on the left doesn’t do those sneakers justice. They are truly hideous shoes. I mean deeply ugly. The pink and purple are the sort of neon tone you’d get from colored highlighters. So they match pretty much no item of clothing ever made.

BUT Adelaide wanted “twinkle shoes,” that was her one request, and these were the only $45 monstrosities sneakers Stride Rite carried in her size that lit up.

Side Note: How is that even possible?! Light-up shoes are immensely popular. Did Stride Rite do that on purpose to try to get rid of these horrible shoes their buyer invested in after breakup binge drinking? There’s gotta be a story there.

Adelaide loves them—sigh—so that automatically makes them money well spent.

The items in the photo on the right are her new backpack and lunchbox. She was presented with a display full of different bags—some pink or purple with fairies or anthropomorphized vixens on them—and this is what she chose: a dinosaur and a pirate skull.

It’s a little insane how proud this makes me.

We even went to the Disney store afterwards (for a different reason), which was full of girly backpacks and lunch things, and she was still thrilled with her choices.

The only thing that makes me nervous about this is the thought that one of the older kids—Montessori is a mixed age group, so there will be children in her class turning six this year—might say something to Adelaide about her bags being “for boys” and ruining how much she likes them. She’s spunky when she’s comfortable, but she tends to hang back and be really quiet and shy until then, so I don’t think being challenged right away would go over well.

But I’m not going to borrow trouble. I’m just going to enjoy that my princess-obsessed three year old opted for gender neutral bags and stop there.

On a related note, we visited the boys section a few times today during our clothes shopping. The sizing is totally different—I bought her a 2T Henley that was actually a little too big—but it tends to be slightly less expensive, more durable, and sometimes much cooler.

For instance, there were NO superhero shirts in the girls section. None. But there were several displays in the boys section. As I sidled over to one of them, I said something to Adelaide (ie, mostly to myself) about there being zero superhero choices in the girls section and how it was “a conspiracy, if you ask me,” and another mom across the aisle shouted over that she agreed.

We laughed.

Darkly.

The Target trip concluded with an armload of mostly girly outfits, a mermaid Barbie, and a Justice League t-shirt.

Spot on, I’d say.


gracewillhazeyou:

fishcustardandthecumberbeast:

overdosed-on-apathy:

This post had me at finger pants.

HORSE TORNADO.

I like all of these so much better than the actual words

This is so familiar to anyone who’s been a parent or a nanny: that logic/association language kids develop. Adelaide gets SO pissed off when I don’t know what she’s talking about.

There’s a famous story in my family about the DC sister referring to lettuce as a “salad ball.”

(via maniacopazzo)


Labor Day weekend back-to-school shopping

When child support reaches the height of its hilarity


friday five: kids and vacations edition

  1. After a quick chat at today’s open house with a mom I really like, I signed Adelaide up for a Saturday ballet class. I am sooooo looking forward to tutus and tights from now until January. Zero sarcasm.
  2. Adelaide’s father is coming to the area next weekend for a visit. Guess which Saturday is the first Saturday of ballet classes? Yup. Now I’m debating whether it’s better (and who it’s better for) to skip the first class or to tell him about it and suggest we all go together … and pretend we won’t be fantasizing about tossing battery acid in each other’s faces the whole time.
  3. My parents are taking a much-needed vacation in October that happens to overlap with Adelaide’s October visitation. I have NO idea what I’m going to do with myself during all that free alone time. Battle the sads a little, I’m guessing … lots of yoga … maybe Crossfit … see a movie … it’s kinda too bad I’m not seeing anyone … SIGH … I’m gonna stop talking now …
  4. I may get to do my annual college girlfriend get together after all! We’re circling a date at the end of September. Fingers crossed. These are life-renewing weekends. No kids. No men. All laughter. ALL the alcohol and foods. Good times.
  5. I was mostly joking about the second thing. I’m gonna give him the option of taking Adelaide to ballet—they’ll both be delighted—I’m just not gonna like it. But that’s ok. Cause it’s not about me.

I worked from home for half the day today so I could take this little lady to her new classroom open house.

Celebratory Sweet Frog is underway.

It’s a pretty great Friday.

I worked from home for half the day today so I could take this little lady to her new classroom open house.

Celebratory Sweet Frog is underway.

It’s a pretty great Friday.


Throwback Thursday.

Speaking of footwear, we found my first pair of baby shoes during the move. They were in a box in the garage (clearly well-cherished).

Yes. I know they’re huge. We lived in Florida, so I didn’t get shoes until I was two … and I HATED them. In that photo album I received for my 30th birthday, there’s a picture of me sobbing on the kitchen floor and tugging at my shoes. Whenever my mother would try to set me on the floor, I’d bring my legs up as high as they’d go so she’d have to sit me down on my bottom.

Ab work was apparently way preferable to those shoes.

When my parents asked me if I wanted to keep them, I said no. So they went out with the trash.

I feel like two-year-old me would be feeling incredibly vindicated right now.


random associations

I moved and packed in my work dress the other night—the final night—but took off my shoes for safety.

Four-inch wedges + heavy boxes + stairs = nope

As I was driving from the old house to the new house with a car full of stuff and weeks (ok, months) of unpacking ahead of me, I realized I was feeling both happy and relaxed, which didn’t really make sense. It took me a few seconds to realize where that feeling came from:

I was driving barefoot.

I hadn’t wanted to put my dusty feet back in those cute shoes, so I elected to drive without them. I only ever do this on the way back from the beach, which is when I’m always warm and happy and completely unwound.

Maybe I should drive barefoot more often.


Adelaide’s happy contribution to what is please-dear-sweet-baby-jeebuz our last day of moving.

Adelaide’s happy contribution to what is please-dear-sweet-baby-jeebuz our last day of moving.