Monday, March 25, 2013
We spent some time at the park on Saturday.
When the Easter Egg Hunt was planned, we assumed it would be warm.
After all, it is Spring.
It was not warm.
There were complaints of, "I can't feel my fingers!"
And, "Brrr, me freeze!"
I think we've successfully established that there has been no global warming.
Nevertheless, the kids toughed it out, and came home bearing Easter candy.
And facepaint that they wanted to wear to church on Sunday.
Happy start to "Spring!"
Saturday, March 23, 2013
I get a lot of questions about the fact that Savannah does pageants.
"Is it like Toddlers and Tiaras?"
"Oh, she does those like Honey Boo Boo?"
Nope. Not like any of those things.
There are no dances. No removal of clothing. No spray tans for children.
No fake teeth, no fake hair, and no crazy moms teaching routines.
We don't spend an obscene amount of money on gowns.
She won her first pageant in a dress from Ross.
In our experience with the girls that do pageants, they are confident, beautiful, smart, and powerful.
They are composed and well-spoken under pressure.
They change the world.
They are creative and kind.
They make dreams come true for sick kids.
They raise money for great causes.
I admire them.
Savannah has known queens who support the Special Olympics.
Queens who visit her sick sister in the hospital.
Queens who shave their heads to support children with cancer.
They go to college on scholarships.
They pursue careers in politics, medicine, and social sciences.
And you know what I've noticed about confident girls?
They don't need to impress others or give in to peer pressure.
They don't need a boy.
They are comfortable in their skin.
They are less likely to be victimized or bullied.
They aren't insecure.
So, after knowing many pageant queens, I laugh when people ask me why I would let my daughter do a pageant. Because to me, the answer is simple.
I don't mind if she turns into one of those girls.
There are certainly worse things to be than a pretty girl who can change the world.
Wee Miss Botetourt Sweetheart 2013
Miss America 2027?
Monday, March 18, 2013
We all have heard it said.
They're only little for a little while. Enjoy it while you can. They grow up too fast.
An important fact often overlooked, however, is that these phrases are said by those who aren't in the trenches. They're said by older people who sleep through the night, have clean houses, and no piles of laundry staring them in the face on Monday morning. There are no dirty hand prints, no lunches to pack, and no quiet toddlers up to no good to hunt down and clean up after. They have perspective.
It is hard to have perspective in the trenches.
You hear someone say that they grow up too fast and lets just be honest.
You think... whatever, well-rested-non-spitup-stained lady.
Because its hard to find perspective when you've heard "Mommy!" screamed more than you've heard an adult talk in the past 24 hours...or when you swear you just vacuumed, but nobody would ever know it.
And sometimes you're just too daggone tired to have perspective.
You don't really care that your toddler will soon be a teenager and that those early Saturday mornings will soon be a thing of the past... that day can't come soon enough. And you can't wait for the day when you won't get awoken in the middle of the night to hear something like, "Mom, I went to the bathroom. Just thought I'd tell you in case you wondered what the noise was." The toilet flushing at 3 am? I knew what it was. But thanks for waking me to tell me anyway.
Last night, I was in bed watching a movie. I heard the turn of a doorknob, and little feet patter down the hall. Around the corner came my little Linus, dragging her blankie and rubbing her eyes while squinting against the light coming from my room. "What are you doing?" I asked her.
She silently crossed the room and crawled up into my bed, snuggling up against me. Then she grinned up at me and said, "Me seep you bed now." I weighed my options for a minute and then decided that I guess it wouldn't hurt. So I told her that she had to be quiet and go right back to sleep. "Otay." she replied. She then wrapped her arms around my neck, nuzzled her face right up against me, and was snoring within minutes, happy as could be.
I'm sure as I get older that I will have more perspective. I'll wish I allowed things like that more often, that I played more and cleaned less, and that I wasn't too tired to enjoy the moments. But it is hard to have perspective in the trenches. However, even in my exhaustion-induced state of delirium, I know there are things I will miss. Little chubby toddler hands in mine, "hold me Momma!", excitement over the little things, a little girl running to me with her arms out after getting off of the school bus each day, and the cheerful way that children wake up, no matter what happened the day before.
So I will endeavor, in these little days, to have perspective in the trenches.
Just so long as nobody talks to me while I drink my coffee.