So, yes, ballet class was a huge success. I had sympathetic nervous tummy for her beginning Friday evening, but she was nothing but excited. Please observe one of her favorite activities — acting out our plans for the evening/next day (showering, drying off, PJs, going to sleep, going to ballet class):

My favorite parts include her wicked Transformer-life sound effects while putting on her pajamas, and her, uh, very energetic interpretation of what would be happening in ballet class the next day. Did you see that spot-on Mary Catherine Gallagher move?

SUPERSADE!

Anyhoo, yes, she loved her class, even though us parents had to leave the room before it started, which was completely fucking opposite what I’d been telling her all week. I misinterpreted the website’s claim that parents “are able to watch” by thinking we’d be lining the perimeter of the massive studio, but it ACTUALLY meant that all 17 sets of parents would be crammed together trying to peer through the vertical blinds of the singular tiny window of the studio door.

Taken right before I panic-whispered to Brad “They’re not lining her up on the barre, why aren’t they lining her up on the barre DON’T YOU OVERLOOK MY BABY YOU MONSTERS LINE HER UP THIS INSTANT!” and he had to shoot me a serious “Calm yo’ tits” look.

Sadie was, of course, a little unnerved by the fact that Brad & I were suddenly all KTHXBYE before the start of class, but the teacher led her over to the group, and even though I could TELL she was THINKING ABOUT losing her shit, curiosity and excitement won out and she held it together. And then: many secret photos were taken before some random ballet school authority figure came over and told us to knock it off.

That is my chile second from the left, with her little closed-knee plié that she has been doing NON-STOP ever since. Later on when I tried to explain to her how to let her knees fall open so they bend over her toes, she interrupted me with “I KNOW MAMA I ALREADY LEARNED HOW TO DO IT.”

The 30-minute class was over in a blink, and Sadie beamed with pride as she filed out into the hallway with all the other little shorties. We let her goof around in an empty studio for a few minutes (which is where the video above was taken).

Showing off the sticker that each ballerina received at the end of class.

Showing off her propensity for standing way up on the tippy-tips of her toes despite me constantly telling her that you need SPECIAL SHOES for that, honey, because Mama really doesn’t want to have a three-year-old with broken toes.

You guys. I am aware that I am IMMENSELY PROUD of my kid for this small potatoes little class. I can’t help it. I’m just SO GLAD she likes it (and did you notice the tights she’s wearing? It was a complete non-issue the morning of the class. I KNOW!) and I really can’t tell you how cool it is to see this former little larva baby growing up and forming interests in things.

(And yes, I got choked up watching her in class. SHE CAME OUT OF MY VAGINA, I’M ALLOWED.)

She only has three more classes (one of which I’ll miss because of my trip out west that begins in about a week)(!!!), and I hope that if she wants to continue dancing, we’ll be able to find a class that falls in that very small window of viable time during the weeknights (or, preferably, on the weekends). Seriously, Internet, I was about to WEAR IT OUT on all these dance places that only offered summer classes during weekdays. Someone has to pay for these classes and that someone is me and ME HAS TO WORK TO DO IT. Fools.

Anyway, the rest of the weekend followed ballet class’s lead and was pretty spectacular. We had a lovely leisurely Saturday afternoon, followed by a fun (but tiring) evening at my cousin’s graduation party. I asked my uncle if he was ready to be an empty nester, and he responded–in complete seriousness–that he’d been crying regularly about it.

Y U SO HEARTBREAKING?!

Oh, yes — ol’ noodleface up there is brought to you courtesy of a fancy Father’s Day dinner in celebration of the best damn Daddy I know.

The pile of discarded boxes outside CVS only serves to highlight the beauty of their relationship.

Even though it was not my turn to sleep in and be waited on hand and foot, I had an awesome time on Sunday making a big damn deal about Father’s Day. Sadie was more than happy to help me out with that, especially because she’s turning into more and more of a Daddy’s Girl with each passing day.

You guys. What happened?

In other news, we have been overtaken by a heat wave and I LOOOOOVE it, even though the lack of rain is making our grass look all peaked and it’s no fun having to water my stupid needy flowers every night. Oh, and ALSO? This fucking ridiculously adorable bunny rabbit is gnawing my strawberry plant into oblivion even though I’ve applied the requisite bunny-and-deer-repellent, and I’m having a hard time reconciling my I WANT THOSE FUCKING STRAWBERRIES feelings with my DAWWW BABY BUNNY RABBIT feelings. Sadie has named him Hoppy. I love him/hate him. Is this what it feels like to have a teenager?

Eh, whatever. I’ll still take the pains of summer (droughts, bunny issues, fucking spiderwebs all over every damn thing) over the pains of winter (slow, painful death of my soul) any day. Especially since Brad was gifted a bottle of good tequila recently and we’ve taken to sipping freshly made margaritas on the front porch after the shorty’s gone to bed. Man, tequila goes right to my head and makes me super talky. Sorry, lame next door neighbors who leave your bedroom window open AND go to bed at fucking 9:00 in the PM.

Alright, Internet. That’s all for now, although I’d like to take a second to point you in the direction of my latest Act Classy and MamaPop posts. This week I’m talking about Cirque Du Soleil and gyrating male strippers. Snore.

Girl you know.

