Now she is 9

Earlier this year, my baby girl turned 9.

She is a force of nature. A force to be reckoned with. An unstoppable force pressing and pushing against an unmovable object. The eighth wonder of the world. She is headstrong, sensitive, unyielding and tender all in the span of an hour. Within the same day, I am the best mommy in the world and also [eye roll, hip cocked, head to the side, foot stomp] the single person most ruining her life. She is 9 going on 19.

There are days I am in awe of her and just as many days that I do. not. know. what to do with her.

At some point on the way to turning 9, she had a big growth spurt that stretched her legs to new lengths. This spring, when the weather started to turn warm, she pulled out her sporty shorts from last year -- the running shorts style, elastic waist with the unders built in. When they were new, they fit her fine, but now a year later, they barely cover her bum.

"Are those too small?" I ask when she tries them on. "Do you need new shorts?"

"No," she says, then pauses and looks down at herself. "Well, maybe."

So we head to Target, source of all things, to look for new running shorts. I point to shorts after shorts in the girls section, only to watch her shake her head at each adorable pair. She tells me she doesn't want the short kind, but instead is looking for the longer, basketball style shorts. You know, she tells me, like what Junius wears.

By now, I suppose I should expect the opposite of whatever I expected when it comes to Pippi. There's so much about her that I don't understand and can't predict. Often it seems she chooses the contrary answer just for sport.

"Why do you want to dress like your brother?" I ask, still somehow surprised.

She has her answer ready: "Because his shorts have pockets."

* * *

Growing up, I was an "outfit" kind of girl. I loved dressing up, for play and for real. There was no throwing on whatever was clean -- each night, I would plan my outfit for the next day. As soon as I turned 16, I got a job at the Limited Express (hello, late 80s) to support my shopping habit. I rarely wore jeans to school, owned very few t-shirts with writing on them. I was a lot of things, but sporty wasn't one of them.

When Pippi was born, once I recovered from the shock of having a girl, I reveled in all the adorable tiny outfits. Baby girls get so many fun options that just don't exist for baby boys. She was like the best dress-up doll I ever had. Once she was old enough to dress herself, she quickly exerted her own opinions over her wardrobe -- but the results were so spectacular that I couldn't say no. In fact, I bought even more colorful and patterned and sparkly pieces to give her better options to mix into her preschool fashionista fabulousness.

After she completed kindergarten, however, she drifted away from the adorable outfits and the layers of ruffles and accessories toward a daily uniform of sporty shorts and oversized t-shirts paired with Nike socks and running shoes. At first I pushed back, continued buying matching sets of patterned shirts and skirts or sweet, twirly dresses. Eventually I realized I was wasting my money and waging a losing battle.

One day, as I looked at her in all her sporty glory, it dawned on me that she was comfortable -- literally and emotionally -- just the way she was. Why was I trying to force her into the self-conscious fashion rules that still plague me? Did I really want to be the one to teach her to worry about how she looks?

I made a conscious decision to let go and let her be in charge of her wardrobe. We bought leggings and running shorts, no skirts or outfits. If it wasn't church or a special event, I stayed out of her closet. Which brings us back to buying sporty shorts at Target...

* * *

Pockets. She had me at pockets.

I might not understand wanting to wear basketball shorts and oversized t-shirts, but hell yeah I understand the desire for pockets. My favorite dresses, skirts, even pajama pants and one chambray tunic all have pockets. Compliment any woman on her dress and her first response, if it has pockets, will be to smile broadly and announce to you, "Thanks! It has pockets!" Through the magic of Twitter I recently learned of one woman who had pockets in her wedding dress, which almost made me want to get married again because that sounded so brilliant.

So off we went in search of basketball-style shorts with pockets, only to discover that those sons of bitches don't put pockets in girls' basketball shorts.

And that is how I found myself shopping with my daughter in the boys' section at Target, where she selected two pairs of knee-length shorts with pockets that look so exactly like her brother's shorts that I had to write her initials on the tags so that I know they're hers when they come through the wash.

* * *

When Hillary Clinton metaphorically broke the glass ceiling at last year's Democratic Convention and when Elizabeth Warren persisted in spite of those working to silence her and when women (and men) all over the world marched together this January, they were fighting for women on a very grand and global scale. I won't pretend that one trip to Target deserves the same significance.

But I'm more than a little proud of my fierce daughter who is not deterred by the fact that some clothing designer thinks girls don't need pockets or even by the fact that her mom wishes she would wear some of those pretty skirts shoved in the back of her dresser drawer. With any luck, she and I will continue to connect over clothes with pockets and maybe discover some other things along the way that will bind us closer together. I'm trying to remind myself to listen more and love better, even as she pushes me in ways I don't understand.

So, you be you, Pippilotta. Be patient with me. And I'll do my best to keep up.

Learning the #$@&%*! language

As one of the millions of big and small decisions my husband and I make as parents, we agreed that we wouldn't keep words a secret from our kids. And by "words," of course, I mean the "bad words." It's an age-appropriate, as-needed sort of lesson set, but we figured that all those bad words would seem less alluring, less powerful -- and (hopefully) less likely to get hurled at us -- if the kids knew what they were and knew they could ask us about them.

So over the past few years, we (my husband, mostly) have been dealing out a few choice ones now and then during bedtime chats with Junius. We started with the less controversial ones -- like explaining that the S-word isn't actually "stupid" or that the D-word isn't actually "dumb." As he got older, the words got a bit stronger, including the F-word, the A-word and so on.

Junius seems to savor these tidbits of verbal exotica and feels empowered not to use them. In fact, his favorite swear phrase, borrowed from this book, is to shout, "Curses and foul language!" Try it -- t's really quite satisfying.

