not-so-humble pie

we waited too late to start a homework assignment.  it was sunday evening, we had just finished dinner, and it occurred to me that liam had a book report due.  i use the term "book report" loosely; it's really just an open-ended prompt like, "tell me about your favorite part" that he can answer in a few as a couple sentences.

but Lord have mercy, those couple sentences can take HOURS when it's liam at the culmination of a tiring weekend when the last thing he wants to be doing is gripping a pencil in his hand and forming letters to spell words that answer a question about a book he barely remembers.  (note to self: we simply must be more prompt with his book reports.)

as is his tendency, the second things started going wrong -- he forgot to capitalize a letter, or smudged the paper while erasing -- he decided to throw himself a pity party.  "i can't dooooooo this!" he wailed.  "i am so horrible at book reports!"

"come on, liam, you know that's not true," i said to him, barely even glancing his way while cleaning up the kitchen, as i've heard this all before.  "you're great at book reports, just like you're great at everything you put your mind to."

"ButMommy, i'm not great at everything," he replied, because that's where we are these days: smack dab in the middle of Retortville.  you can't say anything to liam without a response flying right back, whether you requested one or not.  as i prepared myself to redirect him away from this inane argument and back to the subject at hand, he continued.

"for example, i'm not good at asian languages.  and you KNOW i've put my mind to that.  the only word i even know is tock-yo."

i opened my mouth to show him how to correctly pronounce "tokyo", and then thought better of it.  better to end the conversation at that moment than drag it out for another half hour.

but he's right, you know.  he really isn't great at everything.  even asian languages.

one, two, three, four, FIVE!

this is the song we sang in preschool chapel last wednesday:

susanna is five!  susanna is five!
happy birthday, susanna is five!
clap your hands, clap your hands,
happy birthday, susanna is five!
one, two, three, four, FIVE!

it's funny how my emotions hit me at the most unexpected times.  sitting in the back of chapel that morning, watching susanna process in holding the church flag as she beamed from ear to ear with pride, i just beamed back.  i shared in her excitement, knowing how she'd waited all year long for this moment.  you'd think that i might have become teary, especially since i realized that this was the final preschool birthday celebration the mann family would ever be a part of.

but it wasn't until later that afternoon that my emotions surfaced.  and it wasn't at church, or home, or some other special place.  it was at the nail salon.

on a whim, i had picked her up at preschool and decided to take her out for mommy/daughter pedicure.  this is something i hardly ever do for myself, and had never done with her.  but it was a special occasion, and knowing my girly girl so well, i knew she'd love it.   

we began by perusing the nail polish selection.  so many choices, from deep purples to shimmery golds.  but my decisive daughter immediately honed in on a cotton candy pink (is it any surprise?) and brought the little vial to the nail technician, while clambering up into the massaging chair.  i sat in my own chair beside her, and we shared a smile as we soaked our feet into the warm bubbles in the basins below.

other women were nearby, all reading books or flipping through magazines or chatting on their cell phones.  but i needed no entertainment.  instead, i looked over at my daughter, proudly wearing a birthday pin and informing anyone within earshot that she was turning a whole hand that day, and marveled at the person she has become.

how do i sum up our youngest child? 

she is ultra-feminine: a lover of all things princess, all things pink, all things frilly and flowery and beautiful.

for some strange reason,
 she loved my gold sequined
 prom dress unearthed from the attic

she is artistic.  both in the obvious sense, when we marvel at the projects she brings home from school with such color and attention to detail; but also in the less-expected sense, when we marvel at her freehand sketches that we recognize instantly, or her inventive arrangement of furniture and accessories in her dollhouse, or her spot-on choices of hairbows or jewelry that perfectly accompany her outfits. 

she is musical.  she can hum a tune after hearing it only once, and has a knack for determining voices even with unfamiliar songs.  "this sounds like michael jackson," she'll state.  or, "i think this must be the beatles."  she carries around her personal mp3 player (pink, of course) all over the house, rocking out to tunes that her daddy loads, who knows how she appreciates the classics.  and her favorite movie?  hands-down, "the sound of music."  she knows every song by heart.