An excerpt from the dreaded “Incident Report,” a.k.a. “Here’s a Bunch of Details About That Thing That Happened While You Were At Work Feeling Powerless and Guilty.”

Yes, Sadie took quite a spill late Friday morning on the concrete stairs outside her school. It was partially due to her trying to hurriedly squeeze up the stairs before a classmate, and partially due to her beloved slighty-too-big sandals I bought for her a couple weeks back getting caught on the edge of the step. Her teacher called me right after it happened, and I tried to catch the highlights of what she was saying (“…busted lip…lots of blood…she might need stitches…her teeth are all there…”) while I listened to Sadie wail pitifully in the background. I was sent a picture to analyze after the bleeding stopped, and a call to the pediatrician confirmed that stitches wouldn’t be necessary unless she had bitten through her lip (she hadn’t), and by this point Sadie was sound asleep in her teacher’s arms on the porch swing. I gave them the go-ahead to give her ice cream for lunch when she woke up. Only fitting, because by this point I was considering grain alcohol for lunch.

When we picked her up that afternoon, she looked much worse than I anticipated. Her bottom lip was bruised and swollen, and a close inspection revealed that one of her two front teeth had been shoved back. She talked with a lisp and wasn’t able to smile around the swelling, and I must tell you that all of this fucking BROKE MY HEART. BROKE IT. Because MY BABY IS HURT AND SHE LOOKS AND TALKS DIFFERENTLY NOW AND SOMEHOW I AM SURE THIS IS ALL MY FAULT.

We took her out to dinner at her favorite restaurant, but she was still kind of out of it from the events of the day. She cried because the cold grapes that came with her meal made her teeth hurt, and she had to figure out how to chew her mac & cheese on the uninjured side of her mouth but that took too long and she was SO HUNGRY and…cue the saddest of silent tears streaming down her flushed face. By this point, the broken shards of my heart were pulverized into a fine dust.

Then she said “I wanted you to be there when I got my boo-boo,” and I put my head down on the table and died.

Fast-forward three short days, and the lip is almost completely healed (lightning fast healers, those kids), the tooth has moved back into place like the dentist said it would, and all is right with the world. Also: Rapunzel dress.

She was LIT-rally trembling with delight when I helped her get into this dress. Well played, Disney.

This was Sadie’s biggest injury to date, and it wasn’t even that bad in the grand scheme of things…which is why I completely surprised by how thoroughly it shook me. You would’ve thought she [insert horrible injury here that I cannot even bear to joke about] by how terrible I felt about it and how much my heart ached each time I saw her bruised little mouth. On the one hand, I’m her mom so I guess that’s my job, but on the other hand, sack up, asshole! It was just a little fall.

This little incident reminded me once again of the parents of very seriously ill or injured shorties, and Internet, I do not–DO NOT–know how they get through the hours, days, and (holy shit) years without falling the fuck apart. Forget Bear Grylls and that 127 Hours guy — parents of sick and injured kids are the true survivalists among us. If anyone is ever entitled to carte blanche when it comes to driving like an asshole/leaving grocery carts out in the middle of the parking lot/not flushing the turlet in the public bathroom/being an all-around dick, it is those parents, because FUCK. I cannot imagine. And that’s just the having-a-sick-kid part. Add in the stress of healthcare and medical bills and, well, I think we should just let those people steal cars and vandalize public property and get publicly intoxicated whenever they damn well please, because a person can only take so much, and no person should ever have to take the reality of their kid’s future being an “if” and not a “when.”

This concludes today’s installment of “Topics That Make My Stomach Hurt.” I’ll be back soon with GIFs and dick jokes, pinky swear.

1. Guess whose leotard arrived in the mail yesterday, and guess who loves it after seeing real, live ballerinas wearing them on YouTube? I cannot believe I got this thing on her, Internet. She even seems excited about the soft, pink tights that arrived late last week. Also, this shit could not be cuter.

(And how much do I love her expression in this photo? SO MUCH. Although she really wasn’t in a particularly sassy mood when I took it — she was just taking a drink of water from that (HORRIFIC) Rapunzel princy-ess cup* with her hand on her hip and BOOM. Not a single fuck was given that day.)

2. You need to watch this video right now. RIGHT NOW. Mister Rogers was the fucking best, my friends, and yet somehow this video improves upon his previously established awesomeness. I’m not sure why, but when I watch this, I get all choked up and want to cry. Not going to examine that too deeply.

3. The “Me So Hornsby!” shirts you desperately need are on sale over at Act Classy! This is mine, and I shall take care to wear it on fitting occasions such as baby showers and parent-teacher conferences. Also! Please to read my latest at MamaPop.

More to come later-ish!

*I picked up this cup on the sly at the grocery store last weekend and stashed it away as a potential future reward for good behavior, etc. …but I ended up giving it to Sadie on Sunday evening for her amazing behavior during the Kitchen Nightmares taping during which Gordon Ramsay shook my hand and called Sadie a princess HOLY FUCK YES THIS REALLY HAPPENED. I can’t tell you much more than that, but I’ll let you know when the episode airs. It wasn’t a very large group and odds are good we’ll be in it at least a little bit.

You can look grumpy in front of leaping flames all you want, sir — you will forever be the man who called my baby a princess and for that I shall LOVE YOU ALWAYS.

