Lira has never been a daredevil. If I weren’t her mom I might call her a chicken—Bbrrk, brroock, broock, brk-ooock. So I was surprised on Saturday when she said to me, on the way back from a birthday party, “Mom, I want to get my ears pierced.”
Really??? Just the other day she told me (Taylor Swift-style) that she would “never ever ever—like ever” get her ears pierced.
“Are you feeling brave?” I asked. She nodded.
I decided to seize the moment. We were almost home when I turned the car around and drive to the mall. We tried calling and texting Dave on our way there. No answer. I made an executive decision: this was happening.
When we got to Pentagon City we headed straight to Icing, which is supposed to be a classier Claire’s. Lira picked out tiny green daisy studs and sat in the chair without an ounce of fear. “You scared?” I asked. She told me she wasn’t. “Just nervous,” she said.
The piercer distracted her with talk of princesses and, before we knew what happened, one ear was pierced… and then the other. Not a tear in sight! Who is this kid???
We walked (actually, she skipped) back to the car and tried calling Dave again to share the news. He congratulated her, told her he was proud of her and then asked to talk to me. Uh oh. He was not happy. He said “6 is too young! She’s growing up too fast! Why not let her be a kid for as long as possible?” But to me this isn’t a kid vs. grownup thing. This is about bravery. I was so proud of her. But more importantly, she was so proud of herself.
Lira shared her ear-piercing experience at show-and-tell, and came rushing home to give me a hug and tell me about it. But there was just one problem… one of her earrings was missing!
We rushed back to the mall, this time with Dave and Zana in tow. The hole was closed! Apparently, in the first 6 weeks, the hole closes as soon as the earring comes out. The only thing to do was re-pierce that ear. Time to test just how brave Lira really was.
Don’t worry, she did fine. The real spectacle was Zana sitting on Dave’s shoulders sobbing and drooling into his hair, then rubbing it in for good measure– all because she wanted her ears pierced too. Between Dave’s nervous sweat and Zana’s tears, we gave that place a bath.
By the way, if you notice in pictures that she’s wearing two different earrings, it’s because the store was out of the green daisies. So there’s a white one to in one ear and a green one in the other. We know better than to try to switch out the other earring to match.
How old were you when you got your/your daughter’s ears pierced? Was it an ordeal or no-big-deal?
I’m officially “that guy.” The one who forgets our anniversary. Time to bow my head in shame and buy you two dozen roses. Happy belated Anniversary, MomInDCity readers! (It was last weekend– on Mother’s Day, actually)
I’ve learned a lot this year—about myself and about you. For example, MomInDCity readers really like hearing about poop. Two of the three most read posts are potty-related: Potty Training and a Purse Full of Poop and Potty Party on the Front Porch. The third favorite was a picture of me in my exciting thrift store find.
Since you like poop so much, you probably also like farts, so I’ll let you in on the latest dance move that Lira created. It’s called a farté which is basically a plié combined with a fart. It’s the cause of non-stop giggles—mainly from me because Lira puts on such a serious ballet face when she does it.
Oh, and another one for the vocabulary test: dicnic. I first learned this term after picking up sandwiches for an evening visit to Stanton Park. “We’re having a picnic!” Lira exclaimed. “Actually, this is more like a dicnic. You know… a dinner picnic.” Dave and I did our best not to spit out our drinks. We’ve been having dicnics for years and I never knew what to call them. I think dicnics are really going to catch on now that the weather has gotten nicer.
But back to our anniversary, you look beautiful tonight. Seriously, that color really brings out your eyes. I want to take this opportunity to thank you for your love and support this year. Thank you for reading, sharing, commenting on and supporting MomInDCity. I promise more of what you love: potty humor, photos of me in cheap clothing and reviews of all the must-sees and must-dos in DC.
My Kindergartner has been writing poems in school. Like, actual poems. I don’t think I could write my name at that age.
Her first poem was about Spring, and it blew my mind. We had just gone to see the Cherry Blossoms in East Potomac park, and they obviously made an impression.
Oh Spring, Oh Spring
Oh the blossoms in the wind
As white as snow, they sparkle and shake
And shake in the wind
Seriously. She wrote that without any help!
So when I saw that her assignment was to write a poem about her mom and one about her dad, I was excited. I couldn’t wait to see our mini Maya Angelou came up with. Are you as excited as I am?!
Ok, here goes…
My mom has a purse
It is filled with her stuff
A brush, her phone
I was so right about it bringing a tear to my eye. Why is she talking about my purse, of all things? Hasn’t she seen all my shoes??? I also have socks. Lots of them.
“Um Lira… is that what you think of when you think of Mommy? Not all our special times together? Just my purse?”
“No, I talked about your phone too.”
Good point; she did. Maybe the Spring poem was a fluke? Perhaps she’s less Maya Angelou and more Joan Rivers?
But her poem about dad proved otherwise:
I love my dad
When I go to bed he lays down with me
I love my dad
And he loves me
There you go. All love and snuggles. Not a single mention of his wallet or phone.
So I asked “Lira, do you think you can write another poem about Mommy? One that talks about something else?”
“You don’t get do-overs when it comes to homework, Mom.”
