Eight days ago we celebrated Baby Sister’s Fake Birthday. As opposed to her Real Birthday, which was a week ago, and her Birthday Party, which was on Saturday.

We had a fun and very low key time. She was delighted with her presents and cake and all the attention and … everything.

BTW, I have been reading up on how to take good snapshots. I have been learning lots of great, easy to follow rules. The kind of rules anyone should be able to remember, even in the heat of the moment.

For example, Rule Number One: Prepare your Scene. A rule covering everything from ensuring you have good lighting, to clearing background and foreground mess, to asking the person sitting for your portrait to please remove the chocolate cake from between her teeth.

Ignore the disastrous photos. I promise, a good time was had by all.

So, being a total glutton for punishment I spent last week making preparations for the party, which took place in our yard.

Just don’t ask for party photos. I was in charge of decorations, cleaning, food preparation, table laying, child wrangling, game organizing, adult social relations and repeatedly calling all the girls down from Baby Sister’s bedroom to please come bounce on the Bouncy Castle because I paid a lot of money for it to just be sitting there making a whooshing noise and swaying gently in the breeze.

The Daddy was in charge of Band Aids and photos. First he had to be reminded to get out the camera for the candle blowing. Then he decided to capture the moment with a blurry  iPhone video instead. Well, one candle blowing is just like another right? And we still have our memories…

I did get a few dark, blurry bouncing photos after the party was over!

So all is not lost

1. Things Fit in a RAV-4

This morning we took the Mad Whip to “The Park without the Playground” (as opposed to “George Bush”, “George Bush with the Playground” and “Daddy’s Park” which are all totally different experiences). We were worried about the RAV-4 being smaller than the Explorer as we tried to cram in the customary 3 kids bikes, two scooters and a Wave Board. They all fit. They never fit like that in the Explorer.

2. Cheapest Mid-Life Crisis Vehicle Ever

No, not the RAV-4. The Wave . It was the T-Bot’s birthday present, but it is The Daddy who has become the Wave-Master. He likes to wiggle his way past us shouting in a mock California-Surf-Dude voice “THE WAVE!“. As he did this at the almost-deserted park this morning I yelled back “I don’t think you are quite at the stage where 19 year old girls are going to be throwing themselves at you!”.

We turned the corner and guess who was standing there, open-mouthed.

Yes.

A gaggle of 19 year old girls.

3. Un-co? Try Ice Skating!

I have been promising Baby Sister ice-skating for such a long time. This weekend we finally made it to the rink. After all, she is about to turn 6.

Baby Sister is one of the most uncoordinated people I know. She trips over her own feet, knocks over anything in her path and only has to turn the handlebars on her bike to fall off it.

A little harsh maybe But once at the rink she did what we like to call an “Aunty Natty“.

(Sorry, Aunty Natty, but I promise you it is a compliment!)

She listened to the instructions, got up on those skates, and in 30 minutes was skating like a pro.

4. Fish and Chips

Yesterday we were at the supermarket and The Daddy left us by the donuts to go get some fish for dinner.

He returned brandishing cod wrapped up in white paper.

“Look!” he said, “Cod! And look at the price! We are going to eat fish and chips tonight!!”

Next, he put potatoes in the cart.

And then he tossed a deep fat fryer in there. Not kidding.

And before I knew it, we were at the checkout and he was trying to Google a recipe on his iphone, to be sure we had not missed any ingredients:

“BBC Recipe Fish and Chips“, he murmured urgently into the phone.

“Ah, not again! ” he sighed, as Google brought up “fishing trips”.

We never did get all the ingredients, and had to improvise. But the fish and chips were yummy. Yummy, if not good for the waistline.

Also,  I had to burn scented candles for hours afterwards.

He is talking about frying home made donuts next.

Tomorrow is the 100th day of school and Baby Sister is supposed to go in dressed as a 100 year old lady.

Luckily we still have some silver hairspray left over from Halloween and she is going to wear her ballet tights ‘cos they go baggy.

“Hmm… ” I said, “…and I’ll see if I have something to paint some lines on you, to look like wrinkles”.

“Why?”,  she asked seriously.

“Because old people have wrinkles on their faces”

“Oh!” (studying me closely) “You mean like the ones on your face?”

“Yes. Like the (sigh)… ones on my face.”

“So you are going to draw wrinkles all over, all around my mouth and eyes -  just like yours?”

***

Talking of wrinkles, I have done something absurd. I just bought my first ever dryer.

To be fair, it is really only half a dryer - I bought the Euro model which as well as being half the price is a teeny tiny little number. I was hoping its small stature would encourage me to (cough) only use it when really needed or for emergencies, as my lack of dryer has, until now, been more or less my only contribution towards saving the environment.

But now I fear it will just have me swearing on a daily basis as I try to cram all the contents of my XXL Texas-Sized washer into it in one go.

And I bet all that cramming will negate the whole reason for the dryer, which was to eliminate wrinkles.

I mean, wrinkles in my clothes.

It started sometime around Christmas, I’m not sure exactly.