We've only just started sharing the first words with Pippi, or so I thought. Which brings me to a little story that just needed to be captured somewhere, so here goes...

* * *

One day this fall while we were standing around at school pick-up, my friend H was sharing concern that her daughter (Pippi's friend) had somehow wandered into another person's virtual house in Minecraft and read an inappropriate word that was plastered on the wall. H was consulting Junius, as a former Minecraft fan, about how her daughter could have gotten into someone else's space in the online game.

Junius, after clarifying that he no longer played Minecraft (because I guess 5th grade boys don't want to get lumped in with 2nd grade girls), told H he wasn't sure how that could have happened. Then he asked the all important question: "What was the word?"

My friend looked at me, I nodded, then she told him: "Well, it was the F-word."

Junius gasped quietly and looked gravely concerned, immediately understanding why H was worried about her young daughter's experience.

Somewhere during this conversation, Pippi had strolled up unnoticed and was listening in. As she watched her brother frown knowingly about the seriousness of the matter, she leaned in a little closer to H and looked up at her.

"Mrs. H?" she asked in a hushed voice. "Was it fuck?"

* * *

So there you have it. No good parenting deed goes unpunished.

If your kids are playing with my kids and come home with some new vocabulary, you're welcome. And my apologies.

Pillow Talk

I love being married. It can be a helluva lot of work -- don't get me wrong -- but as a package deal, it's the greatest plan ever.

Among the things I love most about being married? I'm like a kid at a sleepover. Every. Single. Night.

I was always that kid at sleepovers, the last one whispering into the darkness "Is anyone else still awake?" I treasured the talking for what seemed like hours in the half-light of sleeping bags and pillows as my friends drifted off to sleep one by one. The conversations never really ended, they just got quieter and slower to be continued another day. 

Many nights now as the clock ticks toward midnight, my husband finally leans over, kisses me and says, "You can keep talking if you want to, but I'm falling asleep."

My love of the (bedtime) chat seems to have been genetically passed on to my children, who talk continuously without breaking for breath during the day and don't really slow down at night either. So I probably shouldn't have been surprised when they started sharing a room. 

It happened at first as a special "sibling sleepover" treat one weekend when I was out of town. Junius moved up to his top bunk, while Pippi assembled her own pillows, blankets and friends on his bottom bunk. They had fun pretending to camp together, and my husband had an easier time putting them to bed when he didn't have to bounce back and forth between their two rooms. 

That was two months ago.

Any day now, I keep thinking she'll want to go back to her double bed and all her own space. Or that he'll get tired of her stuff in his room and kick her down the hall. Instead, the only change they've made is to trade bunks.

They even asked if we could turn her room into a play space instead of a bedroom. I said no, knowing that three minutes after I finish, I'll have to turn it right back. 

But it doesn't matter how long it lasts, this bunk-sharing approach. All that matters is that I will always know -- and hopefully they will remember -- that it ever was. That there once was a time when they shushed each other to sleep because they loved each other enough to tolerate the one sneezing and humming while the other tosses and rattles the beds in exchange for being together just a little bit longer. 

Seven, going on seventeen

Dear Pippi --

I completely missed your birthday month on the blog this year. Not your actual birthday, of course -- for that there was the sleepover party with your besties and the dinner with grandparents and the earlier dinner with your other grandparents plus the museum party with school friends and about 847 presents that were exactly what you wanted.

No need to feel neglected, I just missed the writing about it in your actual birth month. If it makes you feel any better, I was even later writing about your brother's last birthday. It seems to be the state of affairs these days at My Convertible Life. (Although if you're using this blog for some sort of archival study one day, then apologies for having apparently missed last year's post altogether. At least I wrote about turning five.)

You turned seven this birthday. Seven doesn't scare me so much, except that you seem to be seven going on 17 -- and that is terrifying.

Right now, you still love me. You actually tell me that, almost every day. You give me tight hugs and pronounce me "the best mommy ever in the whole universe" on a regular basis. You ask for extra kisses when I drop you off at 1st grade, even when I'm running late for work and being short with you. You want to be my sidekick, want me to be your playmate, want to show me everything.

Sometimes I catch myself wondering when it's going to stop. When are you going to be too big, too grown, too stylish and notice that I am too old, too embarrassing, too out-dated?

I try not to worry, to stay in the moment. I hug you back until you let go first, fill your pockets with blown kisses to save for later, lie beside you and scratch your back at night. I admire how funny, smart and strong you are. Some days I remember.

Then there are days when I forget everything except that, no matter how frustrated I am, I am not allowed to sell you on Craigslist. Those days -- when you don't listen, don't follow directions, don't want anything to do with me -- push me past my limits. And yet still, even on those days, you love me. I hope you know that I love you, too.

When you ask funny questions like "What does Taylor Swift mean when she says she's a nightmare dressed like a daydream?" I know you're just trying to make sense of the lyrics you're shockingly good at remembering. But it also reminds me that there is so much you don't know about, don't understand, might not be prepared for. You are my baby and I want to protect you from all of them.

There will be hundreds (millions?) of things in the coming years that I will get wrong with you -- things that will disappoint or infuriate you. I can already see some of them, but I'm not sure that will help me avoid the mistakes. When those moments come, I hope that both of us will feel some tiny pull back to these days to bind us together.

You are my second child, my last born. When you were brand new, I was able to soak in all your warm, round, sweet babyness in a way that I couldn't in the early terrifying first-born days with your brother. So bear with me while I try to keep you small for just a little bit longer, keep telling me you love me and be patient with me on the days I forget.

