Be Bo

This tiny hippopotamus has something small to say
And if you’re very quiet now
She’ll say it right away.
Be Bo.
copyright Sandra Boynton, Belly Button Book

Ah, Sandra Boynton, thank you for making a book for my Pebbles. Oh, you didn’t write it for her? Well, you could have. Because it is so very her.

This child is a belly button addict. Dude and Fancy were complete binky addicts, from birth. They loved the binky. Pebbles wanted nothing to do with it. Suck suck SPIT. Chew a little as she got older, but never did she pick up the habit. No, Mama was her pacifier. She never really settled on a comfort object either, still changes up who she wants in her bed. But the be bo? It’s always there for her. Apparently, she found her security object. Joke’s on me thinking it would be a binky or a kitty or a puppy like the Bigs. It’s be bo.



Any time she is nervous, her hand goes for the be bo. Anytime she gets a cup? Same thing. I have actually unzipped or unbuttoned her pjs (the like, 3 times I tried anything one piece in recent memory) so she could have access to the be bo, because none of us were sleeping! Seriously. When I put a onesie on in the winter for extra warmth? I have to leave it unsnapped, so she has a tail. But she can get her be bo. Dresses do not stop her, she just hikes it up & finds her precious comfort object.


At the pool recently she got tired and snuggly and suddenly was tugging madly at her bathing suit and I could tell she was getting upset.

"What are you doing, sweetie?" I asked.

"I trying to find my be bo, Mama. You get it?" she replied. Aww. I wish I could help. But I am not sure we're ready for bikinis quite yet, honey.

So, we have been telling ourselves she’ll grow out of it. She can’t possibly go to college still playing with her be bo when she’s sad or tired or anxious, right? But yesterday we were at the National Aquarium in Baltimore, and I seriously saw a teenage girl lift up her shirt, show off her round belly, and play with hers. Of course, it also had a belly button ring in it (something the Hubs will never sign off on before either of the girls are of the age of emancipation). But still. I had to laugh.

And get a *tad* nervous.

Shopping Talent Fairy

God, I love shopping. Seriously. There is nothing better to me (outside of my awesome little family) than spending a day browsing stores, finding adorable things for the kids and clothes for me & fun jewelry and cute shoes and … well, I could go on and on.


Pebbles believes in Fairies. Do you?

Everyone has a talent, right? At least in the world of Disney Fairies they do. My talent is shopping. For reals. I am a genuine Shopping Talent Fairy. {for the record, The Hubs believes this is a sub-talent, and that my broader category talent is simply a Spending Money Fairy} I know I have friends in my imaginary fairy land – the awesome Windizzle comes to mind – and we have a blast scouring the Fairyland Boutiques for fabulous finds. In real life, sadly, my budget does not support my talents. And my partner in crime moved away from me *mope* {texting is a good tool for virtual shopping together though!!} I forget this fact about my budget though.

Too often, in fact *blush*

Someone shows me an outfit they like? Ooooh! NEED! A cute dress they purchased! Love it! Want! A sale email pops up in my email and, completely ignoring the fact that we need NOTHING for the current season {having purchased far too much months before the weather even changed}, I click to open the site & shop. A free day to myself? Here I come Mecca {aka the mall}. I look. I find. I want. I NEED.

The Hubs keeps hoping I’ll win the lottery, or go back to work, or somehow have some sense knocked into me one of these days. Fall clothes are beginning to trickle into the stores, along with some good sales ... but Fancy will be wearing uniforms to school this year. Uniforms. Love the concept, hate what it means to my addiction. So my Gymbucks will be used on red, white & blue polos and khaki skorts.

Pebbles will surely benefit from this turn of events, not that her wardrobe is ever lacking. This season is also the last one that I don't have a fairly substantial stash of hand-me-downs saved up for her. The question is, will our bottom line benefit? Or will my talents simply be used on, say, clothes for me? Items for the house? If you don't exercise your talents, you know, they get rusty. Stay tuned …

Give me a K! Give me a Y! …

You all know that feeling, the helpless one? Where you know something is going on with your kid, but you can’t *really* help? I hate that feeling. A few months ago, I had it big time when Fancy fell down some stairs and ended up landing on her head on a concrete floor. The goose-egg that developed was one for the record books and she is *still* sporting some lovely raccoon eyes from the fall.




Dude has had lots of nosebleeds for basically as long as I can remember. For a while, they were primarily in his sleep and didn’t bother him much. Last summer they were getting more frequent and so back we went to the ENT to see what we could do. They gave a us a nice little protocol to follow to prevent them from happening so much. And what do you know? It worked! Guess that fancy med school education paid off.