Word.

I don’t think we’re all collectively pissed off because we have to go back to work (which we mostly all accept as a necessary evil for procuring food and shelter and whatnot), I think we’re all collectively pissed off because the workweek/weekend ratio of 4 days/3 days feels SO RIGHT, and we know we won’t see another until Labor Day, and FUCK. THAT. SHIT. So if we can all agree that the 4/3 week is AWESOME and NECESSARY, then…why can’t it just be that way ALL THE TIME?! Change starts with you, bosses of the world! Make that shit happen! I guarantee that productivity would not suffer, because who wouldn’t work a whole hell of a lot harder starting down the barrel of a three-day weekend every week? Also, let’s just be frank: if you add up all the fucking-around time of most employees, it would equal an entire workday. Cut that extraneous day, I say, and improve morale and the quality of life all around! I AM A GENIUS! A genius who wants another motherfucking three-day weekend, DAMN.

As you may have gathered, my weekend was amazing (and I hope yours was as well). The awesome times started on Friday night, when Brad & I headed downtown for the Ben Folds concert. Brad is the bigger Ben Folds fan in our house, so he bought our tickets a few months ago, but I was more than happy to tag along, enjoy some outdoor drinking beforehand, then cry like a fucking maniac listening to Ben Folds sing “The Luckiest” with the entire Pittsburgh Symphony backing him up.

I LIT-RALLY do not allow this song to play while I am operating a motor vehicle, that is how deeply IT DESTROYS ME.

After that lovely and romantic evening, we all woke up early on Saturday to begin a busy weekend of haircut-getting:

Ice cream eating:

Outdoor market browsing:

Ridiculous Hello Kitty/tiara visor-purchasing-and-wearing:

And dress and shoe shopping for a certain costume jewelry-sporting princy-ess who apparently has an affinity for gladiator sandals (that she has not removed since picking them from the clearance rack on Sunday):

I’M DYING. AND NOW I’M DEAD.

Suffice it to say, the weekend was wonderful, and now the three members of our little family are trudging through the first day back in the work-and-school routine in that cloudy haze that always accompanies the end of a fun stretch of time together. Sadie was quiet and morose on the way to school this morning, and I am quiet and morose(-er than usual) here at my desk. I am quite aware that I have no real reason to be sad today, but DAMN. I miss my buddies.

Brad & I were repeatedly stunned over the weekend by the constant reminders that Sadie is such a little girl now. She wasn’t necessarily doing anything new (she’s been pretty independent in a lot of areas for a while now), but it’s just the things she says these days. She understands and can articulate so much, and I just have no idea where this WHOLE ‘NOTHER PERSON who lives in my house came from, you know?

(I mean, I know. But it’s still pretty awesome that a romantic dinner and a bottle of cheap red wine can reap such lasting and amazing results.)

When I took her shopping for some more summer dresses on Sunday (as you can see, she has been wearing that pink and white sundress OUT, and because it was purchased as a solitary test dress for this former dress-hating child, there was much need for a few more in the rotation), I suddenly realized how different it is to go out with her these days. Besides the (poorly-working, detestable) folding potty seat cover in my purse (not a diaper bag, a purse), there’s no longer a need to drag sippy cups and toys and extra clothes and snacks along on a simple trip to the store. As we walked through the racks of bathing suits and flip-flops, my tiny baby was suddenly transformed into one of my girlfriends, out for some afternoon shopping: “Oh, Mama, look at this dress real quick!” “I don’t like that dress, though.” “I love the flowers on this dress.” “I don’t think I need this one because I already have a pink dress.” “I like these shoes, Mama, are they my size?” “This one has sparkles! I think maybe I should get it.”

Everything we purchased (including that headband that I think is actually for infants) was hand-selected by my little side-braid-wearing fashionista. And I purchased way too much because LOOK AT THAT FACE. NO REGRETS.

Although I fear that Sadie’s growing sense of style will translate into another reason for her to roll her eyes at her LAME, NO-STYLE-HAVING MOM in her teen years (she already harshly deemed my brown flip-flops “not pretty”), her interest in clothing is a welcome (and adorable) change, especially considering that this is the child who would only willingly wear sneakers for the first 2.5 years of her life.

Pictured here exactly two years ago in her very first pair OMG MY HEART. 

(Yes, I still have them. Shush up.)

She’ll always be my baby, but now she also my little friend. My shopping pal. Brad’s movie buddy. The little girl who tells me to act afraid just so she can pat my back and say “It’s OK, Mama.” The kid who held Brad’s face in her hands last night and told him “You’re my Prince, Daddy.”

Just FYI, in case you’re looking for a pony today, you will not find one, as Brad has  purchased all of them for Sadie.

(Also, this pony is a real thing. There’s a company in Indianapolis that will apparently bring real live sparkle ponies to your child’s party. Ponies who I’m sure are totally loving life.)

In sum: three-day weekends every week, heart-exploding love for this kid every day, and metallic gladiator sandals 4 lyfe. If I was your annoying Facebook friend, this is where I’d tell you that life is good.

(But I won’t, because you already know it is (all the asstastic bullshit withstanding), and because no matter how fantastic my mood, I always want to throttle those “LIFE IS GOOD!” Facebook people good and hard. LIFE IS GOOD AND MISSING FIVE TEETH NOW, BRAH.)