I love you, baby girl.
- Mommy

Top 5 (or 20) Holiday Gifts for Kids

Last week I took the kids with me to wander around Stone's Education & Toys store -- it's a beautiful, environmentally-friendly, sunlit space at the border of Raleigh and Cary near I-40. I wanted to get an idea of what they'd like for Christmas beyond their usual requests of LEGOs and an American Girl doll. There's nothing wrong with either of those -- it's just that we already have 8,473,922 plastic bricks and I simply can't bring myself to spend that much money on a doll that will wind up shoved in a closet.

While in the store, I could barely keep up trying to follow the kids around to get their recommendations. Amazingly Junius only glanced at the LEGOs and Pippi didn't even notice the Frozen display at the entrance. They were too busy checking out everything from teacher-supply-sized packs of writing paper to sample sets of magnetic building toys.

Not surprisingly, they wanted one of everything.

When it comes to making Christmas wish lists, it turns out I'm no better than my kids at keeping it short. Particularly when I've spent an hour (or two, who's counting?) at Stone's, it's nearly impossible to pick just few favorites. But in case you're looking for gift ideas for elementary-school-aged kids, I'm sharing my top five lists in four different categories. (Yes, I realize that's actually 20 items. Shhhhhh...)

For the record, all prices listed are rounded to the nearest penny to make them easier to read.

Junius's Top 5

Junius is 9 and in 4th grade. His room is littered with the aforementioned LEGOs, Snap Circuits, robot parts, biographies and hockey gear. 

• Snap Circuits Motion or Snap Circuits Light ($80 each, or $35 for the starter set of Snap Circuits Jr) -- Just look how excited he is in this photo! But seriously, he has the Snap Circuits Jr set plus an add-on set and he can't get enough. 
• Youth Football Goal Post Set ($40) -- I'm envisioning Charlie Brown, but all he sees is his future NFL career. Either way, he's outside burning energy.
• MicroPro Microscope Set ($40) -- When I asked him why he wanted a microscope, he replied, "So I can study all the things in my room and see what they're really made of." I'm wondering if he'll start with the funk growing in his hockey bag.
• Crystal Growing Experimental Kit ($20) -- He got a taste (not literally) of this project at science camp during the summer and he loved it. 
• Ultimate Dino Dig ($16) -- After a few science museum visits, I think he fancies himself an archaeologist. This seems cheaper and less messy than digging up the back yard looking for fossils.

Pippi's Top 5

Pippi is 6 (and-a-half) and in 1st grade. Her bedroom walls are covered in her artwork while the floor is strewn with clothes, stuffed animals, books and still more LEGOs.

• Color a Dog House ($35 - link is to Color a House, but they have the dog house in the store) -- That face says "Mommy, I know you won't get me a puppy, but will you please love me enough to get me a cardboard dog and doghouse that I can color?" I don't know how she'll fit it in her room, but at least it won't shed or pee on the carpet.
• Young Artist Essentials Gift Set ($50) -- She's almost 7, so I think she's finally ready to ditch all the broken crayons and nubby pencils for something nicer. 
• PlushCraft Pillows ($18 each) -- She wants the fox, of course. Another mom who happened to be in the store commented that her daughter had made one of the pillows and absolutely loved it -- it's become their favorite birthday gift for friends this year.
• Fuzzy Wuzzy Knitting ($25) -- She's fascinated by the scarf that Nanna has been knitting during her visits. Maybe this way they can knit together without Pippi trying to take over Nanna's needles. 
• Goldie Blox and The Movie Machine ($30) or Goldie Blox and The Builder's Survival Kit ($60) -- She got the first Goldie Blox set last year after the Rube Goldberg video won me over. She still plays with it some, but she needs more parts to try out new ideas. 

Shared Top 5

I'm a big fan of giving Christmas gifts that lead to fun family time. And by that I mean things that will entertain my kids at the same time so that I can actually sit down for a few minutes. These are the items that both kids wanted -- and all are things they could play with together (although we'd have to get two stunt cars to reduce whining).

• Sands Alive! Sunken Castle Discovery ($40) -- Craziest feeling stuff you'll ever play with and shockingly not messy.
• Turbo Twister RC Stunt Car ($28) -- Finally a remote control car that can break dance and doesn't get stuck on its back.
• Doink-it Darts ($30) -- Magnetic dart board, so no sharp ends to poke an eye out with.
• Squeeze Popper and Sticky Target ($20) -- Silly, competitive fun and the most satisfying popping sound ever.
• Roller Racers or the EzyRoller ($100) -- Could not get them off the test racers they were driving all over the store.

Stocking Stuffer Top 5

How do you get small gifts for friends or stocking stuffers for the kids that don't involve a) candy or b) crap that you'll just want to throw away? Try these gifts.

• MadLibs, coloring books and "Who Was" series -- Fun for days, alone or together.
• Tapeffiti Caddy Set ($14) -- Last year we gave Pippi a roll of scotch tape and it was almost her favorite gift. Colorful tape is almost too much awesome to bear.
• Toob ($.60-.90 per figurine) -- Anything you can think of in a tiny figurine, from the Arc de Triomphe to hippos.
• Thinking Putty ($11) -- Impossible to put down.
• Tornado Tube ($2.50) -- Junius recognized this from school and pronounced it "very cool."

Okay, I'm going to stop now. Back away slowly from the wish list. But if you're heading over to Stone's, be sure to pick up their catalog and get the coupon on the back -- $10 off $50 purchase or $20 off $100 purchase through November. 

Full Disclosure: I was invited to visit Stone's to write a post about my top 5 or 10 Christmas gifts. (Yes, again, I know there are 20 here. Shhhhh.) They gave me a catalog, a $50 gift card and the same lovely customer service they offer to everyone. They did not attempt to sway me or my crazy children into selecting certain toys or influence the writing of this post.

