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!