Ugh. Shut up, assmunch.

Not sure how this happened, either, but it has. And in both cases, I think we just need to go with it.

First of all, let me give a brief synopsis of the first weekend, which was the pasta party/marathon/trampoline weekend. I guess all you need to know is that two out of three of those activities were thoroughly enjoyed. Which one wasn’t such a hit?

Obviously not my photo because 1) I do not usually get that dressed up to stand next to a trampoline, and 2) MY CHILD HATES TRAMPOLINES.

Oh, you guys. Sadie was SO EXCITED about that damn trampoline. I talked it up to her all week, and while I expected her to be a little hesitant, I also expected her to get over it once she saw her friend enjoying it. Sadie has been quite the follower lately when it comes to hanging out with other shorties (she wants to mimic EVERYTHING the other party does and will get very testy if you do not help her accomplish this), so I figured she’d quickly get over any fear and enjoy the awesome spoils of jumping around like a crazy person with no adults stopping you. This is the child who attempts to jump on our couch (which is sitting on a hardwood floor and is also adjacent to a hardwood coffee table with pointy edges galore) every blessed day! Surely she will recognize how incredible this opportunity is!

Yeah…not so much.

She balked at going in when we first got there, which I expected. About 15 minutes later, I talked her into at least trying it, and she quickly realized the ZOMGTHISISAWESOME-ness of it all, but then after a few minutes she seemed to notice that the floor of the trampoline would bounce whenever her friend jumped, NOT JUST when she jumped, and this = LOSS OF CONTROL, and because Sadie = MY CHILD WITH MY DNA, I watched as a wave of panic suddenly flashed across her face, and she begged–near tears–to be removed from the hellish pit of unabashed fun. I took her out immediately, of course (nothing destroys me faster than watching her experience the panic that I GAVE HER by way of my genes, I’m sure of it), and she and her friend went on to play with some other stuff for a while. After maybe an hour, Sadie suddenly requested to go back out to the trampoline, so we all rushed back out there. Same thing happened again: a few minutes of pure enjoyment, a realization of OH SHIT I CANNOT CONTROL THE BOUNCINESS OF THIS WEIRD FLOOR, and a panicked request to be taken out. And I couldn’t care less if the kid hates trampolines (less time spent in the ER for me!), but man, it sucks to watch your kid freak out and know that there’s nothing you can do to stop her from feeling that awful flutter of fear in her heart.

And what was Brad doing while I was rescuing our daughter from the clutches of fun? He was recovering from running 13.1 miles in an hour and 50 minutes (8:30/mile) on a surprisingly hot May morning because HE IS INSANE. (And we are very proud of him.) (And I heartily suggest you read his wisdom on marathon running here.)

And then…last week happened, with all its weekly routine stuff. We worked. We came home. I took Sadie to her 3-year checkup at the doctor’s office, which was fine except for the fact that their bathroom was out of order…something I discovered approximately 30 seconds after Sadie turned to me and said “I have to poop.”

In the waiting room during happier, poop-free, yak-hat-wearing times.

I have to say that I am pretty proud of myself in times like that, whenever I have a small person of questionable poop-holding skill telling me that pooping is imminent and yet there is no bathroom is on the premises. There was a time when I’d flip the fuck out in situations like this (and sometimes I still do, trust), but for the most part, I manage to switch my brain to “one step at a time” mode, which allows me to quickly figure out how to most efficiently get from Point A to Point B without losing my shit so that my daughter might lose hers in a proper receptacle.

But that was the bitch of the situation — there was no bathroom within an easily-walkable distance. This would have been pretty awful had it not been for my new best friend, The Plastic Travel Potty I Bought Four Months Ago That Has Been Chilling Out In The Trunk Of Our Car.

Friend, your time is now.

Car-owning parents of recently potty-trained children, GET YOU SOME OF THIS SHIT. Because although we went months without ever using it, we have used it SO MANY TIMES in the last few weeks. That’s partially due to the fact that it’s been warmer out, so we’ve been venturing out of the house more often and for longer stretches of time, and also partially due to…I don’t know what else. JUST BUY ONE OF THESE. PLEASE.

Sadie is thankfully totally cool with the portable potty seat drill, and although we try to just use it for, uh, LIQUID EMERGENCIES, there have been a couple of code browns we’ve had to handle this way as well. And…I’m going to stop talking about this now, because as it is I’m going to have to delete everything I’ve just written whenever Sadie discovers the Internet. JUST GET THE SEAT. YOU’RE WELCOME.

Anyhoo, this past weekend was also excellent, beginning with a Saturday morning breakfast and grocery shopping trip followed by a lengthy trip to the park.

A flower crown for the princy-ess.

We spent the rest of the day eating popsicles on the porch and enjoying a summery dinner together (Sadie’s love for corn on the cob has apparently remained intact since last year), and after the shorty passed out at bedtime, Brad & I watched Young Adult.

I want to talk a little more about this later, but in short, I loved it. And the more I think about it since I watched it, the more I realize how much I fucking love it.

The next morning was Mother’s Day, which I welcomed by sleeping in until 9am and having breakfast brought to me by the cutest two people I know. The same two people also gave me a couple of absolutely perfect cards that damn near made my heart burst.