Then one day a few months back, I get a call from Dude’s {most AWESOME} teacher. She says he has been bleeding for like 10 minutes or so already, and it’s a pretty big one. He doesn’t want to go to the nurse, so she (who is not good with bodily fluids, but does love my child) deals with it. But wants me to know. Eventually I decide I must go, so I grab a neighbor to stay with Pebbles (who is napping) and fly to school, which is thankfully 3 minutes away. It had stopped by the time I arrived, thankfully, but I was so bummed to know it had happened. That feeling of helplessness? Alive & well.

And we’ve had several since. Bad ones. I’ll spare you the gory details, but crime scenes probably look better at times. I pride myself on being calm, on controlling the scene, and stopping them quickly. Got some napkins, maybe some ice? I’m golden! {Fancy got one at Disney World last year. Right on Main Street USA, while we were getting our pictures taken. The photographer was so worried she called the Disney paramedics and they arrived {with a stretcher!!} to find a no longer bleeding child. I didn’t even get any ice that day, thankyouverymuch, but we did get a clean shirt of our choosing thanks to some wonderful Cast Members}

But these scare even me. And Dude can read me like a book, and then he starts getting nervous too, and it has all the makings of a good spin out of control. But, I’m the Mom, with a capital M, and I suck it up & put a smile on my face & tell him it will be ok. As I silently say a little prayer. I want to fix it. Now. Please.

Anyway, my awesome blog goddess pal Minky had a funny little K-Y story in her blog the other day, and I chuckled as I read it since moments before I had gotten off the phone with The Hubs after Dude’s latest ENT appointment {aren’t you proud of me? I didn’t even insist *I* be the one to take him. I let The Hubs go. And didn’t berate him after when he didn’t ask all the questions I would have!} … and our new protocol includes, you guessed it, K-Y jelly. Rubbed on the inside of his nose nightly.

Apparently, it’s good for sticking bows on babies’ heads, too. Who knew?

She's a Super Shiny Star

It is recital day for my Fancy. This is her third year dancing, and she’s only 5. She loves dancing.

I still remember her first day of class. She was not yet 3, and was still very “cling-on” with me – definitely mommy’s girl. We arrived at the studio, they told us where she should go … and they closed the door. Boom. My baby. Behind closed doors for the first time. And she was awesome.

Her first day of preschool ended up being after the first day of dance. I was much less worried about preschool. Her brother had been in the same classroom with the same teacher the year before, so she was familiar with everything and excited to go. But this was new. And she was a rock star. Gave me a kiss, marched in & came out bursting with joy. She loved dance.

That year, she was a beautiful rainbow after a “sudden shower” Under the Sea (music from The Little Mermaid).

Last year’s theme was “In the Jungle” and she was an elephant.


This year, “It’s a Small World” and she is a “Brazilian Babe.”



I love her dance studio. Her teachers, Miss Linda & Miss Alli, have been phenomenal. They are so sweet and loving and make the kids feel so happy & comfortable. It’s awesome.

Fancy says she’s going to be a ballerina when she grows up. I’m not sure she has the natural ability necessary to make it career, but one thing is for sure – I hope she grows up enjoying every second she’s in class and on the stage. I know I did!

Tonight, we’re going on a date, just me & my Fancy girl – second year in a row – to watch the “big girls” dance. Next year she will *be* one of those big girls. Where did my tiny dancer go?

Lucky for me, Pebbles is waiting in the wings for her turn. She was dancing in the aisle this morning, and begging to go on stage. And she’s really flexible!

I So Beautiful Me

Pebbles, my 2 year old, has a *very* healthy self-image. She will get dressed in the morning, put a bow in her hair, or throw on a crown (backwards, nach) and declare “I soooooo pretty,” or our personal favorite, “I so beautiful me.” It makes us all giggle and fawn over her all the more. And when someone tells her she is pretty, or smart, or so cute, she giggles & says “I know.” I know. How awesome is THAT?

I suppose every mom out there thinks her little angels are the most gorgeous creatures to ever walk the face of the earth. I certainly am no exception. {And this must be a biological imperative of some sort, because I can now, 7 years later, objectively reflect back on Dude’s early days, covered in scabby baby acne and admit that he was not, at that time, the most gorgeous creature ever.} We {or … am I the only one?} tell our children from the earliest moments how beautiful and adorable and perfect they are, as we kiss their tummies and nibble on their toes. Hoping it sinks into their wee psyches and lasts them a lifetime, helping them in their inevitable moments of self doubt.