she is shockingly helpful.  ask her to clean up her mess once, and within ten minutes she'll call you back to show off a pristine room with everything in its place.  if she sees me get out the broom, she immediately offers to sweep the porch or the deck or even, a little less successfully, the driveway.  if i'm cooking, i know she will soon appear by my side with her little red apron in hand, eager to stir or measure or pour. 

she is a lover of family.  she adores her brother just as she always has, but it's been interesting to watch their dynamic change in this past year.  no longer his disciple, she's become his partner, suggesting things to do and certainly holding her own.  she has a special relationship with each of her four grandparents, always requesting to spend time with them.  and chris -- well, there's just nothing like a father/daughter bond.

she's still a little shy, taking time to warm-up to new situations and people ... but once she's comfortable, she's as happy as she can be.  she's apparently a very good friend, since she has a busier social calendar than the rest of our family combined. 

celebrating her birthday dinner
at red robin with liam
and her best friend polly

all of this filled my mind as i sat in my chair in the nail salon, sneaking glances at my daughter a few feet away from me, who was intently watching as a little white flower was painted on her toes.  tears sprang to my eyes as my mind traveled back to the delivery room five years ago -- as it always does on my children's birthdays -- realizing what a real person she is now.  and i thought of so many more ways to describe her: strong-willed ... a sleepyhead ...  creative ... a ballerina ... a star wars fan ... motherly ... a cuddler ... a master puzzle solver. 

but most of all, she's ours.  she's our amazing, wonderful,perfect susanna.  and she's five!

on the contrary

sesame street, back in the days when we watched it, always had a vocabulary lesson to kick off the show.  they called it "the word on the street" and murray monster (relatively new to the scene, in case it's been a while since you've tuned in) would explain what it meant.  and then it would pop up several times during the hour-long episode, almost always featuring a cameo by a celebrity.  colin farrell introduced "investigate".  wanda sykes took on "journal".  jason bateman talked about "comfort". 

the word on the street in the mann house right now is actually a phrase, but the words are always said together and always so quickly that it tumbles out of the mouth as one.  the word is ButMommy.  "ButMommy" precedes just about every single thing that comes out of liam's mouth.  it needs no definition, but here are a few examples:

me:  "liam, we're about to get in the car, so you go ahead and put on your shoes."
liam:  "ButMommy --"

me:  "liam, please put your tennis racket back in the toy box and go upstairs to take a shower."
liam:  "ButMommy --"

me:  "liam, i need you to stop reading that book and put your baseball uniform in the hamper."
liam:  "ButMommy --"

i've become so accustomed to this that it barely registers with me anymore.  i expect it just like i expect someone to answer the phone with "hello?" or the cashier at the grocery to tell me to "have a nice day".  and liam has grown so accustomed to saying it that he'll utter the phrase when he doesn't even mean to.  case in point, this happened last night:

me: "liam, since you've done such a great job on your homework, you get to pick out which cookie you'd like for a treat."
liam:  "ButMommy --"
me: "yes, liam?"
liam: (the fact that i responded caused him to pause.  he looked up at me, and then around him, as if he were snapping out of a reverie.)  "oh.  umm ...  what did you say?  something about a cookie?"

this opportunity was too good to pass up. 

me:  "i asked you to go clean up your room before having a cookie."
liam:  "ButMommy --"

aah.  back to normal.

a party fit for a princess

this past sunday was an exciting one around here.  so exciting that susanna, our sleepyhead who has to be forced out of bed most mornings in time for school, actually got up on her own.  i awoke to see her standing right next to my side of the bed, beaming from ear to ear as she excitedly informed me, "today is my party!"  i probably would have joined her in jumping up and down if it weren't for the fact that it was only 5:45 a.m.