I was then told to go off and get the manicure I’d been wanting to get for a while now, and you know when’s a super easy time to get a manicure on short notice? On a fucking Sunday that’s also fucking Mother’s Day. I finally located a place that was able to take me and give me a proper manicurin’, but I also had to listen to the, uh, technician? manicure artist? argue vehemently with his mother for the duration of my visit. HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY TO YOU, MA’AM. Your son may be a dick, but he paints a mean nail.

Upon my return, it was time for an early dinner with my dudes:

(Dinner/dog grooming session.)

We enjoyed a wide array of treats from the all-day brunch menu, which for me included sangria, smoked salmon with capers, and scallops on a bed of polenta. Sadie had the pasta, naturally, but turned her nose up at the strawberry yogurt that was actually just plain yogurt with fresh strawberries on top. So you know what Picky-Picky ended up eating as a starter instead? Half of my damn smoked salmon. Did I mention she also likes dried seaweed as a snack? BUT TURNS HER NOSE UP WHEN STRAWBERRIES ARE ON TOP OF YOGURT INSTEAD OF BLENDED THROUGHOUT?! Child, I do not understand your logic.

Later that evening when the shorty was in bed, Brad ducked out in order to fulfill my one last Mother’s Day request: a giant piece of strawberry pie. It was perfect, as was my day, and the celebration will actually continue into August, which is when I will be able to enjoy Brad’s Mother’s Day gift to me: tickets to see My Morning Jacket and Band of Horses, FUCK YEAH.

Thank you for making my Mother’s Day, guys! And I didn’t even have to birth you or nothin’!

So, those were my two excellent weekends. Next up: this weekend, when I travel to WV and leave the shorty in the care of her grandparents for the evening on Saturday while I go tear it up with four of my very best girlfriends from back in the day. We’ve got a hotel room for the night and everything! To enable irresponsible behavior! Of course, keep in mind that we all have small children now, so “tear it up” probably means “asleep by 11:30pm because we know we have to take care of small people the next day,” but whatever. This particular group of friends has been known to encourage very…questionable behavior in the past, so I just might have some stories for you next week after all.

See me in the back? THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO ME WHEN I GET AROUND THESE PEOPLE. I foresee much white girl roof-raisin’ in my future.

Sorry, that was rude. I just really needed an excuse to use THE BEST FUCKING ANIMATED GIF OF ALL TIME.

First, allow me to share my sheer fucking GLEE over the fact that the weather seems to have made a permanent turn for the better (i.e., warm and lovely and fuck a bunch of that 40-degree bullshit in MAY, you whore weather patterns). Last Saturday was ridiculously cold and dreary, but by Sunday morning the sun was shining both in the sky and IN MY SOUL, because we were heading out to the new IHOP semi-near our house for a pancake breakfast. We had actually driven out there a few weeks ago in anticipation of syrupy delights, only to discover that it had not opened yet. This news was not received well by the tired and cranky members of our family, which is to say ALL OF US and EVERYONE SHUT UP UNTIL WE CAN LOCATE SOME FUCKING PANCAKES.

Honestly? I don’t even like restaurant pancakes that much. I am a big fan of the paper-thin pancakes I make at home by thinning out the batter, not that fluffy bullshit you get in most places. The only exception is IHOP, where the fluffy pancakes are somehow acceptable to me. Perhaps because each table is adorned with a bounty of syrup options? Perhaps.

After cramming ourselves full of pancakes, we decided to stroll through the Lowe’s across the parking lot to look at the garden section (it’s almost time for me to drop a ton of cash on things to plant in my garden that will get eaten by wildlife/meet a swift end thanks to my blatant neglect!). We ended up buying some of those colorful, interlocking foam squares for a section of the basement we’d designated as Sadie’s subterranean play area, a.k.a. the place we put her play kitchen and larger toys so that her closet can store things other than the Weebles Treehouse.

Which plays some really rockin’ Weebles-themed house music whenever one of the Weebles reaches the bottom of the slide. It’s absolutely not annoying in the least.

Sunday was also the day when Sadie — my pants-loving, dress-hating child — walked up to me and said “Mama [she calls me Mama sometimes now, and I LOVE IT], do I have any dresses to wear?”

Once I recovered the ability to speak, I said “Well, let’s go take a look,” but on the inside I was shouting HELL NO YOU DON’T HAVE ANY DRESSES, DO YOU NOT REMEMBER HOW YOU NEARLY PEELED THE PAINT OF THE WALLS AT CHRISTMAS TIME SCREAMING ABOUT THE INJUSTICE OF WEARING A DAMN SKIRT FOR CHRISSAKES?!?!

She didn’t like the two hand-me-down dresses I found (OF COURSE, but in her defense, they are kind of fugly), and I saw her face fall a little bit whenever I told her those were her only options. “But I want to look like a princyess,” she said, adorably pronouncing “princess” with that “y” in the middle as she’s always done, and I knew then and there that I would find her a damn skirt or dress to wear at 6pm on a Sunday evening if it fucking killed me.

Enter the infamous Christmas skirt:

“Now I look like a princyess!” she said right after I took this photo. Oh, ridiculously overpriced Christmas skirt, you are finally earning your keep.

