An Ode to Her Two Front Teeth

When Willow lost her second upper central incisor, my mind became obsessed with a single goal:

How could I coerce my child into singing "All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth" while I videotaped her?

Willow is not performative by nature like her sister. Fortunately, I have a proven go-to tactic for getting children to do things that they do not want to do:

I pay them.

I offered Willow one dollar. She said no. I offered her two dollars. She said no. I reminded her that we're leaving in a couple of weeks for a road trip to Florida (we're going to watch the launch of Space Shuttle Endeavor!), and if she wants any crappy souvenirs, she'll have to buy them for herself. She said no. I offered her five dollars. She said no.

I was close to giving up entirely, the null hypothesis of my proven go-to tactic having been proven in this case, when Matt, who was sitting at the table watching this entire exchange with amusement, said to Willow, "We will pay you two candy bars."

Willow replied, "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Children live in a candy-based economy, apparently. And as for teaching my child just how many candy bars she could buy with five dollars...well, I'm trying to use our Meaningless Expenses budget to purchase tickets to the roller derby this weekend, and if I can save a few bucks for that purpose, then all the better, I say. I'll homeschool on economic common sense some other day.

It took a couple of days for Willow to memorize the song, and a couple more days for me to videotape it to my satisfaction (videotaping it to my satisfaction being one of the requirements that I'm savvy enough to set forth by this time), but at last, the child belted out her masterwork:

When she was finished we put our shoes on, drove to the store, and bought the star one Three Musketeers and one Starburst in payment for her services.

Superman Colored Pencil Roll

I used to make colored pencil rolls only out of flannel, because I love the feel of it, but lately I've been enjoying make pencil rolls out of vintage sheets, like this super-sweet fangeek Superman colored pencil roll that I have up in my pumpkinbear etsy shop:

 
 
 
 
I'm not a giant fan of the expression on Syd's face in that last photo, and I would have reshot it immediately, but as soon as I snapped that photograph, my camera died on me.

The camera has died before, most notably at Niagara Falls last year, but it's finally reached the point at which it's so elderly that sending it off to be repaired, especially for the second time in less than a year, would be at least as expensive as purchasing a newer model. Add to that the fact that I've only had the use of about half the focal length for my lens for the past year, so it needs to be repaired, too, and you'll understand why we're now waiting until we get our tax refund before we fix the kitchen floor, because Matt used our kitchen floor budget to surprise me with the Canon T2i Rebel, whose imminent arrival I await with bated breath.

Farewell, Canon Digital Rebel. I will always love you.

I Love My New Open Toe Walking Foot

A couple of summers ago, I inherited a Brother CS-80 from Matt's grandmother, and I adore it. It came with a few useful specialty feet, and did not come with a few other useful specialty feet, which I have been sloooooowly collecting.

How slowly? I still don't have a buttonhole foot. I do them old-school instead, or I insert a zipper from my stash.

I've been doing more jersey knit baby gowns lately, however, and while it's quite possible to stitch a neat zig-zag without stretching that sensitive T-shirt fabric, it does require some fussing, especially on the neckline.

One of the specialty feet that Grandma Bangle gave me with her sewing machine is a standard walking foot. It works perfectly on all fabrics, but won't accomodate a zig-zag stitch. I kept forgetting that and breaking my needles, so eventually I set aside some etsy profits and purchased an open toe walking foot:

Ooh, it's awesome! I think now that I'll begin to experiment with even fancier stretch-friendly stitches.

One More, and She May Have to Go on a Liquid Diet

The days are also numbered for that other top front one. How on Earth will my baby chew?

Make-up Just for Them

Ugh, I know--it's nothing but down the rabbit hole for me these days, but Willow, who was the most AWESOME big sister/stage manager/perfect daughter during every single part of Sydney's fashion show experience, declared that she was jealous of exactly two things having to do with the event:

1) The mom of Sydney's little runway walk buddy gave Sydney treats (in particular, a piece of yellow gum and an M&M cookie, and did not give treats to Willow
2) glitter make-up

As for the treats, I explained to Willow that little children who want to be given something that their sister is being given should leave their books when treats are being handed out and stand next to said sister, smiling expectantly. And also, she didn't even play with that kid! If you don't play with a kid, you don't just automatically get some of that kid's treats. It's a fact, and everyone knows it.