It's a Girl

This post is from my piece at last year's Listen to Your Mother show in Raleigh. You can watch me here, but I realized I never posted the text. Excited to go see this year's show tonight as an audience member!

When she’s older, my daughter will probably hate me for saying this, or even thinking it. But I didn’t want to have a girl.

My son was about to turn two that Father’s Day morning when I peed on the stick and realized we were going to have another baby. Junius was finally starting to sleep more at night. Life was just beginning to feel manageable again. While I was excited to be pregnant, I was equally overwhelmed by the idea of beginning it all again.

As the weeks went by, my second pregnancy mirrored the first. I was tired, but never sick and only occasionally queasy. Girth increased steadily with weight, matching the first pregnancy pound for pound and inch for inch week by week.

This baby is a boy, I thought -- just like the first. If it were a girl, I would know. I would feel different and I would be vomiting. But everything was the same and I was relieved.

I imagined we would become “Cyndi and the boys.” Our sons would be buddies and build LEGOS and play basketball. My husband would take them camping and fishing on weekends while I stayed home and went for pedicures and read books. Yes, they might be loud or messy, but it would be worth it.

It’s the American way: boys love their mamas. They would love me, cherish me and never, ever turn on me.

Because ladies, let’s be honest. We save the really bad shit for our mamas.

I wasn’t a crazy or rebellious kid. I have always had a good relationship with both of my parents. But in my teen years, something changed. I was mean to my mother and treated her in ways that I never would my father. Even when I wasn’t upset with my mom, I still held back my disaster meltdown moments until she was the only one around to deal with me.

The best of daughters seem to go through rough times with their mothers. And that’s the good ones. The rest wind up hating their moms, vowing never to be like them, and rolling their eyes and yelling obscenities at them.

So when the ultrasound revealed that this new baby was a girl? I was terrified.

And I hated myself for it.

I was supposed to be excited. A son AND a daughter. One of each! Isn’t that what everyone wants? Slugs and snails meets sugar and spice. The perfect family.

Except that I wanted a matched set. Wouldn’t it be so much easier -- and so much less frightening -- to have another boy? I was getting good at being a boy mama. Starting over with a newborn was scary enough without the specter of one day having to share my house with a hormonal pre-teen girl.

For two weeks, my husband and I didn’t tell anyone we’d found out it was a girl -- not even our parents or our son. We practiced at home saying “she” and “her” instead of “it” and “the baby.” We talked about girl names. We thought about friends who had painted nurseries pink in preparation, only to discover on birth day that their baby had been hiding his little boy parts when the ultrasound tech was looking. Maybe the ultrasound was wrong?

Of course it wasn’t wrong. Our baby girl arrived as scheduled on Feb. 22, 2008, beautiful and round and perfect.

It turns out that I was wrong about not wanting a daughter. The last months of my pregnancy gave me time to get used to the idea. When she was born, I already knew her -- and I loved her immediately. Five years later, Pippi is sweet and funny and crazy smart. She sings and dances constantly through each day, strutting her stuff in pink cowgirl boots and mismatched outfits. She possesses a powerful confidence at age five that will hopefully carry her far in life.

But it also turns out that I was kind of right to be afraid. Pippi may only be five, but she’s already giving me a run for my money. She saves her worst behavior for me and her best for her teachers. She tells lies and tests limits and pushes my buttons in ways that make me grind my teeth and bang my head into my hands. She is a Daddy’s Girl -- apparently it takes one to make one -- and she already seems to know that she can be meaner to me than she treats him.

She is the best and worst of having a daughter. And I am lucky to have made her.

So I try hard to give her the most important things my mother has always given me. A patient ear. A loving heart. A shoulder to cry on. And a wonderful father for the many times ahead when she doesn’t want any of those things from me.

Warm Heart

Parenthood is filled with lots of crappy moments.

Kids are whiny and messy and exhausting. There are snow days that you have to juggle with work that doesn’t close when school does. You make dinner every single night, half the time working like a short-order cook, and still they complain. They never clean their rooms without being asked – and still don’t do it when you do ask them. They pick and fight with each other. They are demanding.

But the beauty of parenthood is found in just as many tiny, lovely moments.

Even as they grow, they’ll still snuggle on the couch with me. They look like angels tucked into their beds, sleeping soundly as they snore. Sometimes they love my cooking, announcing loudly that no one makes better pancakes than mine. They give hugs and kisses freely. There are chances to be proud of them in public. Once in a while, they even ask me how my day went and actually listen to my response.

Yesterday – after the mess of putting on and taking off snow pants, snow boots, snow-covered gloves and hats, after lunch custom-made for each child because they couldn’t possibly eat the same thing, after the whining about what can we do and why can’t we watch another show – the kids and I headed back out into the cold to find some friends for sledding. As we started up the hill, each child dragging a sled, Pippi started complaining that her sled was too heavy.

“Hey, Mom,” says Junius, smiling. “I’ve got an idea. You pull my sled and I’ll pull Pippi in her sled!”

“Thank you, Junius!” Pippi replied, as he held the sled for her to climb into. Then they headed on up the hill together, with me just behind them.

My feet were cold, but my heart was melty.

In Which My Daughter Tries to Kill Me By Refusing to Sleep Through the Night

In case you thought perhaps Pippi's bedtime was all moonlight and unicorns, with little back-scratching fairies who carried her off to sleep, here's your reality check.


Pippi was generally a better sleeper than her brother was as a baby -- although truthfully that’s a pretty low bar. But where Junius tried to kill us quickly through insanely intense sleep deprivation during his first year, his sister has taken the slow-torture approach and is trying to bring about my demise in a more methodical, diabolical fashion.