I promised her that we would pick up some more casual summer skirts soon so she can princyess it up on the reg now that the warmer weather is here to stay. How did we survive all those months with early sunsets and no after-dinner bubble-blowing and sidewalk-chalking?

In other news, it was FoST’s husband’s birthday this week, and we celebrated by providing dessert at our house after their birthday dinner date. I picked up a couple apple pies (his favorite) at a local bakery, and HOLY FUCKING ASSBALLS, Internet. I am not a huge apple pie fan (I, along with Warrant, prefer cherry), but FUCK. FUCK! That pie was the best goddamn pie I have ever eaten, and I told Brad that I would require its presence at every major occasion in my life from this point forward.

Right there with you.

With those tempting pie leftovers haunting our kitchen, it was TORTURE to have to resist taking a bite yesterday morning when I was forced to fast before having some blood taken at one of those snazzy blood-taking places. See, I behaved like an actual adult last Friday and got a physical after having some really weird spells of dizziness/weakness, and after finding nothing wrong with me during my exam (the doctor’s diagnosis: you’re probably just getting old and stuff), I was told to go get my blood tested for…I don’t know, anemia or Weird Dizzy Disease or the presence of spider eggs or whatever the fuck. I think I have mentioned before how much I FUCKING HATE getting blood drawn, so I was totally dreading it, especially because it deprived me of Morning Pie. The Blood Lady was actually very quick and efficient (I apparently have really hard veins to tap — no heroin for this gal!), and I was out of there in no time. The only odd thing was the giant poster on the wall that said “In order to prevent error, your phlebotomist will confirm your identity at three separate points during your appointment,” because, uh, that did not happen AT ALL. I don’t think that lady said a single word to me, so here’s hoping they don’t mix my sample up with some poor fool with fucked insulin levels, because this bitch will not endure a life of artificial sweeteners. WILL NOT.

Of the devil.

Anyhoo, now here we are, at the end of another busy-busy week, and I’m excited to be at the start of a weekend that includes a pre-marathon pasta party (hold the marathon — for me, at least) and a Sunday play date that involves a trampoline. It’s gonna be epic.

See you — and hopefully all of my child’s teeth and unbroken bones — next week!

Although I don’t see how that would be possible. I follow the instructions on my pill bottles to the letter!
(I laughed at this for way too long. Read it aloud in an increasingly agitated tone. It gets even better.)

Not only was our photo studio experience mostly painless, the resulting photos are pretty awesome too:

Just a screenshot from the website, but unnngh, you guys, the cute.

I let Sadie bring along two of her beloved stuffed animals (she chose ‘Baby Reindeer’ (who is really just a deer) and ‘Mini-Oreo’ (a black cat who is a tinier version of a larger stuffed cat she named Oreo)), because, hell, that’s who she is right now: a little girl who hates dresses and has a stuffed animal in her hand at all times.

Don’t mind me — my heart’s just flying apart inside my ribcage.

Baby Reindeer made it into some of the shots, but he looked a little…less than alive in most of them.

This one’s not too bad, because I jumped in to semi-pose him before the photo was taken. I mean, he looks like he’s either in the midst of yoga or smelling the floor, but at least…

…he doesn’t look like he’s been shot.

At one point, the photographer pulled out a long length of pink tulle (you can see it in the pic above) and had Sadie pull it up over her face (“I’m a ghost!!!”) and then throw it off with enthusiasm. I was not so excited about this, because I knew it would mess up her already static-prone and highly-mess-uppable hair, but then it resulted in this, one of my very favorite shots:

When was the last time your child killed a deer then channeled Mick Jagger?

I still like the non-studio pro photos better, but man, I really liked some of these. I even ordered a few of those collages the employees put together to try to sucker you into spending way too much money, but I think I’ve established that when it comes to this kid, I am a complete gulli-bull.

Bless you if you recognize that joke, because it has been stuck in my head for twenty-odd years and WILL NOT LEAVE.

So, thank you, family who is constantly pressuring me to darken the doorway of these dumb chain photo studios. Sometimes it actually pays off a little.

(All seemingly dead Baby Reindeers have been tastefully cropped out in the production of this photo.)

Hey, if you ever want to lose faith in the creative power of humankind, do an image search on corporate-ish buzzwords and phrases like “time management.” What the fuck is going on up there. WHY IS THAT GUY PULLING A DESK LIKE IT’S A FUCKING PLOW?!

So, some exciting things happened this weekend: I got to spend a whole weekend with Sadie all to myself because Brad was out of town for work (BOO), and we had a thoroughly fantastic time (YAY!). Even though we didn’t do much of anything except get some more damn studio portraits taken at Target (BOO, as you know, but this time she not only ENJOYED IT, she was flat-out WORKING IT for the Target photo lady, which means I spent a metric assload of cash on the prints because SO CUTE) and play outside in the beautiful weather (YAY!), this kid, she is a delight. And I’m saying that even after she sort-of-accidentally-but-also-maybe-on-purpose pile-drived her giant melon into my lip and made me see stars for about ten minutes.

Oh, that photo up there? Taken during our fucking INTERMINABLE wait at Target (why do they even bother having you make appointments?! WHYYYYY) with my brand new spanking Instagram app, because I am on the cutting edge of technologies released two years ago.

