Relaxing with the Reuters

She may have looked terrified:

But trust me, she loved every second of it:



 This weekend was filled with giggles and silliness - Addie's buddy "baby" Sam came to visit and the girls did a lot of giggling and playing, a tiny bit of napping and some carnival ride riding at Oktoberfest.  Sam didn't love the roller coaster, but the Ferris Wheel, cars and Merry Go Round were a hit.

Little Ferris Wheel Riders - they just kept going around and around

Silly willies on the Merry Go Round



Addie showing off Andy & Tool's favorite part of Oktoberfest

Enjoying the Ride

Giving the pony some loving

Mine and Michelle's favorite part of Oktoberfest
(the fried Snickers was a close 2nd for me)

The gentlemen enjoyed some plastic steins of good German beer, we all partook in some incredibly fried food (mmmm, sauerkraut balls) and the people watching could not be beat.  After a back yard fire pit Saturday night, Michelle and I turned in early (aaahhh, pregnancy), while the boys continued to play for few more hours. 

Sadly on Sunday our playmates had to head back to Chicago - but not before two sweet little princesses made crowns together and gave each other a dozen hugs.

It's amazing to see these little girls grow...isn't it?

In Chicago August 2009

In Cincinnati 2011

A Soccer Player?

Before I decided to fall in love with running I did quite a few extracurricular activities.
I was in ballet - my mom said I was the little strawberry on stage that turned right while the rest of class turned left.
I was in tap and jazz - both provided me with super cool costumes, but neither helped me find my rhythm.
I did gymnastics - I could bend and flip and whip around the uneven bars, but for the life of me I couldn't stay on the balance beam.
Finally I found soccer. It was rough and tumble. I had a good set of lungs, tightly tied cleats and zero fear (for a pipsqueak). I charged the opposite team with fury. I had scabbed knees and grass stained shorts. I went through many pairs of cleats, a boat load of mouth guards and more than a few sets of shin guards. I played on a coed team and had no fear of the bigger, faster, more aggressive boys. BRING IT ON - at least that's how I felt until during one particularly tough game I fell a bit awkwardly. When I got up I knew I was hurt, but I also knew I wanted my team to win the darn game - so I played on. I don't know when my coach realized that my arm was at an odd angle, but I know I was pulled from the game and sent to the hospital. Turns out I had a dislocated elbow (that I decided to relocate myself while my mom arranged for transportation home for my brother). Also turns out that relocating your own elbow is not a wise choice and I was rewarded with a sling for several weeks.
I don't know how many seasons I played soccer, but I remember knowing that I was not cut out for the cutthroat world of high school soccer. At the start of freshman year I hung up my cleats and laced up my cross country running shoes and never looked back (that sport rewarded me with a bum knee - really athleticism is NOT my thing).

Anybody who knows Andy knows he has a love of soccer. He'll set his alarm for the wee hours of the morning to catch a Liverpool game. In 2006 he went to the World Cup in Germany and in 2010 he took more than a few personal days to soak up World Cup soccer on the TV. When we got HD cable early this summer he was most excited to finally have access to the soccer channels. He's in a fantasy soccer league (because it's just not enough to be in a fantasy baseball and fantasy football league). He has a plethora of soccer jerseys, we have canvasses of Liverpool players on our basement walls, and give him enough beers and he'll sling his arm around you and teach you the lyrics to "You"ll Never Walk Alone".

Andy also played soccer - he was the goalie. The guy who throws himself at unnatural angles in front of a ball moving incredibly fast. The guy who dives head first on a ball that is being attacked by very sharp cleats. The guy who has to be willing to live with bruises everywhere - only in Andy's case, instead of a bruise he was rewarded with a broken leg, and shortly thereafter most of his soccer playing days ceased.

The point to all these hazy memories?

Yesterday evening Addie and Andy took a daddy/daughter trip to Dick's Sporting Goods. After spending a few afternoons kicking around her princess ball it was decided that it was time for her to get a real soccer ball.