The Wictor started waking up in the night again. Probably a stage.

At first, I would take him back to bed. And then, one night as he crawled in with me, I was too tired to do anything about it. Doing nothing became easy. I would wake up briefly to him getting under the covers and cuddling up, and that was that.

As it became a habit, I started not even noticing any more. I started sleeping through.

Most mornings now I wake up to find him stretched out, snoring, beside me.

And I have no recollection of how he got there.

But that is not the problem. The problem is this:

This morning I woke up to find there were four of us in the bed.

When Baby Sister woke up, I asked her:

“Baby Sister, how did you end up in my bed last night? ”

Her eyes gleamed. She was still in awe at her lucky break. And she replied:

“Mommy, I woke up in the middle of the night and came down to give you a kiss. Then you leaned over and pulled me in!”.

As my children grow up I am finding myself having to deal with some tough situations. Do children grow old before their time these days? When I was 10 years old my mother was still dressing me in frilly dresses and wouldn’t let me chew bubble gum. Last summer we were at the pool and there was a baby in the pool, chewing gum. A baby, too young to walk! I am not making this up.

So, we were driving along the other week when suddenly Baby Sister announced that I was going to be a grandmother. Luckily I had eaten that morning and had my wits about me so it did not take me long to remember that she is 5. Turned out she was talking about the future, when I am really old (because I am already old), and she will be living in San Francisco, but she will still love me and will send me postcards. And she will have a baby girl.

Phew. That’s OK then.

But the next thing out of her mouth? She wanted to be go to cheer camp and learn to be a cheerleader.

No harm in that, surely? I can indulge my little angel and sign her up for cheer camp right now! But … it’s just … I didn’t grow up with cheerleaders except as the ditzy sidekicks on American sitcoms, and in my mind cheerleading is on somewhere on a par with pageants. Harmless, but … OMG will they make her wear pancake makeup?

Then we were at the park and mysteriously all my friends had to leave for one fancy engagement or another (or because their toddlers had pooped their pants). And that’s when it all kicked off. First Baby Sister came running up to me, all breathless, to tell me she had a boyfriend, although she didn’t know his name because she couldn’t understand when he said it, she thought it was a funny name! I asked him and his name was Billy. So off she went to play on the big tire with Billy, and Billy’s Mom, complicit in the whole thing, pushing them while they twirled and laughed.

Next the T-Bot came running up chased by two girls who he insisted were called Annie and Oakley and I thought how sophisticated for 7 year olds to give false names. Except that later, as we were leaving, one of them came running up to us and thrust a piece of paper into his hand with her name and phone number and it did indeed say Oakley. Although come to think of it, it may also have been a false number. Sigh. Girls are so worldly wise these days.

So the next morning the T-Bot came to me with his little scrap of paper and asked to put it on the fridge for safe keeping. With an extra strong magnet. I obliged, probing casually, “do you think you might call her?”.

(Not wanting to be an interfering parent here but is seven too young to date?)

Well, Mommy” he said ” It’s just in case I do need to talk to her”. He thought a little more. “Maybe I could call her another day”.

“Yeah T-Bot” piped up Baby Sister “When you get a cellphone!”

The Future. Maybe more than I can handle.

I tried to distract the kids from all the amazing and not-to-be-missed programs on Saturday morning TV by taking them to a garage sale around the corner. The T-Bot got a snorkel. The Wictor got a plastic killer whale. But Baby Sister hit the jackpot. For $3 she came away with a whole box of 1980s and 90s Barbie clothes and furniture. One original owner.

Baby Sister is always asking me to tell the True Story of how when I was little I only had one (1) Barbie, which wasn’t even a Barbie, it was a Daisy doll. But since there was only one Barbie model available and my sister also had to have one… Yes, I was that seriously deprived growing up, so it is no surprise that the moment Baby Sister’s back was turned, I couldn’t help myself:

First I spied a Baywatch outfit and I just had to see what it looked like on.

Oh. Nasty flashbacks to every single time I try on swimwear. Although she looks fairly resigned to having ELEPHANTINE THIGHS.

I am all for the campaign for real bodies for Barbie, but it does raise the problem of what do we do with all those tiny 1970s/80s clothes.

In the end I had to turn to circa 1981 Barbie and her spendiferous figure to model for me. She actually managed to pull it on pull it off.

Wow. Doesn’t she look natural?

And then I spent a blissful 15 minutes picking outfits for these girls. Many are Designer Clothing,  by Ken himself, who was obviously a Fashion Ace for a while before he went back to being a Beach Bum.  Mostly dresses because although some of the pantsuits were rad! and hip! they wouldn’t fit over any of the new Barbies knees.

Ken, you have a lot to answer for.

Now, smile for the camera ladies!

Don’t they look lovely?

The worst part is there is still half a box of clothes left.

And the lime green fluro mini skirts and acid-washed denim jackets are calling to me.

So, somebody in this house graduated last night.

I’ll give you a clue : it wasn’t me.