I don’t even know what took me so long to get it (IT’S FUCKING FREE), because I LOVE looking at other people’s Instagram photos, and I love the way they seem to capture the moment how I see it/want to remember it (a more eloquent explanation of why I like it so much can be found here). Also, I’d been looking for an easier and more mobile replacement for my Flickr pro account, which I let lapse over a year ago. I even removed it from my sidebar over there because I think the “recent” thumbnails included the photo I took on the day I got my tattoo in January of 2011, and that’s just a damn shame.

So, anyway, I’m on Instagram as jiveturkeyjones if you’re also on Instagram and want to see how I kind of went apeshit taking Instagram photos this weekend. It’s a little much. At least I’m not tweeting every one I take (or any of them, actually), but you best believe I log on to Twitter solely to see other people’s Instagram photos. SUCH IS MY OBSESSION WITH INSTAGRAM.

OK! OK! I’ll get back to work. Hope you’re having a great Monday, Internet.

Also, boobs.

And then, the weirdest thing happened. One minute she was all

And then I blinked and she was suddenly all

“Sorry — I gotta take this.”

Just like my own birthday, Sadie’s birthday really hit me hard this year. Not at all in a bad way, just more in a HOLY SHIT, ACTUAL YEARS ARE PASSING HERE kind of way. I didn’t even realize how much had changed since last year until I saw the photo evidence:

Chubbycheeks vonTinypants, last year on her second birthday.

I MEAN COME ON.

Thanks to leap year and the cruel passage of time, Sadie’s birthday fell right in the middle of the week this year, so I took the day off to spend with her. Brad had initially planned to be off, too, but having to take off for the broken-furnace-feline-kidney-stones-a-palooza of the first part of the week meant he had to go slave away for The Man while Sadie and I lounged in our jammies and took a trip to the museum. After she went to bed on Tuesday night, though, we were both able to prep the living room for Little Miss Three’s birthday surprise:

FUCK YEAH DOLLHOUSE! Also, Tangled shirt that was worn all day on her birthday, to bed that evening, and to school the next day. If you can’t indulge in a little spotty hygiene on your third birthday, when can you?!

I have some really sweet macro shots of the dollhouse on the “real” camera, but who knows when I’ll actually upload the photos, so here are some iPhone shots for your consumption. SERIOUSLY with this dollhouse, Internet. I love it so hard. So does she, of course, but UNNNGGHH ALL THE TINY THINGS I CANNOT GET ENOUGH. We actually had the foresight to tell people what we were getting her so they could supplement with gifts of the accompanying dolls/furniture sets, which you can see worked out pretty well. I don’t have any shots of the kitchen right now, and it is BY FAR the most AMAZING room, what with the tiny cutting boards and knives and food and canisters and muffin tins with tiny muffins and yes, maybe I do play with the kitchen set sometimes after she goes to bed, LAY OFF.

We were some of the only late afternoon visitors at the museum on Wednesday, which was fortunate for two reasons: 1) Sadie was able to have unfettered access to all her beloved exhibits in the hands-on kids’ area:

(Please note hot pink manicure, which she has been requesting for a while now. Don’t worry — this is about as far as I will go with the cosmetics until she is much older. I mean, sure, we get her brows waxed and her roots done every six weeks, but she has to have something to keep her occupied while her father and I are getting our Brazilians.)

And 2) there were virtually no witnesses to the barn-burner of a tantrum that ensued thanks to a toy horse that just KEPT FALLING OVER, YOU STUPID WHORE PONY and her plummeting blood sugar. This was the first real public tantrum she’s had in a loooooong time (maybe ever-ish?), and probably pretty indicative of what we’re in for with age three (lord, beer me strength), and although it was in a nearly empty area of a space that I’m sure has housed its fair share of shorty bitch-ass-ness, I still felt my face flush with embarrassment as I dragged Shit-Lose-y McThree into the (very echo-y, THAT’S JUST GREAT) marble hallway to calm her down. After I managed to get some strawberries and crackers in her gullet, things evened out and we were able to continue enjoying the day, but you can rest assured I will not be so lax in doling out the snacks in the future. DAMN.

She was so tired after her spaghetti dinner that she didn’t even make it to birthday cupcake time at home (she calls them “cupcapes,” which makes me clutch my chest from cute every time), but we sent her to school with them on Thursday so that she could enjoy the sugary spoils of her birthday with her friends.

(Don’t worry — we checked with her teachers to confirm that this was cool before we delivered the giant tray of baked goods.)

(Although I am just now realizing that I subjected her teachers to an afternoon of wily children post-cupcake consumption, and for that I am truly sorry.)

I wrote Sadie an entry in the I’m-Afraid-I’ll-Die-Before-I-Get-To-Tell-You-These-Things journal I keep for her, but in case the journal perishes along with me in the fiery airplane crash I worst-case-scenario myself in late at night, allow me to provide some documentation here of what Sadie is like at three years old.