I think there’s only one way to cope with this type of thing. When she and Daddy are snuggling and reading bedtime stories, I’m going purse shopping… unless y’all have any better suggestions?
The fam has been passing around a stomach bug for the past couple of weeks. I was the grand finale. The bug took me out and I spent a full 24 hours moaning under the covers.
Zana was concerned. “Mommy, are you ok?”
“Ugh, Mommy might throw up,” I told her.
“Drink some water and you might feel better. Want me to bring you something to eat?” Every half an hour or so, I’d hear those 3-year-old feet running down the hallway into my room to check on me. She’d kiss my arm and ask me if I was any better.
Meanwhile, downstairs… Lira was on Disney.com and couldn’t be bothered. When she came upstairs for a bath she finally noticed something was wrong. “Are you ok, Mom?”
“Not really, Sweetie. I think I might puke.”
“EWWWWWW! Don’t puke on me! And don’t puke in my room either!”
Ohhhhh, so all that vomit that I was planning to spew all over her Barbies should go somewhere else? I’m glad she said something. Who knows what I would have done otherwise.
I managed to keep everyone’s room vomit-free and felt better the next day.
It seemed like a good time to talk to Lira about sensitivity.
“Remember when Mommy was really sick yesterday and you told me not to throw up on you or in your room? Can you think of any other responses that may have been more kind?”
Maybe she needs a hint. “How about something like… ‘I hope you feel better soon?”
“Can I go color with chalk?” Man, I should have puked on that chalk.
“No– I want you to tell me what else you could have said. I was very sick and you were only worried about your room. What do you think you could have said instead?”
“Ok mom, you can throw up in my room. Now can I go color with chalk?”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how it’s done. I’m sure that, from now on, Lira will be the most empathetic girl this side of the Mississippi. And I am free to get stick to my stomach in any room I choose. Success!
Anyone else have any award winning talks with your kids lately?
Have you guys heard about that county in Ohio that’s charging Punxsatawney Phil with a felony for his bogus prediction that Spring would come early this year? They say it’s a crime punishable by death.
If that sounds a little harsh, then you probably live in the South and can go suck it. It’s snowing right now in DC. Snowing?! Very uncool, Phil– if that really was you and not some impostor.
Adding to the sucki-ness is the fact that we recently came back from a beautiful and very Spring-ey trip to North Carolina for a wedding.
It was so warm out that even a pashmina was out of the question. We spent two nights at the Washington-Duke Inn, which was surprisingly awesome for kids. It’s a 5-star hotel, so I knew it would be lovely. But I never imagined there would be bunk beds in our room, and a little nook with kids sized chairs and a mini-tv. The indoor pool was also a big hit, and the girls weren’t the only ones who were ready to move in permanently.
We visited Duke Gardens, which have to be one of my favorite places in the state. We walked among the trees and then climbed them…
We also met up with friends at Pullen Park, which I can only compare to Wheaton Regional and Cabin John in our area. The kids may as well have been at Disneyland. There was a train, a carousel, paddle boats, and an endless amount of climbing to do. And how cool are these little boats?
You’ll have to ignore Zana’s face (or just look at it and laugh). Even Disneyworld gets old when you’re in serious need of a nap. Also, my face kinda looks like that right now because I’m mad that it’s cold. Wah!
So all of this sunshine and cheer brings me back to Phil, a liar whose pants deserve to be on fire. Spring, where are you???
It has been 50 degrees in DC the past couple of days, which reminds me that Spring is near, which then reminds me that my Baby Phat jumpsuit can (and will) soon make an appearance.
Prepping to wear more JLOesque attire means it’s time to get with the program and tighten up. The holidays are over, so I should probably stop shoveling cookies dipped in Nutella, topped with ice cream into my mouth. I ended up losing 15 pounds with the help of the MyFitnessPal app, but a few of those have made it back onto my hips.
I got a Nike Fuel Band for my birthday and it has tricked me into thinking that active=in shape. The Fuel Band goes around your wrist, tracks your movement and tells you how much “fuel” you’ve earned. It’s supposed to motivate you to be more active. For more details (and a giggle), read what Dan Catt has to say about it.
Anyway, in case you’re wondering, you can earn 6,000 fuel points cleaning your house and going to kids birthday parties but that does not mean you’re in shape.
Back when I was running several times a week, I decided to sign up for the Cherry Blossom 10 Miler. A couple of weeks ago I decided it was time to start training. Shouldn’t be too bad, right? I’ve been killing it with fuel points. Apparently that’s not how t works.
I actually had to ice my legs after a 3 mile run. Luckily, I have a lot of support:
So I’ve done some serious math (we’re talking calculus-level) and have figured out that, if I add a mile each weekend, I’ll run 10 miles for the first time ever on race day. This past weekend I ran from my house past the Capitol Building, Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial and ended at the DC WWI Memorial. This exercise taught me a few things:
1. 5 miles is a lot and only halfway to 10.
2. People would really be jealous if they knew I could just run by this cool stuff whenever I want (which is obviously why I’m sharing)
3. It’s hard to complain about your legs hurting when you’re at a war memorial. I mean, it’s not like I just died fighting for my country.
I think Lira summed it up best. Why race if you’re not gonna win?
See you at the finish line.