I have never lived in a country which takes the transition to Big School so seriously. Pre-K Graduation is a truly American rite of passage. I have European friends who have refused to take part in the past, on the grounds that it is ridiculous,  to which I say:

Piffle!

Lighten Up!

LOOK HOW CUTE SHE LOOKS IN HER PINK GOWN AND CAP!!!

The Ceremony was mercifully short (considering that it consisted mostly of out-of-tune singing in english and mangled spanish) and as a family we managed to get through it without major incident, which was amazing, when you consider this:

Her teachers even gave her a “Class Ring”.

So Baby Sister had her day and was happy as a clam and you know what? She also made up for all those years I would fume at the back of the class after yet again getting the award for ” Little Miss Brainy” or “Teachers Helper” or “Book Worm”.

She won “Little Miss Sunshine”.

She has achieved all my dreams for her. I can die happy 

I’m sure most Dads would do anything for their daughter, but how many of them would do this?

One Friday a few weeks back, inspired by that TV commercial where the businessman goes away, taking his daughter’s stuffed animal with him to photograph in different places  (I think - I can’t even remember the damn thing to be honest - and it is 12.30am - but I am assured this is the gist of it), Baby Sister begged her Daddy to take Butterfly on a photoshoot in Houston.

This is Butterfly.

To be more precise, this is Butterfly sitting on the table of a restaurant during The Daddy’s lunch hour.

I cropped The Daddy’s Boss out of the picture.

These are the extremes to which The Daddy will go for his daughter.

.

Here is The Daddy in the restaurant holding Butterfly.

Yes, he does look a little embarrassed.

Even I would have looked a little embarrassed. And I look good in pink.

.

Cut to Butterfly on the bridge The Daddy walks over to get from his carpark to work.

He carried Butterfly for 10 minutes along some very public sidewalks. Now that is true dedication for you. I can’t remember what that businessman in the commercial had, but I am pretty damn sure it was not a pink poodle.

.

And now, some local interest shots for the folks back home. Butterfly on the bridge. See the lamp in the background?

Here’s that same lamp, on Tuesday (when school was cancelled and half the city stayed home, but The Daddy took his little car and aquaglided in to work):

Yeah, Houston floods. Just a little.

My two eldest looked to be trapped in some kind of net box ….

And they didn’t seem the least bit concerned by the situation.

Yesterday was Baby Sister’s birthday. I learned a hard lesson last year, when I had the whole party organized in 20 minute segments, only to have half the little girls lock themselves away in an upstairs bedroom with a box of Barbies and refuse to come out. This year we stuck to a few crafts, some cake, a pinata … and of course a Bouncy Castle:

Yes, it really was that big. The lady who delivered and set it up actually suggested - in all seriousness - that next time we ask to keep it overnight. So that we could camp out in it.  America continues to amaze me.

So plenty of room for all the kids to jump, although all of them didn’t end up in it at once, because half of them were upstairs playing Barbie.

Speaking of which, the haul this year was almost exclusively Barbie. We are overflowing with them already, and every one is a favorite. Forget Barbie’s Dream House/Real House/My House. I think we are headed for Barbie Sorority House. Especially with the addition of Totally Stylin Tattoos Barbie. Yes, we got one of those and in case you were wondering about all the hype, she does come with a “tattoo gun” stamper which makes a scarily realistic noise. It makes me a little uncomfortable but to the kids it’s just another, less messy way of applying some pretty cute and inoffensive temporary tattoos.

They don’t seem as interested in applying the mini tattoo stickers to Barbie.

While I am just itching to give her a tramp stamp. Because I am evil like that and care nothing for my childrens’ morals

So, just like that Baby Sister turns 5. I took her to buy her main present yesterday. We bought her a very expensive new bike. I say very expensive because at the rate we currently ride (about 10 times a year), if it lasts her 2 years it will have cost more than $10 a ride. But my hand was forced. I started off by buying her a (what else?) Barbie bike, which was the only toy store bike I could find which had relatively good reviews. And I wanted to like it. It is lightweight and has cool styling. However, its main feature is that none of the parts fit together properly. I discovered this after several frustrating hours, one trip back to the store for a bike center employee to look at me condescendingly and tighten a few screws, and the hassle of the front brake falling apart in my hand as I tried to adjust it for the umpteenth time. The last straw.

At which point The Daddy and I discussed things and decided that our children need to ride a lot more. You need to get me my money’s worth, young woman!

…

PS I know these birthday posts are supposed to be all sentimental and full of poetry about how I remember her soft baby head and baby toes and it seems just like yesterday - but honestly? I was too sleep deprived. Don’t remember a thing. She just kind of lay there and went gaa and waa a lot.

Now that she is 5 she doesn’t do that, so much. But dammit, we do need to find a storage solution for all those Barbies.

“Mommy!

Ashley and Ryan loved my little red heart tattoo with the face that you put on my hand so-o-o-o-o-o much. I don’t want them to see that you took it off, Mommy.

That is why I am going to wear my Tinkerbell glove all the time now, at home and at school…. That way they won’t see it went away and get disappointed.

OK? “