She continues -- even at age five-and-three-quarters -- to wake up during the night (sometimes more than once) and require attention. Sometimes she calls from her bed, with a sing-song "Moooooooooooooo-mmyyyyyyyyyyyyyy." Then there’s a 15-second pause, followed by the same pitch of Moooooooooooooo-mmyyyyyyyyyyyyyy," (almost never "Daaaaaaaaa-ddyyyyyyyy") which continues steadily until I go into her room. Other times she appears at the edge of the bed, as if by magic, her round face and hot breath an inch from mine -- which still scares the crap out of me when I realize she’s there. Frequently she wakes up around 5:00, which gives her plenty of time to go back to sleep while robbing me of my last 30 minutes before I have to get up for boot camp.

I am basically rude and not at all sympathetic to her when this happens. But I walk her back to her bed, tuck her in and tell her I love her -- because I just. want. to go. back. to sleep.

It seemed we had finally bribed parented our way out of this deadly pattern a couple of months ago. But she has resumed her nocturnal neediness over the past week. Why? I have no idea.

Well, actually, I have a few…

27 Reasons That May or May Not Explain Why My Daughter Wakes Up During the Night

1. She is lonely.
2. She needs to pee.
3. She needs to pee and wants to use my bathroom instead of hers.
4. She needed to pee and just wanted to tell me that she already went. All by herself.
5. She peed and now she wants someone to tuck her in.
6. She wants someone to lie down with her.
7. She wants someone to lie down with her who is a human and not one of her “friends” that is a stuffed animal.
8. Her bed is too crowded.
9. She just wants some company.
10. She wants to know if it’s time to get up.
11. She wants to know how much longer until morning.
12. Her legs itch.
13. He back itches.
14. She can’t find Shirley (the Sheep, pictured above).
15. She wants to know if she has school tomorrow.
16. Or the next day?
17. She just remembered a funny story about what happened at school yesterday and needs to tell me about it right now.
18. She had a bad dream.
19. She had a silly dream. And needs to tell me about it right now.
20. She wonders how many days it is until her birthday and how many friends she can invite to her party and can it please be a sleep-over?
21. Her room is too dark.
22. Her nightlight is too bright.
23. There were these really awesome Hello Kitty socks in the dollar bin at Target and she wants to know if we could go buy them in the morning.
24. Her closet doors are open.
25. She thought her brother was up.
26. She wants to know if she can play Minecraft on Daddy’s iPad.
27. She needs a tissue. And she may or may not have a nosebleed.

If you've got any favorite reasons from your own house, feel free to add them below in the comments. If you've got those kids who magically slept through the night as a six-week-old baby and never looked back, then you should just keep that to yourself.

Love in the Time of Back Scratching

When she’s older, I hope my daughter remembers the back scratching.

Actually I hope she remembers all of the wonderful, caring, selfless things I do for her – like make dinner every night, paint her nails, “help” clean her room, take her to playdates, buy her clothes, do her laundry, color pictures, play Go Fish, take her to the ballet. But if she only remembers the back scratching and it makes her smile, that would be a good start.

Most nights I’m the one putting her to bed. We read a book, say prayers, then turn out the light – at which point she immediately asks me to scratch her back. Sometimes she also requests a song or a story, but always the back.

“If I’m very still and very quiet, mommy, will you please scratch my back?” she asks, anticipating the requirements before I can say them and turning her face to the wall so her back is pointing at me.

I’m always exhausted at this point in the night. Ready to be done with bedtime so I can have my own time to write, read, watch TV or (gasp) be with my husband. I don’t actually like doing bedtime because the whole routine just makes me tired.

But I cannot say no to the back scratching request.

When I was a kid, I loved having my back scratched. Okay, I still do. My mom, a pianist, never had long nails, but she had the gentlest touch and the patience of a saint. Sometimes, if I managed to randomly sit close enough to her hand, she would absent-mindedly start scratching my back simply because it was there and that was what she did. It’s a most ordinary and yet most intimate gesture.

One day, if Pippi is lucky enough to have her own exhausting little person to put to bed, I hope she’ll catch a memory of snuggling under her blanket with her soft, small back sticking out. I hope she’ll recall my weary fingertips running circles across her pajamas and her skin, through her fresh-from-the-bath hair.

And I hope she’ll know in that moment that – despite all the times I wasn't what she needed me to be – I have always loved her.

LTYM: Watch Me Read to You!

Who knew that watching a video of myself presenting my writing on stage at the Listen to Your Mother show in May would make me more nervous than actually presenting my writing on stage at the show? But when I got the email today saying the videos had been posted, my heart started racing and my palms got all sweaty.

Watching myself is crazy weird. That's all I have to say about that.

But I loved being part of this show with our amazing producers Marty and Keanne and all of the great cast members, so I absolutely must share it with you. Now go fix yourself a beverage, find a comfortable spot to sit, and settle in to watch our show...



After you've watched all the awesomeness from the Raleigh-Durham show (trust me when I tell you to it's worth watching them ALL), be sure to check out the other 23 cities. 

The LTYM video launch is made possible thanks to our national video sponsor The Partnership at Drugfree.org. We are proud to promote their message of preventing prescription drug misuse and abuse.  Take a moment and check out The Medicine Abuse Project to learn more and join me in taking the Pledge.

LTYM Raleigh-Durham would also like to thank local video sponsor Myriad Media for videoing the performances.

Eye of the Beholder

Throughout my life, my mom has always told me that I'm pretty. That's a great thing for a girl's ego -- except that often my mother does it in the context of disparaging herself at the same time.

"I wish my hair were shiny and beautiful like yours -- mine is so gray and flat now."