i'm ashamed to admit this, but i do not like birthday parties.  well -- i should be more specific.  i do like being invited to birthday parties, and going to them, and socializing, and eating the cake.  what i do not like is planning them.  the moment liam's is over in mid-august i heave a huge sigh of relief, knowing that it will be another eight or so months before i have to even think about planning another.

fortunately, i am married to a wonderful man who helps me plan these parties, choosing the themes and invitations and locations found a groupon with a great deal on a visit by a real-life princess at a children's party.  he sent me the link, and i didn't think twice before clicking that "buy now!" button.  done, i thought, proud of myself for having made this huge decision with months to spare.  cross that off my list.

but i soon realized that my decisions were just beginning.  when?  where?  will we serve a meal?  whom do we invite?  cake or cupcakes?  ice cream too?  and the most important question of all:  what princess?

i left that last question up to susanna.  i read out the list of options to her, which included all of her favorite disney stars.  ariel, snow white, tiana ... how could she possibly choose?  knowing her to normally be her mother's daughter, i braced myself for much second-guessing and changing-of-the-mind and debating the pros and cons of each.

but she surprised me.  "cinderella," she stated definitively.  "i want cinderella at my birthday party."  and that was that.

and so, a cinderella party was born.  the groupon deal included an hour of time with your princess, who would do an art activity with the girls, give them mini-makeovers, and read them a story.   and at 4:30 p.m. on sunday, fifteen preschool girls were in our driveway, all decked out in their own various princess costumes, squealing with delight at the sight of a real-life cinderella sashaying towards them.

let me tell you a little bit about this cinderella, with an upfront disclaimer that i'm probably a bit biased when it comes to real-life cinderellas.  the last time we saw cinderella in person, we were dining with her in her castle at disneyworld.  it was like she had leapt off the disney film reel and straight into our presence -- her hair was the perfect coif, her skin was the same creamy white, her dress was pristine, and her mannerisms were studied and exact.  i'd wager a guess that the cinderella in cinderella's castle in disneyworld has to be one of the top five cinderellas on planet earth.  that must be the pinnacle of princess pinnacles -- being offered that opportunity must announce to the princess stratosphere that you've really arrived.

unfortunately, that cinderella must have stayed in her castle in orlando, for she was definitely not the one who arrived at our house on sunday.  our cinderella -- the one sashaying down our driveway with the fifteen girls engulfing her -- was a tad different.  she had on a sort of neon yellow wig, slightly askew on the top of her head.  instead of a silky, genteel princess voice, hers was a bit rougher less refined. and when she turned and leaned down to talk to one of the girls, i could see her black bra peeking through a hole in her costume.  i half-expected her to grab a pack of cigarettes out of her goody bag and teach the kids how to blow smoke rings.

but right after making eye contact across the room with chris, and sharing a slight smile at what was before us, i looked around the room.  what i saw amazed me: thirty eyes staring adoringly at our cinderella, following her every move and bombarding her with questions.  "did you get here in your coach?"  "where is prince charming right now?"  "which other princess do you see the most?"  "where are your mice friends?"  as she patiently answered each one, they hung on her every word.  they were mesmerized.

and i realized that to susanna and her friends, this wasn't some twenty-year old working a part-time gig on the weekends for some extra cash, squeezing herself into a costume that was probably a bit too snug and wearing a wig that itched her scalp.  this was CINDERELLA.  and cinderella had actually come to susanna's party!  and she was going to help them make their own tiaras!  and she was going to dab some lip gloss on their mouths!  and she was going to read them a story!  CINDERELLA WAS IN THE HOUSE!

the two hours flew by.  while i remained on the porch, taking pictures of each guest with the star of the show, chris monitored the back yard while up to a dozen preschool girls ran around or swung in the hammock or played in the playhouse.  we somehow managed to feed them all lemonade and grapes and chicken nuggets (and ketchup, of course -- lots and lots of ketchup), and then sang to susanna while she blew out the candles on her cookie cake, and reuinted each guest with the tiara they had crafted when their parents picked them up.