As for the glitter make-up, however...it's a valid point. I could tell when Syd was having her make-up done that Willow wanted some, too, and oooh, it was sparkly. And that's why I spent $50 of the grocery budget (I fixed beans, rice, and baked corn tortillas for dinner THREE TIMES this week! And another day I fixed oatmeal!) on glittery make-up at the drug store, and gave it to the girlies, telling them that, with supervision, they were welcome to play make-up artist anytime they wanted.

Willow, of course, was granted first place in the make-up chair:

Sydney, channeling the make-up artist at the Hair Arts Academy, said to Willow, "Make a kissy-kissy face!"

I bought glitter lip gloss, glitter fingernail art brushes, blush, eye shadow--

--glitter eye shadow, and then just some extra glitter to throw on top of everything.

Part of the fun, for me, was watching each girl eagerly, trustingly, and happily put herself into the hands of her sister for her makeover:

You can't tell from the photograph, but Sydney is looking straight into Willow's eyes here, just as adoringly as she used to do when she was a baby:

Willow's make-up ended up looking pretty sedate, actually, but she, herself, has always had a flair for the dramatic, and Syd ended up ready for the stage lights once again:

You can see the glitter this time, can't you?

Make-up is something that, for me, makes me really uncomfortable. It takes me straight back to junior high, when on the first day of seventh grade I noticed (because some bitch teased me about it) that all the other girls had apparently spent the summer between sixth and seventh grades buying clothes from the mall and learning how to feather their hair and put on too much make-up. I'd spent my summer dealing with my mother's suicide attempt and being taken to visit her at the psychiatric hospital, thank you very much. I never felt in step with my peer group again, and I never put on make-up, and I never feathered my hair (although my Aunt Pam did once, and then she took a photograph, and it's still one of my favorite photographs from my childhood, because damn it, I look so NORMAL on the outside!).

Needless to say, that's not what I want for my own children's childhood. So far, hair and make-up have no gender stereotyped connotations for them--they don't watch Disney princess movies, or commercial TV, and they don't go to public school. The only time that they've seen hair and make-up being done is for the fashion runway, and it was wild, and imaginative, and playful, and, dare I say, immensely empowering.

Funnily enough, that's exactly how I would describe my kids, too, my kids who play with make-up.

Trashion/Refashion Show 2011

As far as I can tell, Sydney was never nervous for an entire second.

Me, on the other hand? I was so tense the entire week leading up to the fashion show that I sprang a muscle in my neck brushing my hair one morning. The morning of the fashion show, I ate a nice breakfast, then decided that eating was probably a majorly bad idea.

Basically, I was that kind of nervous in which you sort of feel like you are going to die, you are so nervous.

For Sydney, however, the day was basically just a series of one candy-colored piece of happiness after another. Thanks to the Hair Arts Academy, which donated its services, there was hair styling!!!

Just check out that kick-butt booster seat.

Syd doesn't really have enough hair to bother, in my opinion, having it curled to peek adorably out from under her crown, so I asked the stylist to simply braid it in pigtails, pin it up, and lock it into place, thus introducing Sydney to the wonders of scented hair-spray:

Designers were also permitted to have their hair and make-up done, I believe, but notice, please, that this Momma has her hair firmly braided and hid in a kerchief, and her face firmly placed behind the lens of her camera:

On Sydney's face, I asked for dramatic pink eye shadow and pink lip gloss. Sometimes kids don't like to have their make-up done (can you blame them?), but seriously, look at the expression on my child's face as she's getting her eye shadow applied:

When the stylist is done she asks me if it was the look I was going for, and I say, "I LOVE it, but you've got to get Miss Syd's approval, too."

The designer gives Sydney a hand mirror and asks, "Do you like your make-up?"

Sydney checks herself out from all angles, smiling at herself all the while, then looks up at the designer and says, "Glitter."

Did they have glitter? Why, yes, as a matter of fact they did!

The glitter didn't photograph for me well, but it's brushed all over her face, so imagine it on top of this, The Runway Look:

She's making that face because she doesn't want to close her lips together because she doesn't want to smudge her lip gloss. Seriously.

