Soccer mom

On a recent episode of Project Runway, Tim Gunn described a designer's look as being perfect for a soccer mom -- and he didn't mean it as a compliment. I was in the midst of turning my nose up at the design when I did a forehead slap. I resemble that remark: I am now a soccer mom. Does that mean I should dress worse now?

But, I digress. This self-identification was yet another milestone I've attained this school year. And for Jellybean, soccer has been a long-time dream. She has wanted to play soccer ever since we happened upon a soccer practice near a playground when she was 3.

I remember so clearly that evening two years ago, how I could hear the gears turning in her head while she watched the 7-year-old girls practice soccer. She was in awe of them. They may as well have been Mia Hamm and Brandi Chastain of the championship Women's World Cup soccer team!

So, now she has her chance to play. She is on an under-6 co-ed team, and she loves every second of practice and games. And, Tim Gunn would be happy to know that as much as the sport, she loves the "fashion" choices involved. Her purple soccer socks are one of her most-prized items in her wardrobe. Go, Jellybean! (And I promise not to dress like the dowdy soccer mom of Tim Gunn's imagination)

Janis Joplin

Jellybean (and by extension of Jellybean, Peanut too) loves Janis Joplin music. She cannot get enough of Janis. I even downloaded more Janis so she could listen. In hindsight, perhaps "Mercedes Benz" was not the best choice, but it's too late now.

If a song comes on, Jellybean will stop what she's doing and walk near the stereo -- not as old-fashioned as it sounds, the iPod runs the show -- so she can hear the words and belt it out. Of course, she never does a command performance, especially for the camera, but I tried once and got this:




I haven't had the heart to tell her yet that Janis Joplin is no longer alive. I think she would be very sad.

Arachnophobia

The only reason I know the term for "fear of spiders" at top of mind is because of the movie that came out like 9 million years ago, "Arachnophobia." And now, to think, that term definitely applies to a member of my household.

I don't love spiders, but I wouldn't consider myself arachnophobic -- killing-bugs-o-phobic captures it a little better for me. If I see a spider, I move along my merry way, reminding myself that she's probably eating and killing the rest of the creepy-crawly things for me, so in that sense, we're friends. If I could just get her outta my way without touching her...

The other day, the girls and I were at my parents' house. They both went into the bathroom to do their business and wash their hands, when suddenly Peanut erupted with what sounded like a blood-gushing shriek and launched immediately into the stop-breathing cry that occurs with the worst of injuries. I sprinted to the bathroom and found Jellybean speechless and looking a bit dumbfounded while Peanut continued to gasp for her breath between sobs. There was no blood or missing teeth, so I implored Peanut to tell me what was the matter. She struggled to get one syllable out between each sob, so that when she pointed and I followed her finger and deciphered "spi....." SOB "...der," I figured it out. There was a spider sitting on the edge of the bathtub. And she wasn't hurt, she was just...arachnophobic. Wow. To be fair, it was a pretty big spider, and it caught her off guard. So I acknowledged her fear and we moved on (when I got my mom to remove the spider, natch).

Until a couple days ago. I sent Peanut up to her room to get a book for us to read. She was singing to herself, climbing the steps in her little 3-year-old world, when suddenly I heard that blood-gushing shriek and crying. I rushed up the stairs, afraid she had fallen on them. Instead, I found her pointing to a spider dangling from the handrail. Definitely arachnophobic. Not just a one-time deal. Never would've seen that one coming from Peanut.

Little girls, little girls

This morning, I went in to Peanut's room to get her up. She was sleepy-talking in her bed, and when I picked up her warm, jammied little body out of her crib, she just folded into me, wrapped her arms around me gently and rested her head on my shoulder. Oh, it was so sweet and such a cozy start to the day. I thought to myself, "This is why I'm glad I have girls."

The song "Little Girls" runs an almost constant loop in my head these days. I'm sure that has nothing to do with the fact that the girls ask me EVERY DAY if they can listen to the Annie soundtrack. I do let them some days, and other days, oh darn, I just can't find that CD anywhere. Don't know where it could have gone...

