Whistle Blowers

This was the week of the The Big Easter Egg Hunt at school. Parents were asked to donate plastic eggs filled with goodies not resembling candy. Three evenings ago, Mommy bought the plastic eggs; Daddy dutifully went to the party store for plastic frogs, lizards, rings, erasers, whistles. Your basic lot of of cheap crap from China. The girls and I spread everything out and commenced to filling the eggs. Wouldn't you know it, the whistles were too big for the eggs. Stella had one of those whistles hanging around her neck, PE teacher-style, and wanted to blow that thing so badly, but she is so aware that her mother is KA-ray-zee and can't stand noises like that in her ear. She gave it a couple of half-assed blows, looking at me with that, "Did you hear that? Am I in trouble?" look, and I was struck by the realization that my daughter is afraid of my Crazy. That's not right, and I was determined to make things right. So when we finished filling the eggs, I declared that they could save those whistles for the next day and they could share them with the boy next door and blow them outside. And then...BAM!...Momma had a great idea! "Girls, take those whistles and go in your room, shut the door, and blow those whistles as loud as you want! Blow them 'til you can't blow them any more!" They ran down the hallway, bopping their heads and blowing those whistles. They closed their door and they blew those whistles. And they were back in about 3 minutes, done with those whistles. Those whistles have sat on my coffee table since that evening and haven't been blown since.

I think if I'd banned them from whistle-blowing that evening, the torture of them wanting to blow those whistles would have lasted WAY more than 3 minutes. I think that was one of the most clever parenting decisions I've accidentally made thus far.

Stella's List

Stella is a girl with goals. Sometimes her goals are as simple as manipulating me into giving her a cupcake for breakfast. A couple of weeks ago, however, she outlined her life plan to me. Her life through the age of 17, anyway. I had asked her if she could please refrain from growing up because I am still enjoying her little-ness. She replied that she really needs to grow up because she is waiting to get a car and drive. I told her she can't do that until she's at least 16, so she started thinking about all the things she will do/be until then. I guess she's just going to chill and be little for a few more years because her plan doesn't start until age 11:

Age 11: Cooking lady (our nickname for Giada de Laurentis)
Age 12: Judge on Chopped (apparently we watch a lot of the Food Network)
Age 13: Yoga teacher
Age 14: Gymnastics teacher
Age 15: Doctor
Age 16: Sales Associate at Charming Charlies
Age 17: Hannah Montana. Please note: she only wants to be Hannah Montana at home for 4 days; the rest of the time she wants to be her in Hannah Montana World.

Oh, to be a young, blank slate.

Rock the Party!!!!

CRAP! I did it again. I swore I would be better about updating my blog, if for no other reason than to have a place to chronicle all the wild and crazy things my babies (not so much babies any more) do and say. And, do they ever say and do some wild and crazy things. Recently, we "rocked this party out," because isn't that what you do when someone at school gives you a balloon?