While Will and Matt had tons of fun out front with the hula hoop troop and the community art project, Syd was busy with the backstage photo shoot:

 She goofed off and giggled with her little runway buddy--

--and had some time to contemplate the less fabulous and more tedious aspects of modeling, such as waiting for the shindig to begin, already!

Finally, it was time. I had my game face on, but frankly, I thought that I was going to puke. I would have vastly preferred walking the runway myself, naked, to sending my four-year-old down it completely unsupervised and at the mercy of her own common sense. To make matters worse, when you're backstage, you can't actually SEE onstage--what if she falls and then begins to cry? What if she just stands there for a really long time, and then begins to cry? What if she just wanders off, crying?

Fortunately, I had my man in the audience, bootleg taping the whole thing. Here's what he saw:

Sydney's little runway buddy was the real trooper, since Sydney, who knew her marks VERY well, did her darned best to haul her partner around and keep them both exactly where she wanted them to be. And yes, Dear Reader, at the end of the walk, she does blow a kiss to the crowd. I didn't spend all those evenings with cable watching Toddlers and Tiaras for nothing.

At the end of their walk, off they march:



And then back in line we get, because our portion of the evening isn't over until we've walked the Models and Designers Walk:

No, I'm not escaping--we were required to hoof it back to the Silent Auction area and schmooze for a bit. Syd was still wired, happily collecting her bouquet from Daddy and letting people examine my stitching and hems and all up close and answering questions from the admiring public, but Will, who had won the award for World's Most Patient Big Sister hours ago, was getting pretty exhausted, and so off we snuck back home.

The small child refused to let me take off her make-up, but she did let go of her bouquet so that it could go in water, and she and Willow were sound asleep approximately six second after their little blonde heads hit the pillow.

And that's when Matt ordered a pizza, and I FINALLY relaxed.

The Sidewalk Chalk Fashion Show Runway

Don't laugh if you knew this already, but fashion shows are kinda complicated. You walk here, you pose for this long, you walk somewhere else, you pose, you walk fourteen other places and pose there, you look in the right direction, your face has the right expression, you don't watch your feet and also don't fall off the runway, you smile at the audience but ignore the emcee who's talking her head off about you while you're right there...

See? Complicated!

I don't know about the adult amateur and professional models who are participating in the fashion show, but my four-year-old needs plenty of practice.

Fortunately, we live just a few houses down from a fabulous park, and even more fortunately, we homeschool, and so we can visit this park during school hours.

Why is it so important that we go to the park during school hours?

Because during school hours it's just us and the toddlers at the park, and the toddlers don't play basketball.

While I drew a copy of the fashion show runway on the basketball court (a great quad exercise, by the way--at the gym later that night I climbed onto the elliptical, started up, and then was all, "Ow, ow, ow! Why does it feel like I've already exercised these muscles today?"), the girls added some decorations of their own:

Stegosaurus, by Willow

Bunnies, by Sydney

Sydney's bunnies were so awesome that Willow, upon seeing them, accused me of drawing them for Sydney, at which point Sydney then drew a few more just to demonstrate her bunny-drawing aptitude. Ahh, sisters!

In case you've never modeled in a fashion show before, here's what Syd's runway debut will look like:

She and another four-year-old, who will be modeling a dress crocheted from unraveled sweater yarn, will enter the runway together from the steps at stage right as soon as the stage manager motions them on. They will walk to upstage center and pose:

Willow invented this pose, by the way, and taught it to Sydney, and will teach it to Syd's partner at their next dress rehearsal. It's called the T Pose, and it's the one that I chose from all of Willow's possibilities--the P Pose, the H Pose, the W Pose (which involved the children each standing on one foot), etc.

The girls will then walk to center stage, turn completely to stage left and pose, and turn completely to stage right and pose:

They will walk downstage to the end of the runway and pose at downstage center:

They will walk all the way to downstage left and pose:

They will walk all the way to downstage right and pose. They will walk back to center stage and pose left and right again. They will walk back to their original mark at upstage center and face the audience again for a final pose (I'm having them blow a kiss, a tactic that I unabashedly stole from Toddlers and Tiaras). And then, and this is actually the trickiest part, they will exit not from the stairs they used to enter the stage, but from the stairs at stage left.

Wouldn't you want to practice that?