My subconscious also summons the song regularly, though, as I find myself surrounded by everything little girl-related there could be. Including two actual specimens. And I couldn't be happier about it.

I didn't know I wanted to have daughters. I always assumed I would have boys -- I'm kind of a tomboy, and I've been surrounded by boys all my life, in my family and my neighborhood. I didn't think I could handle dresses and frills and princesses (okay, I still don't accommodate princesses very well). But all the cuddling and affection are way more than I knew could happen with such little people. It turns out that girls are exactly what I needed.

Even though they are little, they really are girls now. I don't mean they weren't before, it's just that now they can express their girlieness. (check out the accessorizing they did to their outfits in these pictures, and you'll see what I mean)

"Little shoes, little socks, and each little bloomer..." The little girl stuff is great. I'll hold onto it as long as I can, because somehow I have a feeling the bigger girl stuff ain't gonna be near as rosy.

The feminist dilemma

Jellybean is already investigating the plight of women. She has been saying now for almost 2 years that she wants to be a doctor when she grows up. Don't know where this came from, except that we do love our pediatrician (who happens to be female). I always tell her she can be whatever she wants to be.

She is always adamant about her future career, almost to the point of being insulted if anyone suggests something different. She'll be pretending to cook, and I'll say, "Maybe you can own a restaurant when you're a grown-up." She'll look at me, pause for effect, and say flatly, "I'm going to be a doctor."

So, with this in mind, she caught me a bit off guard the other day. She was telling me that she will be a doctor when she grows up. At the same time, she was holding her baby doll, Baby Lacey. She looked down at Lacey, looked at me again and said, "I don't want to be a doctor. I want to be a mom." Remember this? Yeah, I felt that way again.

But I was determined to clarify for her. See, because I am home with her, she thinks that moms can't GO to work. I can understand how she would get this perception, seeing as how her research involves one person -- me. I concentrated on minimizing the damage with a response.

All it took was me telling her that the two pediatricians she has seen are moms AND doctors. Her eyes widened. "Tell me more people who are moms and doctors..." Uhhh. I came up with a couple dad-doctors, and that satisfied her. She put Baby Lacey night-night and all was good with the world. Phew.

Equal rights gone wrong

Just when I think I'm doing all right raising my kids, I have found an enormous failing on my part. I am so appalled at some of the things that Jellybean has said lately, I can hardly stand it. Okay, I'm exaggerating a little bit -- but only a little bit.

If you know me, you know that I'm not exactly a doormat, especially when it comes to equality for women. If you don't know me, well, just take my word for it.

Example #1: After seeing a fire truck close up, complete with firefighters and boots and helmets, Jellybean asks me, "Can girls be firefighters too?" Heart ---> floor.

Example #2: The girls were playing with balloons, and the ribbons got all tangled up. I picked up the balloons and tackled the project of untangling the strings. Jellybean says, "Dad is gonna have to do that when he gets home." Excuse me?!

These, from the same girl who already announced her run for president.

L and I run a very equal household. For every task/chore one of us doesn't do, there is something the other one does do. He fixes faucets, I do all the returns to stores. He grills, I bake. Everything else we divide in half: We both cook (arguably, L is better at that than I), we both do laundry, we both clean.

There is hardly anything beyond my capability when I'm with the girls during the day, and Jellybean in particular understands that. (Of course, she doesn't know how many times I've secretly steered her away from a bug so I could have L secretly kill it. I refuse to kill bugs, but I think that falls under the phobia category instead of the gender category.)

I've decided to take these questions and comments in stride. Jellybean is almost 4, and she's trying to figure out her role in the world. Girls can do anything, and I tell her that all the time. Girls should be strong and smart, and both L and I make a point of saying that and pointing out examples of strong girls and smart girls. I'm also trying to DO instead of just SAY (well, except for the bug thing. A phobia, I tell you.).

Hopefully this phase will be short, though, because I swear a little part of me dies every time she wonders aloud what girls are capable of.