Rumor has it, she beelined for the solid hot pink ball, but was more than pleased with the white, black, and light pink ball Andy picked out.

When they got back from the store Addie rushed to get ready for her first soccer lesson. Don't you think for a minute that to play soccer you must sacrifice fashion or the ability to twirl. She bounded downstairs in her yellow athletic skirt, bright pink tank top and fancy princess sneakers ready to rumble.

As they kicked around in the backyard I spied with my camera and laughed. What a perfect way to kick off the week...

*When he got home tonight Andy informed me that I took too much literary license with his part of the soccer tale. I stand corrected - Andy broke his leg in 5th grade, not 9th as I had thought. It was broken the one year he did not play goalie. He also contends that he would never teach YNWA lyrics in a drunken stupor (I'm a bit skeptical of his last claim).

Princesses

I have had a lovely potty post waiting for your enjoyment, but Blogger is having issues with the video feed, and without the video of my darling daughter the post just isn't half as good. Therefore, while Blogger works diligently to allow my video to upload, I will move on.

The potty, I feel, will be a long drama of peeing and pooing and frustration. I am sure there will be many rant filled posts and wine filled nights to assist me through this process. So instead let's talk focus on something sunny - Princesses.

I don't really have that much of a problem with Disney Princesses. I know that there are all sorts of negative messages hidden in Disney stories that intellectual feminists can dissect to prove the destruction of positive girl self-image.

For example, my friend Sharon can't stand The Little Mermaid - she points out that Ariel literally gives up her voice to get her man - what kind of message does that send to little girls? Sure I see Sharon's point, but I also know that I wouldn't mind having Ariel's kicking waist line or mane of red hair, and darn, that girl can sing. Shallow of me? Yes.

So fine, there are negative messages, but I think there are some that could be skewed as positive too.

Seriously, Addie loves The Little Mermaid. She sings the songs, she dances, she cheers Ariel on. And why shouldn't she cheer her on? Ariel is curious and adventurous. She has a love of learning about new things. She has no problem with exploring creepy, sunken ships or with brazenly going to the surface. Sure, she defies her father, but what little girl doesn't on ocassion?

Addie also loves Cinderella. What's not to love about Cinderella? She's an animal lover. She's a hard worker. She can sing beautifully and she doesn't have a mean bone in her tiny size zero body.

And Belle? Oh, Belle is the bomb. She is loyal and brave. She loves books and turns her back on sleazy men. She's willing to look beyond the physical appearance of people and see their inner goodness. She adores her Daddy and doesn't need a prince to save her.

Snow White might be a little dim witted, but that girl quickly figured out how to get seven men to bend to her will and wait on her hand and foot. That's quite a skill.

With Addie's love of princesses comes her love to dress like a princess - tiara, tutus, princess heels, sash, wand, jewels - the whole she-bang. Lately, she's been insisting that her tutu is a part of just about every outfit. Yesterday, while I was on the phone with Gramma Kathy she walked proudly into my room in this get-up:

Yes, she's wearing a tutu on her head. Yes, she's wearing her pink flowery tutu over her Tinkerbelle dress. Yes, she's wearing her yellow Belle princess heels. Yes, she's feeling confident and in control.

I laughed so hard that I cried. Actual tears, dripping off my face. She was so proud of her outfit, she practically pranced into my room. She spun in circles and curtsied and took a bow. She was regal, and silly, and sassy.

So while my college-era feminist self isn't the biggest fan of the princesses, my mother of a two-year-old self has no problem with it.

I know that she and I talk about not just how cute she is, but how smart she is. Not just how pretty her skirts are, but how fun her sneakers are. I know that she loves her tutus and adores her tool sets. She likes playing the princess, but she also wants to kick a soccer ball.

My mother of a two-year-old self knows that those princesses aren't raising her, her father and I are.

And we, on occasion, feel like we're doing a pretty good job.