Thursday, December 25, 2008

If THIS doesn't invoke the holiday spirit...

Dear Santa:

For Christmas this year I would like to have a mom that doesn't neglect me whilst doing last minute Christmas shopping at her favorite boutique Naartje allowing me to roam freely near the sharp-edged baseboards in the store and trip and fall so I have to go to the ER which was quite frankly a hellish nightmare and have 20 stitches and be totally sedated so the plastic surgeon my mom insisted on summoning to the ER could sew a straight line so I wouldn't look like Frankenstein forever like when I start to date in 20 years.

Thanks again,

Sweet Little Charlotte

(All photos snapped on my phone)

(this one even still just makes me want to cry right this second)

Dear Santa,

I would also love it if you could slip a coupla vials of the antidote to incessant/unproductive motherly guilt in my stocking, while you're at it.



Saturday, December 20, 2008

Digging Deep

Jackson: "Mom, what do you want for Christmas?"

Me: "A Bosch." (top of the line mixer for aspiring domestic goddesses such as myself. My friend Carol Fawson is schooling me in the art of bread making).
Jackson: (perplexed, as he should be) "Way to dig deep, mom."

This is the same Big Guy who, as of late, has been sneaking up ever so early on Sunday mornings, (his father and I ignoring the clanks and clatter in the kitchen at 6:30am on the only day we get to sleep in). He's produced a couple of extremely edible breakfasts.
I'm talking waffles, scrambled eggs, hash browns, and bacon (microwavable, but still).

Love you, my nine year old chef.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

"Ode to Pumpernickel"

(skirt above courtesy of Aunt Steph)

This chick kills me. The outfits she comes up with. I gave up trying to suggest clothing ensembles (matching is over-rated) and hairstyles (she can do her own ponytails, thanks).

Her non-conformity both inspires and frustrates me.

Everytime she comes downstairs "ready for preschool, mom!" with a little funk in her trunk, so to speak, I just have to smile and tell her "I love your outfit." This gives her joy.

I imagine what a strong/independent woman she will become. This gives me great joy.

Behold, the spunkification of America: