The Fairy-Unicorn-Rainbow Princess

Growing up, I was not exactly what you’d call a girly-girl.  I despised dresses almost as much as I loathed the lace tights that accompanied them.  My idea of style was pairing teal socks with teal shorts and a teal tee-shirt.  I would complete my monochromatic look with a teal windbreaker and four teal barrettes.  I wore my hair in two pigtails every day until the 6th grade, and I wore my pants pulled up so high that they were dual functioning; I was able to delay the purchase of a bra by a full year.  Lovely visual, yes?  [Picture of me in my Bra-nts to come if my parents can round one up...]

Things got slightly better for me with the re-invention of low-rise jeans (a godsend for the short-waisted) and a few months of access to TLC’s, “What not to Wear.”  My hair was eventually introduced to those mane taming essentials: the hair dryer, the curling iron and my personal favorite, the flat iron.  I learned a few make-up tricks, and my sister got me mostly up to speed on the importance of accessories.  With enough time and motivation, I can fake a sense of style for an evening or two, but mostly, I still rock the pony-tail-no-make-up-tee-shirt-and-jeans look that has been my signature style for the past twenty or so years.

Allie looking fierce in her chosen outfit.

You can imagine my surprise when my first daughter turned out to be Allison.  At 18 months old, she owned more purses than I did.  She was expressing strong opinions on her clothing before she turned two.  By the age of three, Allie had sworn off jeans in lieu of dresses (preferably pink or purple).  I recently discovered her in her room wearing a green tutu, a butterfly patterned tunic top and bright pink leggings.  “I bet you never thought of putting this outfit together!” she exclaimed proudly.

Allie’s favorite color is rainbow, and she wants to be a princess when she grows up.  Specifically, she hopes to be Princess Tiana.  I have caught her staring wistfully out her window on several occasions, whispering, “I wish I had a pet unicorn.”  She details the proper way her hair should be done, and is constantly seeking out new nail polish colors for her self performed manicures and pedicures.

Princess training.  Note the mani.

And she is more than happy to share her fashion knowledge with me, her poor style-stunted mother.  She brushes my hair and paints my nails, and is forever hoping to pick out my clothes.  Awkwardly, she gravitates towards the silky negligés that have been stashed in the back of my closet since Chris’ and my honeymoon six years ago, but she is usually placated with a casual dress and some jewelry.

My eldest daughter may be one of the girliest-girls I know, but she still has some not-so-girly interests.  She loves to dig in the garden with Chris and run barefoot in the back yard.  Her newly found love of He-man (thank you, Netflix) has made her more adept at playing super heroes: instead of whacking hulk with a sword while screaming, “piñata,” she now makes The Abomination skulk up to an opponent, and in her lowest register she growls, “You can’t handle me!”

I don’t know where life will lead Allison, but I am sure that wherever she goes, she will go in style.

Allie and her lady in waiting, going in style.

Bananas and Leprechauns

What I’m about to reveal may shock you.  In fact, you may want to sit down first.  Here goes:  my family goes through 28 bananas a week.  Yup.  Twenty-eight.  As in two shy of thirty. 

A lot of Bananas, but not all 28

I know what you are thinking, because it is probably one of the same things the surprised cashiers can’t help themselves from blurting out when I appear at their registers each week with enough bananas for an entire sex-ed class:

“Wow, you must really like bananas.”
“Heh, that’s a lot of bananas.”
“Whooah.  How many bananas do you have here?!?”
And my personal favorite: “Heheh.  Do you have a monkey? Heheheh.”

My response?  “Yes. Yep. Twenty-Eight. And no, unless you count these two brown eyed beauties swinging from my cart.”

But it’s really not as bad as it sounds.  Four people eating one banana a day just adds up quickly.  Chris takes one to work every morning, and Allison has been eating an entire banana with breakfast since she was 11 months old.  Nicole reliably eats all but the last two inches of hers.  (I’m convinced she believes the end of the banana is merely the ‘handle’ which is meant to be unceremoniously discarded over the side of her booster seat each morning.)  And me?  I see bananas as a vessel for my daily dose of Nutella.

I wonder if we could get a banana tree to grow in our basement.  It would probably save us a bundle.

On an entirely different note, I received an interesting email from WeightWatchers yesterday.  I haven’t actually participated in WeightWatchers in ages, but occasionally they send me a “We miss you” postcard or email to try to entice me to put down the cake and get back on track.  I usually just put my fork down long enough to hit ‘delete’ before moving on, but the subject line of this one caught my eye: “Slim down for St. Patrick’s Day!”

Really?  For St. Patrick’s Day?  I can see wanting to slim down for summer, what with all the sleeveless tops and swimsuits and all.  I can even see wanting to slim down for Christmas (all those family photos).  But St. Patrick’s Day?  Do they think I want to look good in my leprechaun costume?  Because if I recall, leprechauns are pretty short and stocky, and my costume has never fit so well.

Or perhaps they mean I should slim down to look good when I go hit the pubs.  Two problems with this theory:  A.  I am no longer childless and twenty-something, so the only thing I hit on a Saturday evening is the couch.  And B.  Even if I did go to the pub, nothing melts away your body’s imperfections like other people’s high blood alcohol levels.

Sorry, WeightWatchers.  You’re not getting me back this time.  But let me know when bikini season is nigh; it may be just the motivation I need.

Speaking of not dieting, I found the most wonderful thing at Costco while perusing the samples.  I can’t remember what they are called, but they are like chocolate-covered-pringles from heaven, and I highly recommend them to anyone trying to gain ten pounds before St. Pat’s Day (I know not everyone is blessed with a naturally perfect leprechaun build, but with a little work, you can get there).