Hands down...

…the most wonderful thing anyone has ever said to me. Ever.

"Mama, I promise I will never, ever, ever not hug you. I will always give you a hug you if you ask."

No. Sleep. 'Til Nighttime!

That's right folks. It's been a long, luxurious road these past 3 and 3/4 years, but on Sunday it came to a screeeeeeching halt.

No more naps.

At least not daily ones.

I know, I know. We've had it good. I have absolutely no right to attempt to garner any kind of sympathy at this stage. Most of our friend's kids dropped their naps before 3, some by 2 and 1/2. And yet we've coasted along, napping it up for a minimum of 90 minutes every day. Without fail, and without resistance. We all needed that naptime, and we were all grateful for it.

And now. Sigh. The jig is up.

No more collapsing on the couch at 2pm with a coffee and something chocolaty that I wait to eat while she's not around. No more catching up on laundry or dishes, or getting a jump on dinner without interruption. No more mid-afternoon naps or mom blog binges.

But also, no more splitting each day into distinct halves, factoring in travel time to and from home. No more stressing about late naps causing late bedtimes. No more remembering to bring home nap stuff, wash it, and return it to school on Monday morning.

As with everything, you take the good with the bad. I'm a little bummed about it, but also proud of my little muffin for graduating to a new phase of childhood. The non-napper. So far she's handled it without any meltdowns or fiascos of any kind. Just the odd "I'm tiiired", but that's nothing you don't hear from mom and dad ten times a day anyway, so we welcome her into our little chorus.

It'll make for some less peaceful car rides, I imagine, but on the upside Ralph can whine all he wants in the back seat without waking anyone up. Fantastic.

This is what I would call "sleeping hard".

Being a hooker just makes me feel good.

Yesterday I had a difficult day. It was a jumble of stressful events, schedule mix-ups, frantic emails and general SNAFUs. But the moment that stood out for me as the precise instant you realize you really should just go back to bed and try again tomorrow was the moment I was standing at the counter of the bake shop I've been wanting to try for over a year, a glistening sticky bun placed ever so tantalizingly before me, an unimpressed employee poised impatiently at the cash register, and my brand new motherfunking $8 Old Navy clearance purse would. not. open. The fabric was jammed real good into the zipper. Wouldn't budge. After an embarrassingly long attempt at wriggling it free, I finally had to apologize profusely and back out of there with my tail between my legs. And, as I was stuck waiting for a ride and the air had turned rather frigid and the snow started flying, I ducked into Bridgehead and sat at a table for about fifteen minutes, wriggling and pulling and trying not to scream profanities. When I did finally get it free, I ordered a cappuccino, which was delicious, and a scone, which sucked, and lamented that coffee shops really should have liquor licenses. 

Say it with me now: FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS much???

Sometimes I'm really ashamed at the stuff I complain about. Why, just earlier that morning I had chastised E for being so picky at breakfast time ("I don't know what I want, but I want to decide, but I don't know what I want, but I don't want that, no I don't want you to decide, no I don't want that either, but I want to decide, but I don't know…"), explaining that lots of kids have to go to school without any food at all, so perhaps she could spend a little more time on "thank you" and a little less time on "I don't want that". And you know, she totally got it. This was her response:

"I have an idea mom. What if I took some of my money and you took some of your money, and we gave it to a family who doesn't have any food so that they can buy groceries!"

These are the moments, along with the unsolicited snuggles, that really sell parenting as a solid lifestyle choice, am I right?

The absolute beauty of this whole situation is that the day before I had sent an email to a Rants from Mommyland, a mom blog that I'm sure I've mentioned my fondness for in the past, asking to be involved in their annual Gift Card Exchange (previously called the Grand Hooker Experiment, because fans of RFM are called Hookers for reasons I can't recall but very much enjoy). People who need help this Christmas email them with their names and addresses, and they get matched with people who can offer help. The helpers then buy gift cards to stores like Target and Walmart and ToysRUs in whatever denomination they can afford and send them to the address they've been matched with. Great idea, right? And I had asked to be matched with a family with a little girl if possible so that E could buy a gift card for a little girl like herself. 

And now, E has come up with the same idea! I really love this girl.

If you would like to get involved, check this out. I think there's still time to submit your name to either give or receive help. I promise, it'll make you feel better than you thought hooking ever could!

And the Grammy goes to...Dr. E!

I love kid brains. When  you can manage to turn off the go!go!go! mulitasking mom brain long enough to tune into them, they can provide endless entertainment. E asked me a very interesting question the other day. A simple question, but it just made me realize that they really are thrown into this world with no user's manual, no cheat sheet, and they can't even speak the language. They have to figure things out for themselves. Mind blowing.

We were driving along, E singing along to her favourite song, when she suddenly stopped and asked:

E: Mom, can people change what they do?
M: What do you mean?
E: Like, can they be doctors and then sing on the radio?
M: Of course. Mama and dada have had lots of jobs. Most people don't just do one thing.
E: Oh. Because I want to be a doctor first, and then I want to sing this song on the radio. Can I do that?
M: Sure. Or you could even write your own songs and sing them.
E: No, I want to sing Taylor's song. I like this one.
M: In that case, we could just call up the radio station and I bet they'll let you sing it on the air right now!
E: No, I'm not ready yet. I want to be a doctor first.

How cool would that be to be a doctor and a singer? Why didn't I think of that?

Which of course got me to wondering what kind of singer my daughter will be. It appears that we don't listen to enough music, because she doesn't really know all that many songs, and an unsettlingly large proportion of them are...fairly inappropriate. Well, let's go through the songs she knows.

First there are the basics:

Happy Birthday
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
ABCs...you get the idea

She's got a good hold of a few Christmas tunes:

Santa Claus is Coming to Town
Rudolph
Frosty
Baby it's cold outside

From there we get into the Top 40 selections:

We are never, ever getting back together
We are young
Kiss you inside out
Blow my whistle

I'm sure there are others, and the vast majority of them make me cringe when I hear her sweet little voice delivering her unique interpretation from the back seat. Thank goodness for Taylor Swift. If it weren't for her, my precious three year old would still be reciting step-by-step instructions for performing fellatio. I think it's time to listen to a different radio station, and perhaps - oh, I don't know - remember to pop in one of the dozen or so children's cds we have around here somewhere once in a while. Because I don't mind a Taylor wannabe, but a mini-Britney I can do without.

She's never heard of a SANTA CLAUS PARADE??! *shame*

While putting on a little girl's boots this morning…

"Mom, I don't want you to ever die. Because I just love you so much. You are the sweetest mom ever."

This is the moment I choose to remember when questions like this crop up from the back seat:

"Mom, what's a Santa Claus Parade?"

I'm a good mom…I'm a good mom…I'm the sweetest mom ever…