It's that time of year: Girl Scout Cookie Sales. And yes, Rose is up to the top of her sash in the whole thing.
Rose joined a Brownie troop this fall and has been learning about Brownie legends and badges, as well a the economics of how cookie sales fund troop activities. Because she can't give you her pitch in person, she wanted to make a video:
Let me know if you want to purchase a box or two or ten, and we'll figure out the finances and delivery from there. Thanks for your support!
She was especially angry last night when, totally exasperated, I told her she'd have to wait for her father to come home to negotiate with him. It was cold, rainy and dark, and frankly, I just couldn't take it any more. Other holiday things caught our attention and the art was quickly forgotten - until today. She woke up, got dressed in her "selling" outfit and demanded to go outside. It's sunny and the kids are bored, which means I was able to convince Evan to help her for half an hour. He's quite the hawker, himself, so if anyone can get someone to pay for her pictures, he can. That is, if he can stop giggling at the idea of "Sixty bucks! Sixty bucks! Rosie, you're crazy!" Decide for yourself:
The holiday spirit is alive and well.
Evan, of course, is sooooo over it, but he was quite the hold-out himself, never exactly sure what the gift consequences of non-belief might be, so continued "believing" until the 3rd grade when someone convinced him that he should just risk all and come clean to his parents. Since then, he's been a fairly good conspirator, even going so far as to sit on Santa's lap this year for a photo with Rose. When he does lapse and begin down a rabbit-hole of Santa's world and abilities, Rose sharply reprimands him and tells him resoundingly that Santa is "always listening" and that Evan will surely "be in lots of trouble if he doesn't stop." Indeed. All of this talk and the fact that she's now a Very Serious Six-Year-Old means that Rose has begun to contemplate the whole "magical creature" thing more deeply. Something else from the weekend added complexity to the whole mix: she lost her first tooth. If, like me, you had been lulled into believing that Rose might softening slightly on a few things, the 36-hour period from when she realized the tooth was slightly loose to when she yanked it from her own mouth should tell you that she's more determined than ever. The pain, blood and ceaseless wiggling added to the drama and intrigue, and provided those scintillating details that make the whole thing delicious to re-tell over and over. The lost tooth also meant that the Tooth Fairy made a visit. So, back to the "magical creatures" meditations. Here's how yesterday's discussion in the car played out:
Rose: "Mom, I hate the Tooth Fairy." Me: "Why?" Rose: "Because she steals your teeth. She should just leave money AND let you keep your teeth!" Me: "Mmmmm." (not sure how to respond to this whole train of thought) A few minutes later . . . Rose: "I know who Santa's daughter is." Me: "Really. I didn't know he had one. Who is she?" Rose: "The Tooth Fairy." Me: "Wow! How do you know that?" Rose: "Because Mom (insert fatigued, slightly condescending tone), ALL magical creatures are related to Santa. The elves, reindeer and the Tooth Fairy." Me: "I see. What about the Easter Bunny? Where does he fit into all this?" Pause . . . . Rose: "He has rainbow fur." Me: "And how does this relate to Santa and the magical creatures?" Rose: "Because only magical creatures have rainbow skin. So, he's definitely connected to Santa." Ah, the logic of a true believer. Magical.
Rose has changed us. She challenges us every day with her passion, intelligence, creativity, intensity and strong desire to be independent. She's been very focused on the difference between five- and six-year-olds. For example, six-year-olds can sleep better, turn off the shower, and share more than their younger selves. When asked what she most looks forward to about being six, she says simply, "A better life." Even with all this hard-earned wisdom, she's not afraid to put herself out there, as you can see from this portrait (with her friend, Lauren):
Her quote from this morning shows that's not a danger, at least today: "Evan, I know what I want and I'm not going to change my mind!" Now that was about pancakes, but nevertheless, she's not a girl who won't stick to her guns. Again, that's just fine with us. Rose is an extremely social creature. She's one of those enviable people who has no problem walking into a room full of strangers, scoping them out, learning everyone's name, charming them and then making herself pretty much at home. She does this so well, in fact, that we had to clamp down on her recently for disappearing one afternoon without telling us, causing mild panic -- and lots of wasted time traipsing through the neighborhood -- by her parents. (The only saving grace is that she has a scream that travels blocks, so I think she'd cut loose if really injured.) Nevertheless, when we did finally find her (having lunch at a neighbor's house), we laid down the law about "Letting Parents Know BEFORE You Go Somewhere." As with many laws, they sound better in theory than in practice. The very next day, she disappeared again. This time, it was late afternoon, very hot (95*), and we were running behind schedule for getting Evan to his second soccer game of the day. As we piled into the car, we realized that Rose was missing. General grumpiness ensued. Calling her name, checking with neighbors, feeling sheepish that our child had escaped our parental grasp again (!), we began hunting for her. Loud music from a party on the next block over was annoying and concerning at the same time, since one of our neighbors said Rose had been asking "who was having a party?" and may have headed that way. Party Girl on the loose! Ten minutes later, there was no sign of her. We'd reached a new level on the Grumpy Meter. A new round of yelling began. Finally, I heard the belligerent, "What?!" from deep in a neighbor's back yard. "Rose, come here now!" Grumbling, followed by "Okay." Then she appeared. Covered in blood. Her arms, her shirt and shoes. I briefly panicked, but then stopped myself, because, well, she wasn't screaming and seemed more annoyed than anything else. I asked about the blood and she informed me that she had been gutting fish. Wow! Not the answer I was expecting. Recovering quickly, I began talking in my VERY STERN VOICE about how frustrated/angry/late, etc. we all were because she disappeared. Again. Off to the bathroom, I stripped her down, washed her off and bundled her into the car (to sit next to her sweaty brother and his friend). And, just to be sure she was appropriately "sanitized," I doused her with half bottle of Purell in the car. Tapping into her gift of gab yet again, she dampened our anger by describing in exacting detail the disection. Everything from the squid they pulled from the stomach ("cool"), to the eyeballs ("squishy"), to the brain ("tiny"), to the blood and gore, we were treated to a delightfully macabre account of her experience. To say Rose never ceases to amaze me would be an understatement. This whole incident made me thoughtful yet again about what kind of adult she'll be. Scientist? Party planner? Delinquent? Hard to say, but watching her grow up will definitely be a wild ride, that's for sure! As we were lazing around this morning, Rose announced that Coco is going to have puppies. Here's how the conversation picked up from there: Evan: What?!?! Rose: Coco is going to have a puppy. Evan: How do you know? Rose: When her nipples get big, that means she's going to have puppies. Evan (laughing): Rose, you don't know anything about sex. Rose: Yes I do! Me: What do you know about sex? Rose: I know about sex! (I cringe) . . . and the shiny beetles! Me/Evan: What? Rose: My friend told me about the shiny beetles. They're black and brown. Me: What does that have to do with sex? Rose: In-sects! I know a lot about them, Mom! They're . . . (begins a very long, detailed description of the aforementioned beetles.) Whew! For a moment there, I thought we were all going to get an education (once again) from our five-year-old. We did, just not what I was expecting, which is just fine with me. Today is Evan's 10th birthday. A milestone, indeed, and an opportunity for a mother to gush a bit. Saturday night, we went took the kids to Cirque du Soleil, followed by dinner at Evan's favorite restaurant (Firehouse). It was a lovely spring evening. We were seated by the open garage door wall of the restaurant, so the kids took several turns around the block as we waited for our food. In between laps, Rose, Colette and I made a list of the 10 things we love most about Evan (sadly, Bill was home sick): For some reason this birthday has made me more reflective than others. I think it's because for the first time, I can more clearly see the kind of man he will be, as well as the little boy he once was, and I'm proud of both. There are so many things I admire about Evan: he's kind, thoughtful, smart, loving, loyal, funny and determined. Yes, there are times he drives me crazy, but at the end of the day, he's a wonderful brother, son and friend. The other day, he asked me if it hurt when he was born. Yes! But . . . that's a distant memory in a decade of joy. Happy 10th Birthday, Evan! It started innocently enough: an afternoon visit by Evan's friend, W., who is, himself, quite knowledgeable and enamored of this particular decade's tunes. Trying to show that I too, can be a "cool kid," I whipped out several CDs my brother had made for me long ago of his favorite rock songs -- all from the '70s, of course. Well, it's been non-stop rock in our house ever since. Rose, in particular, has taken a liking to the discs and insists on playing them in her room at alarming volumes. The other day, she had a playdate with her friend, L., and when I walked in, Rose had on a long velvet dress, feather clips in her hair, and was swooning to the rhythm - she was the "dancer." L. was sitting at the table, with big headphones on and was pretending to be the "sound mixer person." All while the Eagles blared in the background. Wow. Everbody has their quirks -- some, like Rose, a bit more than others -- but I can't imagine there are too many 5-year-olds who know most of the lyrics to Hotel California, Stairway to Heaven, Crazy for You, and Born to Be Wild and will ask for them by name. It's good timing as we're heading off to see Uncle Becker and Aunt Wendy in a few weeks and well, they love this particular music, too. Lots of dancing/singing/general rowdiness ahead of us. Next stop: the 1980s, when the kids can especially bond with their father, as this is where his heart lies. Until then - rock on! Friday night was the annual Father Daughter Dance at our local elementary school. Because she is going to be in Kindergarten next year, Rose (and Bill) decided to attend. Special occasions deserve special attention, so I decided to make Rose a dress. Yes, I can sew, but it's not something I do often or especially well. However, I didn't let that slow me down and picked a complicated pattern