Show and Tell

Reagan's Show and Tell day.  I asked her what she wanted to bring.  She said "My Talent".  Oh.  Okay then.  The talent she wanted to share was singing with her Karaoke machine.  The karaoke machine's a little big for the backpack and bus, so I brought it in.  I highly doubted that she would actually go through with singing, because she gets "shy" in front of people.  That little girl did it, though!  She sang in front of her entire class, as well as her teacher and two teacher's aides! 

Where do these kids come from?  I would NEVER be able to do that in Kindergarten!!

Back Seat Jam

 

 

 

 

Disney Princess Royal Ball

Reagan's birthday is right around the corner.  In two months.  That's like... tomorrow... in little girl world.  She has been busy busy busy planning her big day.  She wants a Disney Princess Glow In The Dark Surprise Party.  Alrighty then.  And she's dishing out parts to all around her.  "Colby will dress as Captain Hook.  Quinn will be Peter Pan.  I will be Elsa."  Daddy, to my mind, would make a natural Prince Charming, but I might be a tad biased in that regard.  Reagan had other ideas.

"Daddy will be the genie from Aladdin."

So, Rob will come to the party without a shirt, painted blue, wearing harem pants, and telling jokes.

"But I don't know any jokes, Reagan," says he.  As if that was the only thing stopping him.

"You can read jokes out of the joke jar, Daddy," she says. 

Oh, I can't wait to see what Rob will do with that one.  What's so funny is that he's actually CONSIDERING it.  He was musing about the possibilities of a skin-tight long-sleeved blue shirt.  Ha ha ha. 

That little girl has him so whipped.

Somethin' Missin'

For weeks now, Reagan has had a loose tooth, yet refused to let me help her remove it.   It became all wonky in her mouth, and she looked snaggle-toothed for a good long time.  Today, at long last... it came out.  On it's own, after she bit into a croissant.  No pain, no fuss, no blood.

She's pretty excited for her first visit from the tooth fairy!!

Now let's hope that dang tooth-fairy remembers to show up tonight!!

Crying Wolf

Reagan has been in a mood today.  She threw a temper tantrum at the soccer field, and earned herself a time out in the car. She caused a spectacle at the outhouse, insisting that she was going to FALL IN!  MOM!  HELP!  I CAN'T GO POTTY BECAUSE I WILL FALL IN! (Of course, she'd already gone #1 and #2 not 15 minutes prior to this.  She just wanted me to leave the game and devote my attention to her.  Once in time out, she miraculously did not need to use the restroom at all).   She started crying on the floor of Culver's because she wanted a TOY instead of ICE CREAM and there are no toys at Culver's. She slid down onto the floor of the restaurant because it's just TOO. MUCH. CHICKEN for one little girl to eat.   She was screaming at the top of her lungs while in the shower, and I thought she was being burned by the water, so came running at break-neck speed.  Nope.  She thought she saw a spider, but upon closer inspection.  No spider.  She lightly shut her fingers in the door and screamed for 45 minutes.   Her boots hurt her ankles.  HELP!  I CAN'T WALK!  MY BOOTS HURT MY ANKLES!  She has been whiny and crying for much of the day, and quite frankly not all that pleasant to be around.  EVERYTHING has been an emergency in Reagan world today, and I had had enough. 

So, you can understand why I might not have jumped up right away when she started crying for the 578th time today, this time because she tripped over a toy in her bedroom.

"MOM!  HELP!  I CAN'T WALK!  MY LEG IS TWISTED!"  Her brother went to go check on her, and decided that she was being overdramatic.  As I was busy drying my hair after my shower, I decided that my immediate attention was not warranted. 

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMM!"
"Reagan, I will be in after my hair is dry to check on you.  I'm almost done."  I figured that by waiting a few minutes she would discover that, hey!  She really is just fine! and be bored with the dramatics by the time I was done.  Not so.  Ten minutes later, when I finally finished, she was still crying.  So I decided to check on her.

There she was on the floor, with genuine tears, holding her knee.  It had dislocated.  I know this, because this is a common occurrence in our house.  The boys (Quinn especially) have repeatedly dislocated their knees.  It's not pretty, and I have to pop them back into place - a procedure that is highly painful, but lasts only a few seconds.  The boys are stoic and have a high pain tolerance. Reagan, not so much.  She was freaking out, and would NOT let me touch her leg.  I, "Mom the schmuck" who let her daughter lie on the floor with a dislocated knee while she blew her hair dry, had to bring in reinforcements.

Quinn was not enough help, even though he vouched for the fact that the procedure would be over quick if she just let me do it.  Rob, with his queasy stomach, had to hold Reagan down for me.  With an audible "POP!", the femur seated back in the tibial plateau, where it belonged.  Beautiful. 

Now to feel guilty for the rest of the evening about ignoring my daughter the one time she really DID need my help.  UGH UGH UGH.

Stall Tactics

The world is a scary place right now, and Rob and I were talking about it in the front seat while driving to tonight's soccer game.    The kids never listen when I ask them to put their shoes away, but when we'd LIKE to have a private conversation, they're all ears.  At some point, I said to Rob "maybe we shouldn't talk about this stuff in front of the kids."  The boys just said "Too late.  We heard it all!"  Great. 

Well, tonight, Reagan was stalling BIG TIME going to bed.  Like... big time.   Frustrated, I asked her why she just wouldn't lie down.

"I'm scared."  Oh, great.  See?  We should not be talking about world affairs in front of the children.  Heck, things give ME nightmares about now.  I put my arm around her and tried to comfort her.

"Honey, there's nothing to be scared of.  Mommy and Daddy are right here, and you have a guardian angel to protect you always.   What are you scared of?"

"It's hard to say," she replied.   "It's not about aliens or monsters or any of that."  Great.  We've given our daughter vague anxiety.  She's thinking about World War III and beheadings.  I just know it.  And it's all our fault.

"It's about Santa's elves.  I think they're in my room."

UHHHHHH.  Huh.  OK.    Well, I guess I can relieve myself of that guilt.

"Well, yes, they are.  He sent them in there to see if you're being good and going to bed.  He's making his list right about now, you know."

"OHHHHHHHHH!" she says.  Like it's all okay now. 

Luckily, the caliphate is not spreading to a five year old's psyche just yet.  Thank goodness for that!!