Say What? Sew what?











{January 25, 2011}   Growing up.

My youngest daughter turned four on the 20th.  It’s the first year she realized what a birthday really is and she was so proud to have a day where she “ruled” the house.  We had donuts with sprinkles for breakfast, pb&j’s for lunch, spaghetti w/garlic bread for dinner and purple cupcakes with chocolate and sprinkles.  All per Little Ms. S’s request.

Little Man turns 5 on Feb 8th.  Next weekend we shall be doing the Chuck E Cheese thing to celebrate their birthdays with family and friends.  Damn, that place is expensive, but it’s not like I can have backyard bbq and water balloons for them like I can for Diva A and Diva M’s summer birthdays.

Speaking of Diva A and growing up…she’s 8 8 AND A HALF (can’t forget that half, Mom…geeeeezzzzzzz)  Another one of our fabulous conversations while she’s brushing her hair after her shower.  I was distracted by Antique Roadshow (how fabulously wonderful is that show??)

A:  Mom?

Me: Yeah, baby?

A: When did you and Dad meet?

Me:  2001.

A:  What year was I born?

Me:  2002

A:  Oh, so I was only born a year after you two met?  *Staring at me wide-eyed, expecting  an explanation*

Me:  Uh, uh, uh *oh, shit.  Damn you, Roadshow!!!  I cannot tell a lie, I cannot tell a lie.*  Yes, dear, you were. *Please, please, please let that appease her increasing curiosity about life as she knows it*

A:  So.  When did you and Dad get married?

Me: *Fluff me running. Smile. Crap, what year did we get married?* Hmmmm, 2004. *Smile big*

A:  Oh, YOU were pregnant with me BEFORE you were MARRIED????

Me: *Oh, shit…oh, shit.*  Yes, it looks that way. *Smile even bigger*

A:  Mom, one day your going to have to tell me how you get a baby inside your belly.

Me: Yes, but today is not that day.  I will, give me a bit.  Good night, Baby.

A:  Good night, Mom, I love you.

As I am left sitting there sweating.  Yup, she did the math.  Her innocent thinking that one has to be married to have a child is burst.  I couldn’t lie to her–she is asking the “right” questions and analyzing my answers and what she sees around her.  God, I felt horrible telling my daughter she was born out of wedlock.  Talk about archaic thinking.  It’s not like I told her that I was on birth control and she’s my little souvenir from a vacation to Orlando, Florida with her dad.  I now must figure out how to tell my 8 (and a half) year old about the birds and the bees and do so in an age appropriate way that will not scar the poor darling for life.

Why do they grow up and ask harder and harder questions.  I’d rather answer the why’s right now then the how’s…

Lots of love!!!

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