Yes, it’s been awhile.
But it’s all good now! I’ve got a new laptop and life is happy!
So, for today’s feature, it is Wacky Wednesday!
Now, you need to guess, which outfit is the one for Wacky Wednesday?
Is it this one?
No, that was for for a Monday (sans the glasses).
Is it this outfit?
No…this was what she picked out for school picture day! I hope we can see her tights in the class picture! They are what makes this outfit AWESOME!
I know, how about this outfit?
If you guessed this one, you thought wrong! This was for a Thursday.
Let’s try this one?
Uh-uh…this one was just cute. She wore it on a Friday. (Pay no attention to the clutter on the counters)…
So, what DID she pick for Wacky Wednesday?
A pair of tights covered with a pair of inside out leggings, a backwards shirt, and…
…painted on freckles with a sticker on her nose (I have no idea what’s going on with her eyes in this picture). AND…
She’s pretty happy with her outfit.
Baby has been planning it for weeks!
The outfits above are all things she picked out herself, with much thought. She thinks they are beautiful and in no way are they wacky. I’ve decided that so long as the clothes are appropriate for the occassion, to let her go ahead and wear whatever makes her happy. I have to wonder if she will grow up to be either an a.) fashion designer or a b.) stylist.
Should be fun to watch!
I’m setting some goals for myself this year, NOT resolutions!
What’s the difference you ask?
Well, resolutions can get broken, goals are something to strive for.
My No. 1 Goal is to be less of a Helicopter Mom.
Over Christmas vacation I took a look at my kids and realized by their ages I was doing laundry, cooking meals, general housecleaning, I was home alone supervised by my Bubba and Sissy.
My kids do none of that. I have always been quick to “help” them (aka just do it for them!).
I realize now I’ve created kids who have absolutely no real self-reliance skills.
You know they say the first step in overcoming a problem is to first admit it exists. I’m saying to all the world, “I AM A HELICOPTER MOM! and I’m trying to land.”
Yes, my children clean their rooms, with help. They make basic microwave meals and toast, with help. They make cookies, with help. They play outside, supervised. They don’t stay home alone, EVER.
Currently, the extent of their cleaning skills extends to emptying the dishwasher (Big does the plates and bowls that go up high and Baby does the silverware), making the occassional bed, stacking items on the stairs to “take up later” and completely missing the laundry basket sitting next to their dirty clothes. And, Big is supposed to take her basket down when it is full and I’ll run it through the washing machine for her, but it doesn’t quite work out that way.
This is going to change.
The other day after I ran Baby’s clothes through the washer and dryer I had her come help me fold.
She’s usually a willing participant in things like folding clothes and making beds, it’s the whole putting away toys and books that she balks at cuz’ “I’m playing with that!”
But, folding clothes out of the dryer is a new experience for her.
In Pennslvania, our washer and dryer were in a dank basement at the bottom of rickety stairs. The kids were rarely allowed in the basement. In Tennessee, the washer and dryer are just off the kitchen. It works out quite nicely!
The next day I ran Big’s clothes through and called her to help fold.
“WHAT!” She hollered! “I don’t know how to do that!”
I told her, “If your Baby sister can do it, I’m sure you can figure it out! Besides, anyone who is known as a walking encyclopedia is smart enough to figure out how to fold clothes.”
And she did.
But she wouldn’t let me take her picture.
It wouldn’t have been a pretty picture anyways. She wasn’t happy about folding clothes.
Just wait until she has to do the floors! (insert evil laugh here!)
I’ll let you in on Goal No. 2 next week.
Okay, so maybe it isn’t Big Band as in swinging music from the 1940’s, but it was Big’s first concert!
The 6th grade band was playing together in public for the very first time.
All those caribou noises that came from the back room…
All those “Jaws” shark attack calls that chased us through the house…
Were leading up to this…
They weren’t bad considering the majority of these children hadn’t even held a musical instrument until 3 months ago. The Ranger said they were fairly, “Tight.” I have no clue what it means, but the band director seemed to take it as a compliment.
Now, we’re on to the Christmas concert coming up in December.
More caribou noises!
So, we just spent our second Halloween in Middle-of-Nowhere, Tennessee and it was pretty exhausting!
Turns out the realtor forgot to mention that our street is probably one of the most visited by Trick-or-Treaters in town! It’s to the point that they should probably close the street to traffic for the safety of the kids who spent the evening running from one porch to the next.
Last year we went through all of our 600 pieces of candy in literally 20 minutes. This year I decided to get a little bit more just to see I could make it last a little longer. We lasted nearly an hour with 920 pieces of candy! Pixie sticks to be precise…and, yes, I did give out more than one to each kid! Most of the time we had kids lined all the way out our walkway and down the sidewalk. I looked across the street and they were having the same problem as us. We just couldn’t pass it out fast enough!
