The Story of the Pouty Princess

Here is the back-story to this picture of The Pouty Princess.

Rob is out for the night; I have both kids.  As I was preparing dinner Toby was having races with his Lego cars and Mia was emptying her dress up drawer and showering herself with Princess stuff.  Eventually she came up to the counter all clad in the usual get up – tiara, necklace, dress, sparkly shoes and bracelet.  This time, she sported an extra gem after happening upon a St Patrick’s Day ring. 

“Look, Mommy!  I’m a PRINCESS” (the typical start of most conversations with Mia theses days…)

“Oh, yes, look at that.  So you are.”  (I have yet to come up with an appropriate response to the aforementioned statement)

“I’m wearing a special princess flower ring.  It’s a DAISY flower.”

I was nodding in agreement when Mr. Know-it-all from the cheap seats chimed in,
“No it’s NOT a daisy flower, Mia, it’s a SHAM-ROCK.”

Our perfect little princess went from delicate-flower to angry-PMS-ing-Medusa in under a second.

“No it is NOT a SHAMROCK, TOBY!!!! It is a DAISY FLOWER!!!!”   (Said in a shrill, high-pitched wail.)

I would have conceded the point.  I secretly PLEADED for Toby to concede the point.  I crossed my fingers and toes and WISHED for Toby to concede the point.

But Toby is a boy of accuracy and honesty.  He stuck to his guns.

“Um…NO, Mia…that’s a SHAM-ROCK.”

The princess had a fit.  I could see where her mind was going: it was seeing red.  It was so desperate to make a point but so lacking in supportive arguments to prove that her new found green ring was a DIASY ring and NOT a shamrock that she came up with the only spark of clout she could muster.

“FINE.  I’m taking this OFF.”

And with that the princess was self-dismantling.  The newfound green ring (that quite possibly WAS a shamrock but which I will refer to as a daisy ring for the safety of my computer) was thrown onto the floor.  The sparkly shoes were kicked off. The necklace was angrily strewn onto her placement and the tiara was thrown across the table.

And THEN she crossed her arms and POUTED.

For one blissful moment there was absolute silence in the kitchen.

And then I burst out laughing. 

I couldn’t help it.  It was such insanity and such a desperate and unsuccessful attempt to prove utter nonsense that I actually FORGOT for a second that I too happened to be on the receiving end of this princess rage (I was reminded of that with the GLARE that my laughter received).

Even Toby looked up from his Lego race to see what would happen next.  I had to do SOMETHING before the pouty princess realized the mistake in her tactics, and so I did the only logical thing I could think of.

“I’m sorry, Mia,” I said, “I’m not laughing AT you I just think your pouty face is funny.” 

Deadpan stare in response.

“Can I take a picture?”

My strategy worked.  Mia is ALWAYS up for a picture.

“FINE.” She said, still not making eye contact with either myself OR Toby  “Hold on a sec…” she  muttered quietly before momentarily releasing her angry arm cross for the split second it took to put her tiara back on her head for the photo.

There are two morals to this story:

1.  A perfect princess should NEVER be photographed without her tiara on

2.  I live in a loony bin

The Gender Divide

Boys and girls are different.  I know that sounds obvious.  And stereotyped. And colloquial.  But it’s true.  And as much as I try to deny it (again and again) there is nothing I can do to keep the boys boy out of Toby and the ballerina princess out of Mia.

(I suspect the trip to Disney didn’t help with this.)

Tonight just before dinner the polarizing differences came to a head as I silently cooked dinner while eavesdropping on my kids. 

Toby was running races. It was Germany against Switzerland against Canada against USA.  At each round of the race I was asked which team I was cheering for and then regularly updated on each team’s progress. 

Mia, on the other hand, was dressed as a (rather disheveled) princess and practicing her ballet moves.  I don’t know HOW she knows ANYTHING at ALL about ballet.  We have never taken her TO the ballet or any sort of ballet class and as far I as I know she has yet to see an episode of Angelina Ballerina.  Yet still, Mia continues to delight in her dress up clothes and announces regularly to us that she is, in fact, not only a PRINCESS, but also a PRIMA BALLERINA.

Meanwhile, back at the races.  I can’t tell you WHO exactly I was cheering for or what place everyone came in but I CAN tell you that eventually the teams all reached level ONE HUNDRED and suddenly the event got VERY SERIOUS.

I was informed of the seriousness of this level because at level ONE HUNDRED the race involved JUMPING and DID YOU KNOW what happens when you didn’t successfully JUMP over the essential LEVEL ONE HUNDRED JUMPS? 

Wait for it…

You go back to level one.

I flipped the perogies.

Mia, not knowing what sort of ballet moves PRIMA BALLERINAS practice, was hanging upside down from the banister and flapping her hands frantically while trying desperately to balance her tiara on her head.

Suddenly, the level 100 races began.

It was GERMANY against SWITZERLAND against the USA against CANADA against the lone Prima Ballerina, who abandoned her spot at the bar to join the race.

I put the corn I'm the microwave.

Suddenly there was lots of screaming from just beyond the start line.  Apparently prima ballerinas do not mingle well with the likes of world of high-class jump racers.  There was lots of commotion, some heated discussion, a couple of barks from the dog, and then the oven went off.

I am somewhat shocked but mainly indifferent to report that team USA  (?wtf)  won the race and successful completed level ONE HUNDRED.