"You have such a nice figure -- I can't wear dresses like that anymore."

"Your teeth are so straight and white -- I've always hated my teeth."

The truth is that my mom is pretty -- and I look a lot like her, so it must be true. She's also 28 years older than I am, so I have a bit of an advantage.

Her habit of putting herself down while simultaneously lifting me up always makes me self-conscious. It's not a competition, I want to tell her. We are always our own worst critics (see the latest from Dove's "Real Beauty" campaign for more on that one). We're both getting older and changing, but I like to believe that neither one of us looks our age.

Then I look at Pippi. And suddenly I see what my mom sees when she looks at me. She's perfect and gorgeous and way more amazing than I am -- but unlike me, she has always looked more like her dad than her mom.

Until today.

This afternoon, Pippi and I went to our favorite salon so that she could get a summer haircut and donate her beautiful, shiny, sun-streaked ponytail to Pantene Beautiful Lengths. As Stephanie snipped and trimmed a sassy little bob and Pippi winked and grinned at herself in the mirror, I watched my long-haired daughter start to look just a little like me for the first time.

Looking at her wearing my haircut -- and grinning from ear to ear -- made my heart melt just a little. When I texted pictures to my husband so he could see the new do, he texted back, "Beautiful! She looks like you now ;)" -- and that made me melt just a little bit more.

It's a funny thing about motherhood, how each stage makes me understand something about my own mother. I'm starting to get it, what she sees when she looks at me. When I look at Pippi, I know she's prettier than I am -- the difference is that she's already got such a big head (literally and figuratively), that I'll be keeping that opinion to myself.

Click here to see the 1977 photo of my mom and me in our matching (Dorothy Hamill) haircuts, along with photos of Pippi's first haircut.

Pippipalooza: Signs of a Big Girl

"I am five."

That's Pippi's new greeting -- she doesn't say hello anymore, just thrusts out her hand with fingers spread and proclaims her age as if it's the most important thing you need to know about her. Which, clearly, it is.

She's also been doing the things she's supposed to do -- occasionally -- and then announcing them with a knowing nod. "Look, Mommy. I'm brushing my hair without being asked. Because that's what five year olds do."

It's all a little comical, this notion that last month she was a baby and NOW she is a Big Girl. But it's also kind of true.

Here are five signs that she really is so very big:

1. Ice skating: She can now skate without holding onto a chair or a grown-up. It's not exactly speedy or graceful, but she can shuffle along on her own. This is a big deal when your older brother is a hockey player.

2. Dentist chair: At her recent dental check-up, she climbed right into the chair and leaned back without assistance -- no flinching, no complaining, no worries. At the previous visit, I had to lie on the chair with her stretched out on top of me during the whole exam and cleaning. I like this version much better.

3. New bike: She's still using the training wheels (although probably not for long), but her new big girl bike is the same size as her brother's. It's also purple (to match her new helmet) and has spinney glittery spectacularness on the handle bars. It makes her legs look oh-so long.

4. Bed decor: We still haven't totally finished decorating her nursery-turned-big-girl room yet (hence all the sketches taped all over her walls), but she actually has a duvet cover on her comforter now. It's grown-up Garnet Hill and beautiful. Thankfully, she still looks small all tucked in under it.

5. Potty: Now she's so big that she wants to use the bathroom alone. (Note that this does not translate into letting ME use the potty alone when we are at home.) I'm still jittery about allowing it in most public places, but now and then I try to give her a little privacy. Obviously, I'm not willing to go very far yet.

 Sigh. The days are long, but the years go by at the speed of light.

Pippipalooza: Things She Loves to Do

Somehow Pippipalooza 2013 came and went already, without a peep here at the blog. My baby girl turned five -- or as she says, "a WHOLE hand" -- at the end of February. In true Convertible Life style, we celebrated the day for a full week. Between the festivities and the rest of life, the blog just couldn't keep up.

But even though Pippi is a second child (or perhaps because of it), I'm trying to be sure she doesn't get slighted (too much). So today is the start of a belated "Five Days of Pippipalooza" blog posts... beginning with five things she loves to do.

It's not exactly news that Pippi has strong opinions. Can't imagine where she got that from (ahem). Sometimes that can be frustrating (to put it mildly), but sometimes it's just fun to watch. Here are five of her favorite activities:

1. Holding babies. I'm not sure if it's some sort of innate female baby-holding urge or just that it makes her feel big and superior, but she loves to sit on the couch and hold a baby. And by that, I mean a real live actual baby -- preferably one who is sleeping. Her current favorite arrived in November, so I'm not sure how much longer she'll be able to wrangle him -- but she sure does love him.
2. Sleeping with her hair in braids. As someone without a single curly hair gene anywhere in her family tree, Pippi is destined to have stick-straight hair. With any luck, she won't have to endure the 80s perms like her mama did. But I still understand the desire for curls. So now and then, I braid her hair into about a dozen little twists at bedtime so that she can wake up to fancy.
3. Coloring with "permanent markers." I do not know who told her about the difference between permanent markers and washable markers. All I know is that she understands the distinction and has determined that permanent markers -- especially Sharpies -- are infinitely superior. For Christmas this year, we gave her a roll of tape and let her  use it however she wanted (which translated to about four dozen original pieces of Pippi art being taped to the walls in her room in whatever places she could climb up and reach). Too bad for her that I'm unlikely to give her similar free reign with a set of Sharpies.
4. Dressing herself. The lack of recent activity on the I Dressed Myself blog is in no way reflective of a lack of self-dressing on Pippi's part. She continues to prefer spring and summer outfits, which I can't really blame her for (as those are my favorites, too) but which are really inappropriate when it's 35 degrees outside. She also loves layering shirts and skirts or pairing leopard print leggings -- and of course, her pink cowgirl boots -- with just about anything.
5. Dancing and singing. By far, dancing and singing are both her favorite things to do and my most favorite things to observe. Sometimes the singing gets a little out of control -- both in volume (so loud and high) and in quality (so many lyrics involving bottoms and what comes out of them). But Pippi has a gift for creating musical medleys to narrate her day or adding her own choreography to songs -- and sometimes both at the same time ("Call Me Maybe" anyone?). 

