Shorts

One of the biggest struggles around these parts lately has been bed time - again.

Addie wants to be part of the party (the party usually consists of her Dad and I dozing off in front of the TV). She sneaks down and sits on the bottom step or silently plays in the dining room. Occasionally, the cat meows to tattle on her. More often than not we just sense her presence downstairs - that and she runs from her room down the hall like a herd of elephants.

After taking away toys and books and bedtime stories, we had to really get serious. Andy's genius idea? Take away her dresses. And her skirts. ALL of them. The result? Addie has to wear shorts (insert dreaded shriek here).

Shorts, according to my darling one, are the devil's creation. You can't twirl in shorts. You can't spin and be beautiful in shorts.



Shorts bite and are mean.



Inevitably the morning after the dresses are confiscated I deal with sobbing and crying and screaming and pleading. Puhleaaasssse, Mama. No shorts. I no like shorts. Mama a dress puhleaaasssse. I wanna twirl. Puhleaaasssse! Princesses don't wear shorts MAMA!





What she doesn't seem to get is that she can twirl in shorts. That she is a princess no matter what she wears.

And that, darn it, the kid looks cute in shorts.

How Sweet It Was

Over the past year there were moments that I thought I experienced the so-called terrible twos. There were tantrums and testing. Tears and screaming.

Those were moments.

I have discovered that my version of the terrible twos was a cake walk. It was rainbows and daisies and fluffy bunnies. I didn't know it then, but the twos were a dream.

We are one solid day into the threes and I am getting a little worried.
She is sassy to say the least. She says things about my 'big old butt' and points out my moles, freckles, zits. She has some catch phrases, that are about to push me right off the reservation.

• One minute! (Huff)
• OKAY! I said ENOUGH! (Huff)
• Fine, I'll DO IT! Gimme a minute. (Huff)
• I don't want to! NO THANK YOU! (Huff)
• I told you I DID. I told you. (Huuuuuufffff)

Most of this is said with rolling eyes or hands on the hips or stomps. Occasionally, an index finger is wagged in my general direction.

I swear, you can see the attitude swirling above her head.

Bedtime is a nightmare - she has been getting up, several times a week, multiple times a night. For a run to the potty, for a tissue, to check on the cat. Twice in the past week or so we've found her sound asleep on the stairs and under a blanket in the middle of the kitchen floor.

We've taken away stuffed animals, privileges and so on - thus far the only thing that is effective in keeping her arse in bed is to take away her dresses. All of them. You know you are the mother of a princess when the only fate worse than death is having to wear shorts.

For the record, tomorrow she's wearing shorts.

One day in and it's all defiance and testing and sassiness and volume. Those 'terrible twos'? I miss them. I mourn them. And now I face what appears to be the terrifying threes.

Pass the wine please.

And then she was 3

On Saturday my house was full of princesses.

The princess cake. The new princess chair, umbrella and doll set. There were no less than four tutus. There was one pair of fairy wings. There were dresses and skirts and frilliness. There were games and hugs and squeals.

It was her third birthday party. And she felt oh-so big and oh-so grown and all I could think was "My heavens, how has it been three years?".

How is it possible that three years ago I was holding my belly, gladly accepting an epidural and holding Andy's hand, waiting it for IT ALL to happen. Out she came and she was squishy and cute (the kind of post-birth cute that only a parent can see). She stretched and squirmed and showed us the capacity of her lungs.

She was perfect.
Or so I thought.

And then I watched her grow.
And I learned how to be a parent and continued to be in awe of her worldly girliness.
Her perfection is endless....

She has shown me how to be silly. And blindly trusting. She has taught me how to harness more patience than I even knew the universe had. She prances. And twirls and runs too fast. She is all sass and already knows way more than I do, or so she tells me.

Her imagination is endless. Sometimes she's the princess and I'm the queen. Once in awhile she's Cinderella and I'm the not-nice StepMother. Occasionally she's the fairy godmother and I am turned into a horse. Sometimes I am the one-eyed-monster and she is the witch. Or she is a kittycat and I am turtle.
She loves to chat on the phone - with Gramma Kathy, with Daddy, with her imaginary friends' parents and with Ry.
She has opinions on how things are done. How to fold the laundry, load the dishwasher, spread peanut butter on her bagel. She knows red, green and yellow and is the world's most vocal backstreet driver.

She can go to the potty and wash her hands all by herself. She still likes to take a bath, but thinks that showers are super grown up. She loves to set the table and help Daddy at the grill. She knows how to pick up, but doesn't always choose to.

She adores her family. She loves to talk to them and about them. She loves those who are in her backyard and those that are miles away.
She worships her Daddy - fiercely. She respects him and adores him and tests his limits. They are each others' best stinkopotomuses. And they make my cup runneth over.

She has friends. Friends who watch out for her, who care for her and who make her world better. Many of her friends are boys : Max, Jake, Joshie, Nicholas, Harrison, Evan. But she thinks girls are awesome too: Elise, Maggie, Marissa, Maddie (there's a few Maddies), Baby Sam.
She shares (for the most part) and loves to have play dates.

She loves to sing, loudly, off tune.
She likes to pretend and dance and play hide.
She begs to be pushed higher in the swing and loves to help in the garden.
She makes sure the cat is fed and the birdies have food.
She loves to dance and twirl and leap.
She likes peanut butter, strawberries, mushrooms, asparagus and all things princess.
She begs for ice cream and milkshakes and sweet treats.
She makes sure to look both ways before crossing the street.

She is brave and adventurous, but once in awhile hides behind my knees.
She still silently reaches for my hand a thousand times a day.
In the morning kisses and cuddles are always on the agenda.
After a nap her favorite place is still my lap.

She is three.
And she won't promise to stop growing, but she does promise to always be my baby.

Happy third birthday little bean....Wow.