I didn't cry!

Let's go ahead and get that out of the way right now. Dave accused me of having a heart of stone, but honestly, I think it was a combination of being frazzled due to running late this morning and having my emotional breakdown ahead of time. Which was nice, because Mabes didn't see it. I was doing fine until last night when Dave said, "You know, she can be crazy sometimes, but I really hope school doesn't change her one bit. She's pretty awesome." And I lost it.

She was so excited, but was pretty patient while we took pictures. Schools here do a staggered start for kindergarten, so even though school started last Wednesday, because of where we fall in the alphabet, Mabes started today with only a couple of other students. Tomorrow, her whole class will be there. She met her teacher and saw the classroom last week at an open house, so she felt pretty confident strolling in. She greeted her teacher, sat down, and was ready for the day.

We left, and Annabelle and I had a pretty busy day of errand-running and cleaning. And of course I had to make cookies for Mabes to come home to for her first day. We went to pick her up, and as I saw the teachers bringing the kindergartners out for pick-up, Mabes looked awesome. Not crazy, not shy--just comfortable and very grown-up. As soon as she saw me, she had a huge smile on her face and said, "Mommy, I LOVE kindergarten!"

We got home, ate cookies, talked about her day, and called the grandparents. I can't remember who she told what, but here's pretty much her answer to "how was your first day of kindergarten?":

"It was awesome! We played wif puzzles and we made a raccoon puppet because we read Dah Kissing Hand and we learned about raccoons and how dey go to school but dey go to school at night because raccoons are awake at night and sleep during dah day and den we played wif musical instruments and I took a test on dah computer about letters and rhyming and maf and I was dah best, well, dah lady helping me said I was perfect and I know I did great and we went outside to play and a boy in an orange stripe shirt chased me and a girl in a pink shirt around and I didn't like it so I ran fast like a cheetah and hid in a hole and tried be camouflaged and yelled 'you can't find me!' but den he found me so I had to run fast like a cheetah again and den for lunch we went to dah cafeteria and I could get whatever I wanted and I got cereal with marshmallows and raisins, macaroni and cheese, pear, chocolate milk, and CANDY! It was a really fun day."

Aaaaaand breathe. So yes, she enjoyed her day. Everyone promised me she'd be exhausted after a long school day, but that hasn't hit yet. Maybe tomorrow? When she told me about her lunch, I was a little nervous about what she may have purchased. I put money in her account and then she can pretty much buy what she wants with her number. I realized later I didn't go over menu options and talk about limiting what she got. Fortunately, with the system the school uses, I can check her purchases online. Turns out she bought the standard lunch and the "cereal with marshmallows" was trail mix, and she didn't buy any extra desserts or rounds of chocolate milk for her entire class.

She can't wait to go back tomorrow.

Pause!

Mabes has been spoiled by Tivo. She's used to pausing the TV, and has been trying to pause real life. Like the other day during a rather tense game of "Go Fish!" she yelled "Pause! I have to go to da bafroom!" She unpaused us when she got back.

Mabes starts kindergarten on Monday. I've been excited for her to start, because she seems so ready. She's been getting a bit stir-crazy lately and I think the challenge will be good for her. And I'm not going to complain about some free time. We've been counting down and doing fun activities each day to prepare her. I thought I was ready. I'm not.

I'm not ready for her to become a real kid, and learn all the things that come with that. She's going to learn words like butt, booger, and fart (you have no idea how much it pained me to type that--I prefer booty, bogie, and toot), and I know if that's the worst she hears I should count myself lucky. She's going to learn about Hannah Montana and Justin Bieber (though hopefully she'll have her mother's discerning taste and still not get what the hype is). She may start caring about how she looks and what boys are cute. She could be teased. She's going to be away from me for almost 6.5 hours a day, and I just keep thinking, "but what if she's sad? What if she needs a hug before going back to playing?"