At three years old, Sadie:

• Will finish song lyrics from Tangled if you start humming them around her (often in the right key — DAMN MUSICAL GENIUS, I TELL YOU);
• Still says “aminal” along with “cupcape” and “backsit” (for “basket”). I am prepared to die inside when she eventually corrects these;
• Likes to be held, but only for a little while (which is fortunate, because she is getting tall and heavy, yo);
• Doles out unprompted hugs and kisses;
• Loves to watch Brad’s dramatic re-enactments of her trips and falls;
• Loves laughing at herself;
• Will playfully mock me and parrot back my words in a funny robot voice;
• Likes to stand on my feet and talk to me when I’m making food/washing dishes in the kitchen (I love this so much);
• PARENTAL PRIDE ALERT: Knows and can identify all her letters, can count to twenty unassisted, is starting to sound out words (with assistance), can write her name without tracing, is a goddamn PRODIGY according to her boastful mother;
• Can be shy around large groups and new people (especially when I’m around), but once she warms up, it’s Ham City, complete with constant requests to “WATCH THIS, WATCH ME DO THIS, DID YOU SEE THAT?!”;
• Still asks a lot of “Why?” questions, but they’ve recently gotten less generic. It’s not so much “Why?” as it is “Why are some people boys and some people girls?” Uh. I think I liked the plain old “Why?” questions better;
• Always wants to help with chores, and actually folds a mean washcloth and/or hand towel. She will also be straight-up pissed if you unload the dishwasher or put away the groceries without her;
• Will be a teenager in ten short years, holy shit;
• Will always, always, always be my baby, my Sadie, my heart.

Happy birthday, kiddo.

C’mon, man. You know how I roll.

So, Easter weekend. That happened. Holy shit, did it happen. Let’s dive in:

JEERS:

• The fact that Sadie screamed for a solid hour during the drive to WV Friday night, complaining that her “butt hurt.”
• The fact that we have been dealing with “butt hurt” complaints for, like, a month now (who is she? the Internet?), and after taking her to the doctor a couple weeks ago and having everything tested, we were told it was probably a yeast infection from the antibiotics she was on AGES AGO, so we purchased and applied the requisite cream, so WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? Actual pain or preschooler drama? (Please note that butt hurt never happens at school, only at home, only around me, and only when she’s tired/doesn’t want to do something she’s supposed to be doing, like GOING TO SLEEP ALREADY, GOOD LORD.)
• The fact that she woke up at 2am later that night squirming and crying and experiencing obvious discomfort, SO NOW what the fuck do we do?
• The fact that she was up until 5am in this manner. Sorry, brother-in-law, who opened his spare bedroom up to our charming family! Hope you didn’t plan on actually, you know, sleeping tonight.
• The fact that–after a call to a very awesome pediatrician friend–we discovered that we had been applying completely ineffectual lotion to Sadie’s infection.
• Because I bought the wrong kind all those weeks ago.
• Because the RIGHT kind (Lotrimin) is shelved with the fucking JOCK ITCH products and marketed as “FOOT CREAM,” and how the fuck was I supposed to know that it was OK to put that shit on my small child’s tender nether regions?! Where is my kid-friendly version with a fucking teddy bear on the package?
• The fact that my HURR DURR caused my poor kid to suffer unnecessarily for weeks.
• The fact that I am talking about yeast infections on my blog.
• The four hours of sleep we all got before Sadie’s big birthday party.
• The overtired tantrum she threw at bedtime on Saturday, when she literally cried and screamed herself to sleep (HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HONEY).
• The cold (and cough! don’t forget the cough!) she woke up with the next day.
• The broken furnace and subsequent COLD AS FUCK house we came home to late Sunday night.
• The kidney stones Tootsie was diagnosed with Monday morning.
• The $420 vet bill that came along with it.
• The hefty furnace repair bill, that was nice enough to come along and keep the vet bill company.
• FUCKING A.

CHEERS:

• Looking in the rear view mirror and seeing the sheer excitement on this face as we headed south to visit her relatives and have a Big Girl Birthday Party:

• The party outfit I bought for Sadie, who loved it just as much as I did:

You guys. That face. My heart.

• The party, attended by so many cute shorties, after which Sadie said, “That was the best birthday I ever had.”

• The Easter pants! That arrived on Friday! And totally fit! And looked criminally adorable!

It appears we are over getting our picture taken.

• Tootsie did not die while we were away, and in fact should make a full recovery with the help of some special food.
• Her vet, who was quick and kind and presented me with all the treatment options and prices in a way that made me feel like he wasn’t going to judge me if I didn’t want to front the cash for stuff like cat ultrasounds.
• The furnace has been fixed. Baguettes are no longer being frozen off.
• Act Classy launched and is fucking hilarious. Seriously.
• Tonight I will be baking vanilla cupcakes with strawberry frosting for a certain little girl who turns three tomorrow at precisely 6pm.
• HOLY SHIT.
• Cupcakes for breakfast tomorrow. Recognize.
• After the cupcake baking (complete with thorough taste-testing), Brad & I will be assembling Sadie’s rad new dollhouse for her birthday morning surprise, and I ain’t gonna lie, I am so excited to play with that shit.
• I’m taking the birthday girl to the museum tomorrow, and then we’ll join Brad  for a fancy spaghetti dinner. Man — did I get lucky birthing a kid who always wants to eat pasta or what?!
• THREE YEARS, Internet. Three years of this one:

The Sadie-pillar renders all your JEERS null and void.

I hope you had a better/just as awesome Easter weekend as I did, Internet. Check this space tomorrow for incoherent weeping about the cruel passage of time!