Have you ever wondered what 920 pixie sticks would look like?
Now, ya know.
The candy was distributed by none other than Rapunzel…
(Who’s dress, I might add was GORGEOUS! and made by my Mama!)
Complete with the hair…
Which attacked her!
“AAAAARHHHH! MAMA! It’s got me!”
While Baby was having her bit of fun, Big dressed appropriately as the Cleopatra, or the Queen of Everything. Who decided on her costume because the Greek goddess was all sold out, and she did already have an Ankh necklace.
She was thinking about being Nepheret, but decided on Cleo instead. I’m wondering if it is just my child who would know the difference between the two?
So, another Halloween is done. We’ve added Rapunzel and Cleopatra to our costume closet. Big has picked all the cherry lollypops out of the candy, and the Great Pumpkin has come. Now…on to Thanksgiving!
Three Chicks and a Dude.
That could be the title of my life.
I’ve been thinking the past several days about what it means to be a Chick Mama.
I’m surprised that it has taken me this long to put my feelings into words.
The Ranger and I have been blessed with 2 Mini-Chicks, and as we don’t have any Mini-Dudes living in our house can sometimes be an estrogen-fest.
I love being a Mama, I love being a Chick Mama!
In this household, we keep hairbrushes, hairclips and bands in the drawer next to our silverware. (Not in the same drawer! The one next to it! EW!)
We have more “Babys” than Chicks in the house, and they have better wardrobes than I do.
We have more Barbies than Wally World, and have been informed that, “Just one more and I will have enough!” several times.
There are more purses in our house than people, and only 3 belong to me and most are decorated with Barbie or Hello Kitty. We also own more shoes than most shoe stores.
But, just so you know, it isn’t all unicorns and rainbows.
Chicks cry, they whine, they scream.
They giggle, they tease, they are huggers!
Being a Chick Mom is pushing through your PMS to deal lovingly and with understanding a pre-teen who is coming to terms with her own hormones. And hearing the phrase, “You all hate me!” screamed several times a week, followed by a flood of tears, stomping up the stairs and a slammed door. I never realized me telling someone that they needed to eat supper before desert meant I hated someone. Not sure I’m looking forward to the teen years, I have the Mother’s Curse on me and if you know what that means nothing more needs to be said on that topic.
Being a Chick Mom is to explain to your Mini-Chicks that we dress according to our ages. i.e. You are not an adult and you will not dress like one. Tights are a fashion must and the crazier they are, the happier the Chick! Unless you’re Big and then you think dressing up means wearing jeans with sparkles on them and no holes with a T-shirt that is clean (Big does not do dress up, Baby makes up for it in spades!).
Being a Chick Mom is to explain that you cannot date or have a boyfriend until you are 16 and here is why. Basically, by then we are hoping you decide to enter the convent or at least taken advanced self-defense. It is also having the awkward “Talk” with the female children while the lone male hides in his office.
My Chicks run the gamut between Eccentric Chick (Baby) and Nerd Chick (Big). There is nothing “normal” about being a Chick Mom; just as I’m sure there is nothing “normal” about being a Mom in general. It’s hard to put into words what it means to be a Chick Mom. It’s what I know. I’m not sure what I’d do with Dudes, but if I knew that I wouldn’t be a Chick Mom!
is talking about being a Chick Mom and what exactly it means. She’s the one who got me thinking about the topic. You can join her on Mondays to see what it’s like to be a Chick Mom as she features one Chick Mom or another on the topic!
What is it about girls and horses?
They just seem to go together!
My girls aren’t immune.
They don’t exactly have “Horse Fever,” they don’t focus on books and movies about horses, they don’t have collections of horses they play with…
But this past weekend we saw what happens when you put my children in close proximity to a real, LIVE horse!
Pure, unadulterated JOY!
They’ve been on little ponies before…you know the kind that just go in circles.
This was their first time on horses.
Big was invited to learn how to ride as part of her church youth group. Baby got to go ‘cuz we were driving.
We weren’t sure if Baby would get to even sit on a horse ‘cuz she’s not technically part of the youth group, but…
Someone took pity of a little girl who was looking at those horses like this…
And put her here…
Big won’t be barrel racing any time soon. She enjoyed it but wasn’t ready for more than one turn on a horse.
Baby on the other hand could possibly catch that “Horse Fever” if we encouraged it at all.
She may not look like it, but there’s a cowgirl in there just waiting to get out!