I am also happy to report that the prima ballerina, despite losing her tiara and one of her high-heeled slippers during the race, emerged unscathed and was NOT relegated back to level 1 as was previously discussed.

The final score was:  USA first place, Canada second, Germany third, Switzerland 4^th and Prima ballerina Disqualified for wardrobe malfunction but awarded second prize for the sake and sanity of our family.

And dinner was ready.

March Break 2014

Ahh…March Break….that polarizing week of the year that leaves many Canadian parents mourning its ending and the other half clapping with excitement for school to resume.

Lucky for me this year I was in the fortunate group who had such a  great week I couldn’t bear the thought of it coming to an end.   I'm in a unique scenario - for me, March break doesn't mean a mad scramble to find childcare.  For me, it means a week when I get my husband back!! It also meant, this year, a nice reprieve from the cold and from Mia’s sudden premature decision not to nap anymore.

Bright and early Friday morning, before March Break had even become official, the Henry family boarded a plane for Orlando, Florida and were off to frolic with the Disney characters.  We had one chilly (20 degree) day (which seemed ludicrously extravagetnt to me when my car gauged  MINUS 20 on our way home from the airport) and the rest of the week we enjoyed 25-30 degrees of mood altering, sandal welcoming sunshine…

Whereas last time we visited Disney I got shingles form the stress of flying with a 9 month old, this time I watched a documentary on the flight and arrived unscathed.  The kids had a BLAST.  Nothing like Magic Kingdom, a spontaneous daylight savings time change and a case of the trots to get Mia back into her much needed naps.  I wouldn’t suggest that taking two kids with rather explosive and unpredictable surges of watery diarrhea to Magic Kingdom sounds all that appealing, but they both willingly agreed to sport (mickey mouse) pampers plus diapers all day if it meant going on rides.  And Mia is ALWAYS up for a costume change (which we did about 3 times a day..)  It added a certain element of “magic” to the trip, shall we say…

Rob and I even got out on a few date nights ourselves.

All in all, it was a wonderful March break, and so nice to be on the “Waaahh…march break is over!!!” side of facebook updates…

Hope yours was as adventurous and “magical” as ours!

Happy 6th Birthday, Toby!

I was describing you the other day to someone who hasn’t met you yet and thought I should share with you my descriptions of the person you are right now, as you approach your 6^th birthday.

Toby, you are my golden boy.  I don’t know EXACTLY what “golden boy” means but it’s the first thing I think of when I describe you.  You shine at everything you do – whether it’s hockey, soccer, reading or singing O Canada, you do it earnestly with a passion and enthusiasm that makes you successful before you even begin.

You are a golden boy because you are innately GOOD.  You aim to please and crave attention for positive things.  When you come upstairs in the mornings and I am in the shower, you reach up on your tiptoes and grab my towel and stand there patiently waiting for me so you can hand me my towel the second I open the shower doors.  It’s a nice game we play where I pretend that I didn’t see AND hear you scuffling about trying to reach my towel or that I don’t see you behind the cloudy glass shower doors.  But I do, every time, and let me tell you – it never ceases to melt my heart when you do it.

You have always been obedient beyond your years.   This Christmas Daddy and I heard your little footsteps on the stairs at 6:45am.  As I’m sure you know, we ask you to stay in your room until 7am.  You were SOOO excited for Christmas and to see if Santa had come that I wasn’t surprised that ANY little kid would venture out 15 minutes earlier than expected.  So we fully expected to see your shining face in our room.  We lay there waiting and waiting and took turns guessing where you had gone…were you in front of the tree?  Were you very quietly opening your presents? After what felt like an eternity, Daddy Finally let me come out and you were nowhere to be found! Turns out you HAD been super excited but after getting to the foot of the stairs your goodness prevailed and you took only 2 steps up before forcing yourself to go back to bed and wait out the painful 15 minutes before the allowed time.  The self discipline that must have taken astounds me.  And, just for the record, Bug, you BEAT me.  I only managed to make it till 6:55 before coming down to get you myself…

Your goodness and earnestness breaks my heart, Toby.  I don’t know WHY exactly.  I’m not sad.  Nothing you do earnestly is ever done badly (well….one day I’ll let you hear the voice recording of O Canda and you can draw your own conclusions…) but one of the weird things about being a Mommy are the strange ways it can mangle and magnify the simplest of emotions.

I sincerely hope that you will always only get the goodness back out of life that you so eagerly give to it.  But I know along the way you will meet people who won’t always be excited to take the towel you so lovingly wait patiently to hand them.  And sometimes you will lose soccer games and hockey games and the little voice that greets you after the game won’t be my reassuring one but maybe one of a frustrated coach or an angry teammate, or even the disappointment at the back of your own head.  I wish I could protect you, my earnest little golden boy, from ever having your eager spirit dampened by anything beneath my innate, intense and unwavering love for you.

 Perhaps the hardest thing we do as parents are not those painful night feeds in the first few months, or listening to them cry it out at 6 months, or fighting tooth and nail at the dinner table to get them to eat their peas.  Perhaps the hardest is yet to come, when we set them free and leave their precious spirits to the mercy of others we haven’t lovingly screened for them.  I’m glad it happens in pieces…and for tonight, Toby, I’m glad you’re tucked in downstairs on your bear pillow, dreaming sweetly of how great it is going to be to be 6.   And great it will be.  I can’t wait to see where life takes you next…

All my love

Mommy xo