How A Piece of String Made Me Cry

Molly's preschool had a Mother's Day party today.  It was darling.  We were swarmed with munchkins (who are not so excited to see us at home, but at school love us ten times more than usual) eager to present us with hand-printed hot pads and sorbet.  Sorbet!  I was pumped, as I had sent this text to my friend two seconds before walking into the school: "Waiting to go into school for mothers day party.  Ohmygosh!  I hope there is a snack!"

So the sorbet was awesome.  Then they sang some songs about being little miracles, and flowers and sunshine being for everyone, big or small, rich or poor.  I started choking up, but managed to squash the tears by focusing on the kid inviting Molly to dance (oh geez, it's the same kid who brought her a shell from Florida over spring break.  Lord, help me).

But then.  Then!  Those wonderfully sadistic teachers presented us with a portfolio of our child's work, complete with the name tag they got the first day of school, blurbs about what they like to do with their Daddies from the Father's Day Valentine's Day party, and... a string.

A string they used to measure Molly way back in October.  She has grown.  And not just taller.  She colors in the lines better now, she memorizes long(ish) songs and poems, she speaks more eloquently, she shares more happily, she holds her crayon properly, she has even more confidence (!), and she's just... older.  A more mature Molly.  Thank you piece of string, thank you very much.  I will tape you up and remember all the ways in which my girl has grown, even as she puts her shoes on the wrong feet or spills her milk or cries when she falls.  She might be little, but I know it's not for long.

Between the Sheets

My baby turns four on Sunday.  Four!  She celebrated by puking in my bed last night.  Oh don't worry, my bed is used to it from the previous night when Adrienne puked in my bed.  My bed is Puke Central.  Of course, I mostly feel bad for my poor, sick munchkins, but I also certainly feel bad for me.  And my barfy bed.  Happily, A got it all out of her system and has been a picture of health ever since.  Fingers crossed the same goes for M because who wants to be sick on her birthday/Easter?!

In celebration of my dear girl's birthday, let me just say a couple things:
* Is there anything in the world like your first born baby?  (That is my last semi-sentimental thought because I'm already crying.  Lack of sleep does that to me.)
* Molly was 12 days late to enter the world.  Twelve.  Days.  That's a lot of days when you're a giant walrus.  I tried everything including eating macaroni and cheese with A1 sauce to get her out.  Finally I bribed her: "tell you what, little baby, at some point before you turn four you can hurl in my bed.  You won't be able to do that if you never get out of my Me."
* She was born on a Tuesday and theoretically should be "full of grace."  Grace is her middle name, but that's all the grace my sweet girl has.  "Tuesday's child is full of puke" might be a more appropriate line to the rhyme.
* Her baby book (and A's too for that matter) only goes to age five.  I'm sorry, what?  Baby book people?  Do you HAVE children?  Are they NOT your babies after age five?!  It makes me insane.  I want a baby book that goes to age 65 please.  After that she can keep track of things on her own, but I think 65 is reasonable.

Have a fantastic Easter weekend, friends.  Here's hoping everyone keeps their jelly beans down.