It was time for a little dessert. Little did I know that “little” would be the operative word. Yes, I am on a diet. I was craving some ice cream and wanted to put the ice cream in a cone. I knew we had cones because the box of cones was on the dining room table the other night when I came home from work.
Chloe was not to be outdone the other night by Sophie’s interview. For your reading pleasure, here are Chloe’s responses to the same questions.
Sophie has requested that I write about her tonight. And of course I need to comply with her request. But what to write? I was going to write about her royal crankiness, but I’ve already covered that here. But boy, was she cranky again tonight.
“I really want to ride shotgun!” Chloe begged yesterday. I tried to find a law that prohibits kids from riding in the front passenger seat, but there isn’t one (unless you’re under 8 years old). The guides recommend no younger than 12, but it’s only a recommendation. That was enough for Chloe to beg us some more.
Sophie is going through a phase. That’s a euphemism for “she’s being a pain in the ass.” Cranky, bossy, moody, albeit still cuddly, she’s driving us crazy.
Sophie and I love playing I Spy computer games together. Especially after losing all TV, Internet and telephone service, which only just came back about 10 minutes ago. During this time of great crisis, I remembered that I had a couple of I Spy games on the computer, and boy, did they come in handy this evening after Sophie threw a fit (which she does much too frequently these days) about some mysterious slight that was known only to her.
This was one of the most relaxing and enjoyable Mother’s Days I’ve had in a long time. For no particular reason. My husband made us a pancake breakfast this morning and the girls gave me their presents. A homemade card, a picture, a flowering plant – all made at school – and chocolates from Sophie. An “Angry Birds” pig from Chloe. The girls used their own money for the gifts, for the first time ever. And my husband heeded my strict instructions not to get me anything – hell, he’s my husband, not my kid. And I loved my gifts. They were perfect.
Sophie is getting older. She still likes to cuddle, but I am starting to sense that she’s not into cuddling as much as she used to be. More often than not, I’m the one who’s asking her to cuddle. Whereas in the past, she would just come to me and cuddle. I’ve been in denial about this for awhile now, but I think I need to start facing the facts. Sophie is getting older and it’s an irreversible trend.
This is a day worth memorializing. This blog post is the 1,000th musing on www.pinkmenot.com. Yes, indeed – 1,000 stories about my girls (mostly about my girls, in any case) since October 2007.
Now that’s a feat of derring-do if I’ve ever heard of one. The most amazing thing about it is that I’ve kept it up this long. I don’t think I’ve ever maintained a hobby for that length of time. Which must mean that I really, really enjoy writing about my kids. I think that’s a big hint to me about what I should be doing with the rest of my life. Now if I’d only take the hint…
Sophie’s hair is getting curlier and curlier. She’s in desperate need of a haircut, which I promise I will take care of in the next couple of weeks. With the warmer weather, her hair is also frizzier and frizzier. And knottier and knottier. Which makes Sophie cry.
So she’s past due for a new ‘do. My goal is to have it cut a little shorter than usual. A little more like Shirley Temple. Which is easier said than done. Because I certainly can’t share my intentions with Sophie. She’d flip if I told her my plans before the actual date with the scissors.
Needless to say, Operation Curly Cue is going to necessitate a fair amount of subterfuge and bribery by chocolate.