I keep reminding myself that she will be fine, in fact, she'll probably be like me. I don't remember anything that happened at my first day of kindergarten, but I do remember skipping into the kitchen at home and yelling, "I LIKE kindergarten!" and feeling completely overjoyed. But I realize that come Monday, I am officially a mom of a school-aged kid. Other kids will look at me and think I'm a grown-up. I feel like I should know things. Somehow I thought I'd be ready for this, that I'd feel grown-up and have everything together. I thought I'd be ready for her to start school, ready for her to grow up, ready for her to learn from her own experiences. I'm not, and I'm frantically looking for the pause button.

When did she get so big?

And proving my age and the new chapter of our lives, we looked at minivans today and test drove a swagger wagon. I may be in love. We didn't have time to shop for mom jeans, though.

She's found her voice

It is a truth universally acknowledged that as soon as one part of your life starts looking up, another part falls to pieces.

Looking up: Dave started a new job this week! And with a company he's been wanting to get into for years now, but with the economy and hiring freezes, it's been difficult. It's very different from his old job, and he's really enjoying it.

Falling to pieces: Annabelle's awesomeness--it was fun while it lasted. Don't get me wrong, she's still quite possibly the cutest baby ever (no, I'm not biased). But she's recently taken to shrieking as loudly as she can, which is surprisingly loud considering her small size and how quiet she's been up until this point. And naps have been more difficult. And she's been waking up more at night.

I'm hoping this can be attributed to teething. Or maybe it's an early wonder week. Or maybe it's because she's *so close* to crawling and pushing herself up to sitting (I've read that their brains go haywire as they approach developmental milestones--right? Or I could just be making that up.)

Every time she'd get up on all fours I'd grab the camera and she'd drop down. So here's Annabelle pretending like she wasn't trying to crawl. And gnawing on her fingers, because she may or may not be teething.

Whatever. I'm hoping it's a phase that will soon pass, but if it doesn't, I enjoyed every moment of her easiness. And I'm certainly not complaining about the recent turn of events. If the above quote is true, a happily employed husband is totally worth a fussy baby.

Five years ago today...

I walked to the hospital and four hours later was holding this:

Little did I know then how much this little girl would keep me on my toes. In the last five years, I've read more child sleep books than I knew existed and I've learned that you can cry tears of joy and frustration at the same time. I've had my patience tried, my logic questioned, and my authority challenged. I've laughed and hugged more than I ever thought possible. And last night, as I hugged a half-sleeping Mabes at 1 am and she whispered, "I really love you, Mommy," I realized this is all going too fast. Happy birthday, Mabes.

For Mabes' birthday party, we decided last week to just do a simple party, invite a few friends from school/church, have cake, play, and call it a day. Easy! And then Mabes decided she wanted a Mario theme. Okay, I'll make a cute cake. And then I started googling. And that's when I decided I needed to make a pinata. It was a long process, but pretty fun. Plus, it was a nice distraction to keep me from warbling "Sunrise, Sunset" before breaking down in sobs that my little girl is growing up. So I made the pinata, and while a little lopsided, I'm happy with it. I have a feeling that I'll be finding dried paper maché bits (like Tobias' blue handprints) scattered around the house for months to come.

We had a blast. We played Yoshi games, hunted for gold coins, ate, and of course hit the pinata.

Party guests (minus 2) in their Yoshi hats.

Annabelle thought the pinata was hilarious. She'd laugh every time someone hit it. Each of the kids got 2 times at bat, with several swings each time. They successfully hit off the cheeks, ears, hat, and nose (see picture of Mabes), but Dave had to hit it a bit harder to break the head, which made Annabelle laugh even harder.

(Hats and pinata were not my idea--I'm not creative! I just follow instructions really well, and http://www.coolpartyblog.com/ has great ideas with detailed instructions. Perfect.)

Stages of Sewing/Crafts/Projects

1. Discovery. "Oooooh, how cute and/or fun!" "I can fix my own washing maching?!?"
I blame google for most of my hair-brained ideas.

2. Excitement (mixed with self-delusion) "Oh, I can totally do that. And it will be awesome. Because *I* am awesome."
This phase is really fun while shopping for said project, though sometimes I'm afraid I'll hurt my arm or back from all the preemptive patting.