as soon as the last little girl left, chris and i collapsed on the couch in the family room with cold beverages in hand, but barely enough energy to lift the glass to our lips.  we were exhausted.  fifteen giddy and lively five-year old girls will do that, i suppose.  my eyes took in what was around me, calculating how much time it would take to return the house to some semblance of order.  i made a mental note to a) find an alternate location for future children's birthday parties and b) severely decrease the guest list next time around.

but then my eyes rested on our daughter.  she was sitting on the floor, surrounded by unopened presents, still dressed in her cinderella costume with bright pink blush on her soft little cheeks.  "this is my most favorite day i have ever ever had," she told us.  "it was PERFECT.  and i still can't believe that cinderella came to my party!"  she beamed at us, her blue eyes dancing, as happy as i'd ever seen her.

i think that just about sums up parenthood.  the work, the expense, the energy, the time, the chaos ... we do it all for moments like this, when your child tells you that she's just had the best day of her life, and how she'll remember it forever and always.  i don't doubt that she will; she'll surely have a picture of her and her friends with cinderella hanging in her room for a long time to come.  she'll remember the makeover and the story and the cake, and will probably wear the tiara she made until it falls apart.

but what i pray is that she also remembers the most important part of her special day: the love and joy that surrounded her.  for it's the knowledge of that love, and the confidence that comes from knowing how loved you are, that can get you through just about anything.  i strive to instill in my children that knowledge and that confidence through all that i do as their parent -- whether it's having meaningful talks about God, or playing hopscotch in the driveway.  i fail a lot, don't get me wrong.  but i keep at it, realizing that it's not enough to just tell them i love them.  what matters most is how i show them.

which might, on occasion, include throwing an over-the-top party with a cinderella whose black bra is showing. 

wordless wednesday

we are drowning in a sea of totally useless, unnecessary, taking-up-space JUNK that we've hauled down from the attic in preparation for our yard sale this saturday.  you can barely turn around upstairs without running into an old pack-and-play, or unraveling wicker laundry basket, or a container of scrapbooking tools that cost a ridiculous amount of money at the time that have been collecting dust ever since i stopped in the middle of susanna's second year album, never to return again.  (had i only known how much easier -- and cheaper -- blogging was at the time ...)  it is scary to think that we haven't even lived in our house for three years, and when we moved in, we had ridded ourselves of all our old junk.  i think our new junk must have regenerated itself while we were busy embracing the "out of sight, out of mind" philosophy.

all that to say that i just don't have time to spend on a thoughtful post this week, especially since the day after our yard sale that will undoubtedly be far more trouble than it's worth, we're having sixteen preschool girls here to celebrate susanna's birthday.  i fear that i have bitten off far more than i can chew.  (speaking of chewing, my eyes just rested on a lovely electric carving knife that we received as a wedding present twelve years ago, still unopened with the gift tag attached.  priced to sell at $5 -- any takers?)

so for today's quick wordless wednesday post, below is susanna as you can find her any afternoon these days at 3:15 pm: walking one of her baby dolls in the stroller up to the bus stop to wait for liam.  i chose yesterday for a photograph since she was still dressed in her ill-fitting black leotard from ballet, out of which her turquoise panties are showing at the bottom.  along with her dark purple hairbow (left over from a coordinating dress she wore to school) and mismatched socks, she's the definition of a ragamuffin if i ever saw one.  but just the cutest almost-five year old ragamuffin i've ever seen, if i do say so myself.

speaking of rags and muffins, i'm pretty sure i've unearthed both dishrags and muffin tins, to be sold at our yard sale.  don't you want to come?  if you buy the electric carving knife, i'll throw them in for free.

about my mom, by susanna

this post is courtesy of susanna, who presented a portrait and description of me at "muffins with moms" this past week at preschool.  it was helpful to have her pitch in with today's entry, since i apparently have quite a bit of dishes to get back to washing.  happy mother's day!