anyway! Fortunately, it was a wonderful Oliver and S pattern (School photo dress) with lots of detailed instructions. My friend, Heather, who is a fabulous seamstress, helped and encouraged me, so I was able to get it done -- along with a matching bow tie for Dad -- with about 10 minutes to spare! I'm not sure how much fun they actually had at the dance -- Rose spent most of the time looking for friends -- but the idea of it left a lasting impression on her, along with lots of wonderful memories about her first dance with her favorite guy. Rose and I spent quite a bit of time together today on the way to and from -- and waiting around at -- the vet. Coco has a bladder infection that has gotten out of hand (read: peeing throughout the house), so I made an appointment to take her in today, one of Rose's two stay-at-home days of the week. Despite the rain, I thought it would be good to walk (much to Rose and Coco's dismay). Given the weather, the multiple tests/procedures, and the general moodiness of the traveling party, it took about ten times longer than it normally would have. Fabulous quality time together. As we were waiting for the vet, I asked Rose about the odd arrangment of Wizard of Oz characters I had spied in her room that morning: She told me they were for her club. "What club?" "My special club. It's for girls. And some boys, but only this many (boys)." (hands spread about 4 inches apart). Mmmm. "The tin guy, and the Lion and Dorothy and, who's that other guy? The one with grass and the brain problem? Anyway, they're eating cupcakes and wearing capes and . . . " (sadly, my mind wandered a bit at the very long description of her elaborate scene so these details are fuzzy). Plus, the vet entered, so our conversation stopped. Change to the Long Walk Home. Me: "What is that you're singing?" Rose: "It's a song for my club." Me: "What's the name of your club?" Rose: "It's the Justin Beavers Club" Me: "Don't you mean the Justin Bieber Club? It's Bie-Ber, with a 'B' like the insect." Rose: "Noooooo, I mean Justin Be-Vers. With a 'V,' Mom." (interpret: "Duh, you moron.") Mmmmm. (We've been talking a lot about Justin Bieber lately because Evan has been flipping his hair endlessly and just asked for skinny jeans. I had to gently plant the seed that not all fashions look good on everyone, but that's another story . . .) A few blocks later. . . more singing. Me: "What are you singing? I can't understand the words." Rose: "That's because it's our special club language. Only club members understand it." Me: "Wow. What does it say?" Rose: "You don't say it, you sing it. It's only done in singing. No talking." That's a first. Back to singing (loudly). Later, as we turn the final corner for home . . . Me: "Who is part of your club, anyway?" Rose: "Girls, I said. Some boys -- like Daddy and Evan, but mainly girls." Me: "You do know that I'm a girl, right?" Rose: "Yes, but you're OLD. This is for young girls." Wow - arrow to the heart! Back to singing. And stomping through puddles. And wearing silver sparkle tights with an orange and blue skirt, pink soccer shorts underneath, a bright pink and silver "Hello Kitty" t-shirt, purple rain jacket, and brown and blue polka-dotted rain boots. Ah, to be five. J-O-Y.
12/21/2012
Art for Sale
During this holiday break, Rose has decided she wants to make a little extra cash/moolah/coin. Why, we're not exactly sure why, but she's been obsessed about selling some of her drawings and "getting rich." She wants to set up a kind of lemonade stand for art on the corner, where she can "catch all those folks running, biking and walking by." Smart.
Now, she's a fine "artiste" - putting lots of emotion, detail and drama into her work - but I've had a lot of trouble convincing her that strangers walking down the street might not feel the same way about her work. At least, not enough to pay $60, which is what she intends to charge for each piece.
As I post this, I can hear her outside, yelling, "Pictures for sixty cents!" Sounds like a little dose of economics (and some clarity about the difference between dollars and cents), has helped bring Rose and her dreams crashing back to reality. I can also hear her brother offering to buy a picture to make her feel better since, sadly, none have sold.12/11/2012
Believe It or Not
As we go about our holiday business -- decorating, making lists, baking cookies and doing our very best to be merry -- there's always a slight air of anxiety as we consider the BIG question of the season: Does Rose Still Believe In Santa?
12/02/2012
Rock On!!
Six years ago yesterday, our world was completely rocked. It hasn't righted itself since, which is just fine with us.
I love this picture. It's so quitissentially Rose. I'm not sure if it's the sly expression on her face, the dramatic pose, or the stunning but effective use of pink accessories (including the Michael Jackson glove), but it's definitely her. To me, it shows such as overwhelming sense of self-confidence that it makes me slightly envious. If only all girls (and women) had the same. I hope she never changes.
07/17/2012
Fishy business
06/02/2012
The Sex Talk
05/21/2012
A Decade of Joy
05/20/2012
What's old is new again
Given the fact that I'm in a band, music is something we talk a lot about in our house. I had always assumed that my kids would grow up humming tunes and paying attention the latest hit songs, but never did I imagine that they would fall so deeply in love with the music of the 1970s. Father Daughter Dance
04/18/2012
The Justin Beavers Club
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