We pile on the praise, about their looks, their mastery of feats like “soooo big” and crawling and stacking rings. We throw in kudos for their intelligence, creativity, use of words, clapping their hands, dancing. They are awesome. They are ours. We never want them to think for a moment they are anything less than wonderful.

I so beautiful me.


But then, they get older. Did you know self-doubt starts really young? And how much these kids pick up on? I remember when Dude and Fancy were in swim class … Pebbles was a baby, so it must have been when they were 6 and 4. And Dude comes home one day and says “Mom, this girl in my class said she loves ice cream but she doesn’t eat it anymore because she’ll get fat.”

Fat. At 6. {and as a side note, I have seen this girl, and she was far from fat} That one scared me a lot.

Fancy has more self-doubt than Dude. His confidence seems far-reaching for the most part, so long as you’re not asking him to do something that he might have to actually practice. But Fancy, through all her love of her fanciness and her blonde hair, isn’t too sure. She came home from Kindergarten one day & said “Mama, I want to change what I’m wearing for pictures tomorrow. Because my friend Madyson (yes, cre8tyve spelling) said she will definitely be wearing something cuter than me.” Le sigh. {I should interject here with a little note about Fancy’s wardrobe. It’s um, a bit excessive. And quite nice ifIdosaysomyself.} And this week, as Dude is having a little more success at the swimming pool, she’s saying things like “I’ll never learn to swim until I’m TEN.”

I so beautiful me.

Where did that go? And how do I get it back?

I Am Switzerland

So, I have 3 kids. The older two, Dude & Fancy, are a mere 18 months apart. Yes, that's right kids, I was one of those crazy women who was well & truly knocked up by the time Dude blew out the candles on his first birthday cake. Insane, I tell you!!

Over the years, this has been a blessing and a curse. It is wonderful and delightful when they giggle together, inventing silly games and playing like best friends. I about burst with love when I watched baby Fancy clap for toddler Dude, playing piano or shooting hoops. It has been positively awesome watching them motivate one another to learn, to read, to write, to excel. To see their concerts when they were younger? More fun could not be had. And watching the two of them dote on their little sister Pebbles is the best thing since sliced bread.

But now? They are 7 and 5, and much of the time (to quote that awesome clown fish Marlin) "Good feeling gone!"


Can't you just feel the love?

Dude can be heard complaining that Fancy isn't in her bed when we tell him it's time for lights out at night. Fancy complains that Dude got to play Wii for 5 more minutes than she did. Or that he gets dessert every night {never mind that he actually eats food ... clearly that is beside the point}. And the fighting. Oh. Emm. Gee. The fighting.

Moooommmmmmm ... Dude sat on me!

Mooommmmmmm ... Fancy changed the song on the cd player!

Moooommmmmm ... Dude won't let me play the Wii with him!

Seriously? I went to law school for this?

So, I have a new policy this summer. Neutrality. Solve it yourselves, kids. Unless one of you hurt the other one on purpose, I really don't want to hear it. I'll let them tell their sides, as they clearly need to be heard, but then I am encouraging them more & more to fix it themselves. Because they're much more likely to like the outcome that way. I can't make him be nice, I can't make everything "fair." No, you shouldn't always be the one to pick, and she shouldn't automatically declare that she's not playing with you {EVER.AGAIN} any time she doesn't get her way. You're both right. Now figure it out for yourselves, or it's going to be a very long summer! {it kind of already is. And we're not even a week in!}

I have another new rule.
Unless you are bleeding or throwing up, don't talk to me while I'm on the phone.

Surely I'm not the only mom who deals with this one. I swear, a ringing phone is like a magnet for someone needing to talk to me. NEED, I tell you. {Perhaps I should add if something is on fire to my list of acceptable reasons. hmmm} I'm not often on the phone, but when I am, there are needs. Not wants. needs. You know, something along the lines of "can I have some more cereal?" or "would you put a ponytail in my Barbie's hair?" Needs.

I'm ON.THE.PHONE. Dude is seven. Fancy will be 6 in September. Their entire lives they have heard the mantra. I'm on the phone. I'll help you when I'm done. Please don't interrupt when I'm on the phone. Why a 4 minute conversation with The Husband demands 3 different interruptions by no fewer than 2 kids I'll never know. So. New rule. We'll see how it goes.

I am Switzerland. My policy of neutrality is fixed & firm. Unless they are hurting one another. And if they can't stop fighting? To bed with you both!