Good While It Lasted...

Last year, when I asked you want you wanted for Christmas, you pondered the question for a moment, then replied very earnestly: "I want two things: a backpack and an oven mitt."

You later amended this to include a third item, the My Friends Tigger and Pooh Christmas DVD. Thanks, Playhouse Disney.) But all through the holiday season, you stuck to those three items. When anybody -- grandmas, teachers, people at the mall, random waitresses -- asked you what you wanted for Christmas, you had your reply down pat:

"I would like three things: a backpack, an oven mitt, and myfriendstiggerandpoohdvd."

And these people would give us a quizzical look, like, "Have you not told this poor child about real toys?" And we smile, shrug our shoulders, and think - "How sweet. How wonderful. The commercial crush of Christmas has not spoiled our precious little girl."

Fast forward eight months.

We're playing in the basement playroom, cleaning up our toys, when you asked the following: "Mommy, you know what I want for Christmas?

"What, sweetie?" I reply. (Oh, what lovely, thoughtful things would she like this year? A new school bag... a donation to the homeless...)

"A Hannah Montana guitar and a tv for my room."

And scene.

How Many Elephants are in a Herd?

According to this, elephants live in herd sizes that range from 5 to 30, but usually average around 8 to 15 .

(Here's the herd of three at our zoo from a recent visit...)

In Molly's elephant herd, the current count is 14. (Check that - after I took this photo, I found another Horton on the floor. So we're at 15.)

More detail on each of these elephant friends later... But note to self - I think we have enough elephants.

The Accidental Sleepover

You had another first last weekend - your first sleepover at a friend's house! Of course, it kind of happened accidentally...

Daddy and I lucked into some last minute tickets for the Bruce Springsteen concert. We're pretty casual Boss fans but thought this sounded like fun. And wow - what a concert!

Anyway... all of our standard babysitters were either going camping, headed to a baseball game, or out of town for a wedding. So I tried your friend Abby. Her mom was thrilled to have you over for an evening playdate and invited you to spend the night.

Me: "Molly, would you like to spend the night at Abby's house?"

Molly: "Yes."

Me: "Should we take your blow-up bed?"

Molly: "No, I want to slee in my own bed."

(and scene)

So after describing how sleeping in your own bed is not sleeping at Abby's house, Molly decided that she would much rather sleep at home. Knowing the concert was going to be over late, we packed our jammies and our two best elephant friends and headed to Abby's.

It all would have gone according to plan... had the Boss not started the show almost 90 minutes late! (I guess the 7:30 start time was more of a suggestion, not a rule.) So, we were leaving the concert at midnight. I called Abby's dad and he said Molly was great and the girls were both asleep. I told him to call us if Molly freaked out in the night, but otherwise we'd see them for breakfast in the morning.

At 9 a.m. the next morning, the phone rings. All is well. You only woke up once for a drink of water and some pats from Abby's mom.

You were a little clingy when we met at breakfast... but you were also so proud of your first big girl sleepover at your friends.

Big girl!

Friday Tradition: Ballet and Pancakes

When I went back to work after maternity leave, I went back "part time." (Part time, as defined by my work, is 35+ hours a week. But I digress...)

So, I work four days a week and have Fridays off. We always called Fridays "Mommy and Molly Days." We'd run errands, sometimes meet Daddy for lunch, and sometimes just nap. As you got older, we even started having playdates on Fridays.

Then last September, you started ballet lessons at your school. I was so excited. I was a dancer and your grandma (my mommy) was a dancer. I hoped you would enjoy dancing as much as we did.

Of course, ballet was before school started -- so we had to be in our leotard and leg warmers, ready to go at 7:30... A.M. -- in the morning.

But I got to stay and watch you. A small mommy luxury. And I treasured every minute. (And took about 1,000 photos.)

After your first lesson, because you did such a great job (and because it was only 8:15), I said, "Molly, you were a great listener. Where would you like to go to breakfast?" The answer I expected was "the bagel store" (a.k.a. Panera Bread) - where we go with Daddy on Saturday mornings.

The answer I got: "Pancakes at McDonald's!!!"

I didn't even know you knew McDonald's had pancakes... but ok, let's go. So we went and had pancakes. And you enjoyed them this much...

The next week, another mommy and ballerina joined us... then another. And they became very good friends over the course of eight months of Ballet and Pancake Fridays.

Ballet starts again next week and you are so excited. You really do love to dance, which thrills me to no end. It must be like when you and Daddy play catch - he loves that. And so another year of Ballet and Pancake Fridays begins. (You and your friend Abby already have told me this is the plan.)

This will be our last year of Mommy and Molly Fridays. Next year, you'll start kindergarten and I'll go back to work five days a week. But I will always cherish our special Mommy and Molly Days.

Love you, peanut.

Return of the Killer Tomatoes

Last weekend, we stopped at a farmer's market on the way home from a morning of running errands. This great little place had the best looking tomatoes I'd seen in awhile, so we got a few to enjoy.

Cut to me fixing lunch a couple hours later, when the following conversation took place:

Me: "Molly, would you like a tomato with your lunch?"

Molly: "No - tomatoes kill you."

Me: "Um, what?" (And really thinking what the f???)

Molly: "Tomatoes kill you."

Me: (Trying to act real calm and not FREAK OUT) "Where did you hear that?"

Molly: (Now coloring a picture of a rainbow or something completely innocent...) "Oh, on the TV."

TV... tomatoes... killer tomatoes... George Clooney in bad movies...

Oh wait - the salmonela scare? From a month ago?

Me: (Quickly forgoing the explanation of the whole crazy story and getting into peppers, spinach, and anything else...) "Oh sweetie, those were tomatoes that didn't get washed."

Molly: "Mommy, do you wash our tomatoes?"

Me: "Yes, sweetie - I wash our tomatoes. I promise."

Self-Portrait, Part Deux

"Mommy, that's me... and that's you. And we're holding hands. And that's our curly hair."

"That's great, sweetie. I love you."

"I love you too, Mommy."

Self-Portrait of the Artist as a Young Girl