3. Doubt. "Uh, I may be in over my head here."
I wish the doubt would set in before I made the investment and started a project. Unfortunately, the excitement phase lasts too long. If I'm sewing, this is when I call mom. However I reserve the right to call her even if it's not a presser foot or bias tape-related question.

4. Renewed Ambition. "No, I can totally do this. Look, it's coming along! Just taking a little longer than I planned."
Thank you, internal cheerleader. Sometimes I want to punch you, though.

5. Anger. "What in the name of marshmallows possessed me to think this was a good idea? Why do I do this? WHY?!?! I am banning myself from all craft/fabric/repair stores."
This self-loathing phase is when the Diet Coke and M&Ms come out, even if Dave laughs at the lengths I go to to enjoy said treats with paste-covered hands.

6. Bargaining. "Just finish this project and you'll never do anything like this again. And you can have ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream."
Oh, wait, and I have Junior Mints in the freezer! Do it for the Junior Mints!

7. Depression. "This looks nothing like it's supposed to. It's clearly not worth any more time and should just be thrown out/flushed/burned."
Treats are usually involved in this stage, too.

(Repeat steps 4-7 many times depending on the length of the project. I always wondered why Michael's has such a large supply of candy at checkout; after looking over this list, I realize it must not be only me. And phone calls to Mom aren't limited to step 3, and can be interspersed throughout.)

8. Acceptance. "It's not going to look exactly like the picture, but it's good enough."

9.* Self-Congratulations. "I did it! It could be more awesome, but it's pretty good. Yay me!" And then I jump online to find my next project and repeat the whole process.

*I hope I get to that point. It doesn't happen with every project,though.


Right now, I'm just wondering what kind of idiot thinks making a pinata for her soon-to-be 5-year-old's birthday is a good idea, especially since she hasn't touched paper mache since kindergarten. Clearly, I'm on number 5.

America's pastime

My mom has said that the reason she understands football so well is because football time=time with her dad. Mabes is showing a similar interest in baseball. Every morning, she asks Dave how their "A Team"--Atlanta Braves--did the night before, and if ESPN is showing highlights of the game. Her absolute favorite is when the Braves play on a Sunday afternoon, so she and Dave can cuddle up in the recliner and watch the game. At one point, Mabes got excited and said, "Hey, dere's Brian McCann!" Dave was surprised and asked how she knew who it was. "I just knew. Dat's what he looks like. He has a beard." I, on the other hand, wouldn't know Brian McCann from Adam. I had to google his name to find out if it was McKann or McCann.

We took her to a local minor league game here (note the packed stadium, the game was well underway), and while she was disappointed that it wasn't the A Team, she still enjoyed it.

She recently decided she was going to make an A Team craft for Daddy. She was describing in great detail what she wanted to make, and Dave told me I should help her with her idea. I decided the more fun option (and perhaps lazy way out) would be to hand her the construction paper, glue, scissors, and crayons and tell her to have at it. I helped when asked, particularly with cutting out the head and hat, but the rest was all Mabes:

It's Chipper Jones. Note the tomahawk and A on the front of his jersey. On the back is the number 10, Chipper's number. I didn't know that, either. He's holding a bat and has just hit the ball that's flying across his chest. When I helped her get the paper for the hat, I started cutting and she got mad--"Dat's the wrong colors, Mommy!" She showed me the correct colors, and then she drew the fancy A on the hat. She was very excited to present it to Dave, and Chipper now resides in his office. Mabes sneaks in to update Chipper on the scores, and in case real Chipper doesn't play well and the Braves lose, Mabes reminds Dave that he has paper Chipper to comfort him.

Dave just reminded me of the other baseball-related story: One evening when they were watching baseball, Mabes told Dave, "I don't fink any of dese baseball players are daddies." Dave asked her why she thought that, and she answered, "Well, because daddies have to work, and dey can't just play lots of baseball all day." Dave explained that for baseball players, playing baseball is work. They get paid (a lot!) to play baseball all day. Mabes' eyes widened and her jaw dropped--"Playing baseball IS dere work? Dat's CRAZY!" She didn't say it, but I'm sure she was wondering why anyone would choose work other than playing baseball.