And now a little party favor for you, courtesy of Pippi herself...

Overheard: Smells Like Preschool Spirit

Each week, I drive Pippi and her friend Miss A to their afternoon dance class and then take Miss A home again. Eavesdropping from the front seat, I hear the news from preschool, learn which boys they plan to marry, and try not to laugh at their poop and fart jokes. Some weeks I wonder if the conversations will follow this same format when they're 10 years older.

Today Miss A mentioned that another girl in their preschool class had said something not very nice to her. After a little prodding from me, Miss A finally confessed that the girl told her she smelled like a monkey.

I stifled a grin, then asked if the girls knew the alternate version of the happy birthday song -- you know, the one that ends with the always clever line, "You look like a monkey, and you smell like one, too."

In spite of their obvious distress over the initial insult, they started to giggle about the song. So I asked Pippi to take a big deep sniff and double-check if Miss A did in fact smell like a monkey. Here is the delightful conversation that ensued.

Pippi: You do NOT smell like a monkey. You smell like a unicorn!

Miss A: And YOU smell like a hairbow! No, a pony! [Note: I took that to be the My Little Pony scent, as opposed to the horse manure fragrance.]

P: No, I don't, silly. Tell me I smell like a princess!

A: You smell like a princess! No... a QUEEN!

P: No... my mommy smells like a queen! I smell like a princess and my daddy smells like a king and my brother smells like a knight.

So, in the spirit of positive preschool thinking, we're rewriting the song: "Happy birthday to you! You wear a tutu! You look like a princess, and you smell like one, too!"

The Best Non-Political Vote You Can Cast All Year

Okay, people. We need your help here.

My brilliant husband learned about a contest to win a Thomasville Furniture sectional sofa by posting an Instagram photo of one of their couches on the company Facebook page.

And because he is so brilliant, he took our kids on their school holiday Wednesday (while I was at work) and captured this hilarious photo of Spidey and Butterfly Girl relaxing in the Thomasville store.

Now all we need is for you to click over to the Thomasville Furniture Facebook page and vote for our photo -- you have to "like" their page first in order to vote (sorry about that). If you vote for us and we actually win, I promise to let you come hang out with Junius and Pippi on the new couch. We'll even let you choose your own costume.

Here's the link: https://www.facebook.com/Thomasville/app_364041783617057 (Note: Lots of people are having trouble with the link. Not sure what's happening, but it might not be mobile-friendly. Try going to https://www.facebook.com/Thomasville and look at the top of their feed for the link to the promotion.)

And may the odds be ever in our favor.

Pillow Talk: Post-Game Edition

Conversation with Pippi at last night's very late bedtime after going to a college football game:

Pippi: "Mama?"

Me: "Yes, Pip?"

P: "Tonight? At the stadium football game?" [I'm guessing she adds the "stadium" to distinguish it from "arena football" or "in-the-backyard football."]

M: "Uh-huh?"

P: "The walking banana... was wearing a necktie!" [giggling as she remembers the man who walked past us in the stadium wearing a full banana costume]

M: "Yes, he was -- that was silly."

P: "I'm going to tell all my friends at preschool!"

M: "They will think you're hilarious, Pip."

P: "What if there was a walking carrot? And a walking strawberry? And a..." [more giggling]

M: [trying not to laugh] "Okay, time to be quiet and go to sleep."

P: "Mama?"

M: "Yes, honey?"

P: "I'm a goof ball. If anybody needs a goof ball, they can call me at my phone number. It is nine-zero-eight." [still more giggling]

M: [shaking my head in wonder] "Good to know, Pip."

Friday's 5: Things I Learned on Vacation

We spent last week at the beach. It was glorious -- even with one rainy day and two cloudy days. I won't bore you with the details of drip castles and sunscreen and sand in the bath tub and trying to force Junius to let me take his picture. But I will share with you five random things I learned while at the beach.

1. Good books are even better with cocktails. Before I left for the beach, a friend recommended that I bring a copy of Rules of Civility by Amor Towles. And she suggested that I enjoy a mai tai along with it. Spot on, with both recommendations -- although I'd add a good gin & tonic to the beverage list. As a result, I've decided that all literary selections should come with a drink menu.

2. Some women shave their faces. Not because of a hair issue, but to slough off dead skin cells in order to look younger. And by "some women" I mean someone other than me who may or may not be one of my friends at the beach. I'm not a dermatologist, I haven't tried this, and I'm not making this up -- I'm just sharing. And no, I don't have a picture for this one.

3. Beach olympics are perfect on a cloudy day. You'll be totally jealous when I tell you this, but one of our friends organized "olympic events" including sack races, hula hooping and water balloon tosses -- complete with a hand-stitched olympic flag and "Chariots of Fire" playing in the background. There were also olympic ring tattoos and gold medals for everyone. See? Jealous, right?

4. Dress appropriately for the battleship tour. They don't tell you this on the website for the USS North Carolina, so I'm going to give you the straight truth. We stopped in Wilmington on our way home to tour the WWII battleship. Being an actual battleship, it's very interesting, seriously enormous and crazy hot (no air conditioning) -- all of which they mention on the site. What they don't tell you is that you SHOULD NOT WEAR A SKIRT. My above-the-knee swingy knit skirt was great for the temperatures, but not so smart for climbing up and down the dozens of ladders all over the ship while strangers stand below. Now you know.

