There is a point to all of this

After the sweet scene that played out in our bathroom in-home beauty parlor this morning, we hit a sour note. And by that I mean I told you that the faux tribal makeup was going to scare the babies at the gym daycare and that you had to take it off.

Or I would.

No, staying home by yourself while the rest of us watch HGTV run our guts out on the treadmills is not an option.

Okay, so I see your choice is for me to take off the makeup.

I always know that choice is never going to end well.

Oh look, Baby Girl is in a whole different outfit. Surely this must be a different day altogether.

Or! This is the same day when you insisted that the only way you were going to the playground was as Butterfly Girl. You are clearly railing against the minimalist dress code of Montessori that you know you are marching into in a day or two. So I indulge.

You were wholly satisfied with the pink mesh ribbon I festooned into "wings," attached to your sundress with a scrunchie and a Mary Kay Cosmetics pin. Everyone came out a winner. Until later when you wanted me to reattach them to your pajamas. Something about sharp pins and sleep and ribbon was not adding up in my mind as GOOD IDEA.

I was on bed detail tonight and I felt like Ms. Pacman working my way through all of these paths, snapping up my pellet points to bedtime victory, and you and your brother kept floating out from every warp tunnel like the Ghosts of Namco. The!

As I was rocking your unwieldy overtired brother, you told me something that was important enough for me to write it down, which believe it or not is the point of this whole post. You said, "Mama? We love Daddy to the moon and past Heaven and into a field of flowers. But we love you to the moon and to the Milky Way and to Jupiter and past Mars and all the way to North Carolina. Yeah."

Know what, Baby Girl? I love you more.

4 years, 5 months

A waft of bare feet tickles my nose in the car. "Baby Girl, I can't even breathe in here. Your feet smell horrible!"

"Oh. Sorry, Mom!"

::Wipes feet with diaper wipes.::

::Offers the newly cleansed feet for inspection::

"Mom, can you breathe now?"

***

We went to go see "Brave" the other night. Just you and I. I had read this review by Jane Roper and deduced that you were emotionally equipped for the motion picture.

Fifteen minutes into the film, when we were both pooping our Pixar pants over the totally gratuitous gnashing of bear teeth, I thought, Oh haha? I was wrong. We pushed up the armrest between us and I sort of held you but really you were pretty much holding me and together we were sort of Brave, trying to make it to the end.

On the way home, you told me about the last time you went to the movies with Daddy, and you specifically recalled how you got cheesy popcorn, an orange soda, and Skittles. Here's hoping the ring pops we bought from the Dollar Store are the stand-outs from this mama date, too.

***

A grandma who was looking in on your dance class tonight observed, "That little girl in the black leotard--she's doing so well. She's so cute."

She's with me :)

*** I said a bad word tonight and you rebuked me and told me you would take it out of my mouth.

*** Thank you for being my comical, brave, talented daughter with a pure heart. You teach me far more than I could ever hope to teach you. You are one of God's best ideas. I love you.

All Aboard the Hot Mess Express

There was a reason we were in the hobby shop. Part of the reason was because I am a twirtysomething female who had, heretofore, never visited a hobby shop! The crime! The other half of the reason is because there was a rockin' train table in the front of the hobby shop whereby my Little Man could play while I explored the aisles chock full o' Dungeons and Dragons paraphernalia.

Of course the part about leaving the child to be babysat by Chuggington & Friends is patently false. I would never venture to the Dungeons and Dragons aisle! The! I was obviously trying to find the hardest puzzle that a hobby shop could offer. You figure this was a shop for hobbyists, you know they be having some Rhodes Scholars-caliber jigsaw action, am I right or am I right?

We're making fine time in the hobby shop, Little Man running all the trains on schedule, and I finding puzzles that would make NASA cry salty tears to solve.

But then, my organs decided to fail me.

I was perfectly poised for the pending pick-up of Baby Girl in 35 minutes.

I was standing in the middle of a retail establishment run by men who freelance as Pokemon at ComicCon.

So of course, my intestines start to combust.

I gather Little Man and we make a break for the restroom THANK YOU, PROVIDENCE, there was a restroom in the back of the hobby shop. But it was a one-top situation. There was just the singular crapper and the sink and then there was the door.

When you pry a 2 year-old away from train candy, he will thank you by giving you options:

1. 1. You can choose to leave him at the train table where after 0.2 seconds he will realize his abandonment and child protective services will be waiting for you with the cuffs when you get out. 2. You can bring him into the restroom with you where after 0.2 seconds he will reach up for the handle WAIT YOU CAN REACH THAT NOW?!? and expose his mother, sitting on the throne with her pants around her ankles, in front of Pokemon & Co. 3. You can hold him on your lap while your intestines Chernobyl and you can watch the unicorns jumping over rainbows as you soak in this sweet moment of motherhood.

***

35 minutes later and you are right on time for pick-up. Winner Winner Chicken Dinner! Pay no attention to the thrashing toddler in your arms, who is so hysterical from being wrenched from his beloved train table YOU HAVE A BETTER ONE AT HOME, KID, who does not fail to go for the jugular even in front of 500 of your closest churchies.

The most amazing part is that you are muttering all kinds of colorful things to yourself Why the flerkity flerk flerk is this shibblety shibble happening and then lo! Baby Girl OH HONEY, HOW WAS VACATION BIBLE SCHOOL?? TELL ME ABOUT THE MEMORY VERSE YOU LEARNED TODAY!!

Your son is convulsing so loudly now that this is not even about public restrooms or trains. It is just about humiliating you and making sure you know that you are NOT actually the conductor. You are still just along for the ride.

This train is bound for glory, y'all.