wordless wednesday

when spring sports registration rolled around a few months ago, liam quite matter-of-factly informed us that he was totally uninterested in playing t-ball again. "it's boring," he said. "why do i have to hit from the tee when i can hit a ball daddy pitches to me?"

so we asked the league director if he could play in the next level up, which is coach-pitch baseball, even though he's not technically the right age. thankfully, he agreed. liam's first game was yesterday and, just in case you didn't tune into ESPN last night, here are the highlights:

lullabies

the kids are surprisingly non-competitive, for the most part, when it comes to getting stuff.  and by "stuff", i mean both tangibles and intangibles: food, praise, toys, attention, gifts, time.  they do want to make sure the each get the same number of cookies for dessert, but in all other areas, they have a pretty impressive grasp of the concept that it all comes out in the wash.

but a few weeks ago, as i left liam's room to go sing "oh susanna" to his sister, he looked up at me, glumly.  "why don't you have a liam song for me?" he asked.

i was about to launch into an explanation: there's a famous folk song with your sister's name in it and they even spell it correctly! ... i hadn't read all the sleep training books when you were born and didn't realize how important a routine was ... she's always been a terrible sleeper and she needed a soothing mechanism ... i knew that people throughout her life would break out into said song when they meet her and i wanted her to be familiar with the tune ... and so on.  i actually did have a list of good reasons as to why i did something i did.  (for once.) 

but i looked at his face and immediately switched gears.  "oh, sweetheart, i had no idea you wanted me to sing to you!"  i said, all the while thinking this child is almost seven and now he wants a lullaby?  "is there a song you'd like to hear?"

"the liam song," he replied. 

oh, right.  sure.  the liam song. 

"well, honey, there's not a famous song with 'liam' in it like there is for susanna.  BUT," sensing the inevitable disappointment that was beginning to creep across his face, "i could sing to you the lullaby that i made up while i nursed you when you were teeny-tiny.  would you like that?"  he nodded, excitedly, obviously unaware of how lame my made-up song was. 

so i had no choice but to launch into my "i love liam" song.  the tune is "frère jacques?" and the impressive lyrics go like this:  "i love liam / i love liam / yes i do / yes i do / he is a good bay-bee / i love him ve-ry much / liam mann / liam mann."

i braced myself for the feedback that i felt was warranted.  i mean, if it had been my mom singing crap like that to me, i probably would have responded with something along the lines of, "are you kidding me?  susanna gets a beautiful tune with a bridge, intrinsic rhymes, and a storyline with references to american history, and this is what i get?" but instead, he just beamed at me.  and then he asked for more.

"um, well, that's pretty much it," i told him.  "that's where the song ended."

"but susanna gets two verses in hers," he replied, thereby refuting what i deem true about my children's non-competitive natures.  "can't you make another one up for me?"

so i put on my thinking cap.  and this time, my creative juices obviously flowing, i whipped up a second stanza in three seconds flat:  "i love liam / i love liam / yes i do / yes i do / he is a good big boy/ i love him ve-ry much / liam mann / liam mann."  (just in case you didn't catch it, the lyrics change is in bold.)

he's apparently quite easy to please, for it was a hit, and we now have a new bedtime routine.  after prayers, i sing susanna her song, and then i cross the hall to sing liam his.  i've learned that it is not enough to sit at the foot of his bed and sing; he wants me close to him.  in fact, he reminds me that he likes to close his eyes and actually feel me breathe on his face while i form the words. 

and every night that i have the privilege of indulging him his sweet request, i can't help but stare at him as i sing.  his eyes are closed and he has the most serene smile on his still-soft, round face that each day is becoming less round and less soft.  i am instantly transported in my mind to the days when i first sang this song, as i rocked his tiny body in my arms after feeding him, his translucent eyelids fluttering as he drifted off to sleep.

and now, there he is, turning seven years old in a matter of months, a master of his multiplication tables, a budding soccer star, and a lover of the humor in knock-knock jokes.  a big boy, just like my newly revised lyrics say.  but still, in so many ways, my baby.

i love liam.  i love liam.  yes i do.