Grace, baby. Grace.

So we did a little fingernail painting tonight. The pink kind. Then she wipes the wet polish on my FAVORITE and EXPENSIVE run around the house pants. (You know the kind that are dry clean only that have no business being 'run around the house pants', but you got them on sale and they're friggin' adorable? You know? Those!)



"Oops, I got polish on your pants."



"OH PANTS!" and what do I do? Yeah, I'm my mother's daughter (and I'm sooo going to hear it on this next comment...) and I throw the polish bottle on the floor (capped, don't panic) and stomp into the bathroom to try futile damage control. Yes, I even slammed the bathroom door for good measure. Steam steam steam. My cute pants? Ruined? My little Pants? Oh, she's sitting on daddy's lap watching a great movie? See, when I'm an irrational pain in the a@@, he kicks into superdad mode. Great! So not only did I lose my temper, but Mister Superdad shows me up. *sigh*



I cool off outside and paint my own toes... they're very cute by the way. And come back inside to do the bedtime thing.



To set the scene, I'm leaving for a long weekend in Dallas tomorrow morning which may have contributed to the temper tantrum (that and a pile of other things... but we'll not go there today.) As I tuck her in I tell her I'm a little grouchy. She apologizes for getting polish on my pants and we have a sweet moment of "thanks for that and I know it was an accident and I'm sorry for losing my temper and ... and... and... ". Then she says to me as she's getting all tucked in, "I'll miss you while you're gone." I'll miss you too, honey. Then the grace of all graces:



"I'll pray for you every day when you're gone." Oh sweet girl, if you only knew how much I'm going to need it. Bless her heart!! Does one ever deserve the kind of love one's children are capable of giving and routinely give?



Then she asks me to sing her hymns as bedtime songs from our hymn book. I pick "Come Now Fount of Every Blessing" and "Angels From the Realm of Glory." Now, I ask you, after a good old fashioned hymn sing, how could I stay grouchy? God blesses me daily with her childlike faith. I think it's God's way of reminding me of how little we deserve and how much we have been blessed with. I'm humbled.... and not grouchy. And sorry for being so fussy about my pants.


She is a blessing to me each and every day.

Out of the mouth of my babe...

Pants and I got her a library card today. We went to the library, filled out the forms... she filled in her own first name and picked out the pretty pattern on the card and dutifully signed her name on the back. Then we went book-hunting. Fancy Nancy, Junie B. Jones, and my personal favorite, Nancy Drew.

Fast forward 15 minutes to the car on the ride home: "Mom, I think I want to skip Kindergarten so I can go to college... I know math, I know how to read and I can spell my name." Give a kid a library card and she's going to want a scholarship.

One more quote I couldn't resist posting. Many of you know I don't cook. At all. For lunch today I thought I'd do a little Rachael Ray ham and cheese waffles with honey mustard dip. Kid friendly, I know how to use the waffle iron, Rachael Ray... you get the picture. And I quote: "Tastes like ham poision." They tasted alright to me.

Bumpa, THIS is how you work the remote

Dad was in town last weekend and did some Grandparenting while Mister was out of town and I was working late. He picked up said grandchild from Farm School, fed her the requisite ravioli, bathed and pj'd her and as is custom at the Beach House, Miss Pants wanted to watch a little Sprout Channel before bed-time.

One problem... Bumpa had not mastered the remote. There is no shame in that, mind you, it has baffled many a babysitter and guest not to mention the mommy. Mister is the master of the remote.

Undaunted, Miss Pants decided to help Bumpa with the remote. She patiently drew instructions on which buttons to press to get her beloved Sprout Channel up and running. Then apparently very IMPATIENTLY tried to get Bumpa to "make it happen." I has to giggle a little when I saw this amazing likeness to the remote lying on the coffee table when I came home.

She lost a tooth!

Not a very creative blog title but I wish you could hear the angst in my voice. Wasn't it just the other day when that tooth was FOUND!? Didn't Miss Pants work so hard to get that tooth in? And now, cruelly, it falls out. I'm really fighting this "growing up" thing she's up to. Yet aren't I constantly admonishing her lately to "lose the baby talk". Which is it?

I know, I know, our job as parents is to grow them up and out into productive members of society one tooth at a time. It's just that little gap in her smile and her new little lisp are constant reminders that she is no longer a little girl and has even eclipsed "big-girl" status. She is all GIRL. All knees and elbows and missing teeth; braids in her hair, popsicle sticky face and dirty summer feet; skinned knees, bruised shins, and tan lines from living in her swim suit. And I just eat her up...

She, on the other hand, is so proud. The first words out of her mouth after, "Mom, I have something important to tell you... I was brushing my teeth and it suddenly fell on my tongue!" were, "Max is going to be so jealous." So while I'm quietly freaking out on the inside and encouraging her "That's so great, honey!" on the outside, for her? Status, baby. It's all about status.