5. Popsicles are for breakfast. Or at least they are on check-out day. In year's past, I've always ended up throwing the leftover popsicles in the trash -- not like they're going to survive the trip home in the cooler. This year I was awarded Rock Star Mom status when I handed my kids popsicles and paper towels and sent them out on the deck at 9 a.m. while we packed up the house.

Now it's your turn. What random knowledge have you acquired this summer? Share with us so that all may know...

Pippi Wants You to Call Her, Maybe?

In the beginning there was Carly Rae Jepsen, bouncing and singing through my car stereo via my husband's iPhone. If you want to listen in, click the play button here: Call Me Maybe

Why had my husband downloaded this poppy tune onto his phone? I have no idea.

But there it was. And I mocked him a little. Okay, more than a little.

Then he showed me the video of Jimmy Fallon singing the song with Jepsen. With the Roots playing as their band. On elementary music classroom instruments.

And the whole family was hooked. We particularly like the man in the back left with the bongos on his shoulder -- I cannot make my head do that, but damn I wish I could.



We listened to the song about 847 times during our family road trip that weekend. So much so that for the past week and a half, I haven't been able to keep any other songs in my head.

Apparently I'm not alone.

On Friday, Pippi was sitting at her little table coloring and entertaining herself for a few glorious moments while I ate my lunch -- when suddenly I realized she was singing the same line from the song, over and over and over again.

When I asked her if I could make a movie for daddy, here's the performance I got:

So the video quality isn't exactly Jimmy Fallon -- but honestly, I didn't actually expect her to perform on command because she pretty much never ever does that. Ever. Which is why the video is vertical.

But you gotta love the gum smacking, sunglasses flipping, cheesy grinning four-year-old stuck on the line about how "all the other boys try to chase me." There's no coaching going on here, but clearly some quality pop culture parenting. And it places Pippi in the ranks of Colin Powell, as well.

Oh, and you're welcome. Now the song is stuck in your head, too.

Subaru Love

Turns out you can't get a convertible with a third row.

Or at least you can't get one unless you're the guys on Top Gear and you saw the top off of a minivan (or a "people carrier," as they call it). And although the effort is admirable (and the episode linked there is brilliant), that's not so much the look I'm going for.

So today we bought a Subaru. It was love at first drive.

When we went to the dealership over the weekend to test it out, I came armed with two high-back boosters and one regular booster seat. The salesman looked at me like I had three heads instead of three seats, but I was determined to know whether or not they would fit.

Ta-da!

A little snug, but it totally worked. Then Junius proved that having the extra booster seat wedged into the middle wouldn't interfere with his comfort by promptly falling asleep during the test drive. Seriously, he just turns his head to the side and starts snoring.

Four days and several emails later, we were back at the dealership to trade in our Honda Accord and bring home the new car. 

This exchange marked the end of an era -- a decade with a car that saw us from newlyweds to new parents and beyond. It was the first big purchase my husband and I made together, then the first ride to bring home each of our days-old children. It saw us through interstate travels and tiresome commutes and at least a million trips to the grocery store. We have a lot of great memories tied up in that old car. 

But still, who could have predicted this?

That's Pippi trying to be brave while completely falling apart as I tried to take a photo of her and Junius in front of the old car. 

And that's Pippi sobbing on her daddy's shoulder while we wait on the paperwork. She cried for the better part of 20 minutes, only stopping to tell us that she wanted to keep the Honda until we died. (She's also wearing a turtleneck on an 85-degree day, but that's fodder for a different blog.)

It's hard to explain to a four-year-old that it's a good thing when we out-live our cars.

Junius managed to hold it together until we were pulling away in the new car. He teared up, looking over his shoulder as we left the Honda behind in the parking lot. Thanks to some Rock-O-Matic on the fabulous new stereo, he found his smile until bedtime, when more crying over the long-lost Honda ensued.

Who knows why they're suddenly so attached to a car that was slowly but surely falling apart from more than 137,000 miles worth of serious use -- maybe they're soft-hearted, nostalgic people or maybe they never realized that getting a new car meant giving up the old one. Maybe they just don't like change, even when it involves an upgrade. I really don't know.

What I do know is that, even though it's not a convertible, I'm going to love driving this Subaru.

Share your story... What car do you still remember saying good-bye to? Or how did your kids react when you bought a new family car?

Pippipalooza 2012: Blog Post Retrospective

Much to Pippi's chagrin, Pippipalooza 2012 has finally come to a close. She has delivered most of the party thank you notes, played with all of the presents and announced to every man, woman and child within a 10 mile radius that "and also? I am Four."

So I'll close out this year's festivities with a fun photo and a fave five list. The picture is her fancy hairdo that set a new household record -- that's eight rubber bands on one round head. We were proud.

And here are five of my favorite posts that helped to capture her year of being three:

1. Pippi's Morning Mani-Pedi: Nothing beats having an awesome daddy. Especially one who isn't afraid of nail polish.
2. Can Quiet Time Actually Include Some Quiet?: Pippi refuses to nap, then passes out on the stairs (the first time).
3. Late Night Adventures in Parenting: Pippi wakes me in the middle of the night saying, "Mommy, there's gooey on my finger." This can't be good.
4. When Fashion Happens: Pippi dresses herself with hilarious results. I start a new blog. Of course.
5. Name Dropping: Pippi tells me about her new friend. His name is B.B. King.

Catch up on Pippipalooza 2012:

- It's On

- Preschool Musical
- Such a Big Girl
- The Party Plan
- Behind the Party Scenes