Proof

I know I'm not impartial. But normally, when you take a picture of Isabel's sweet face, here's what happens: Millions of tiny pixels organize themselves into a work of art. It takes serious skill to make my cutie-pie look anything less than adorable in a picture. And yet the school photographer has managed it.

Oh yes, it's proof. Proof that no one survives Picture Day, not even angels. Now see below, a recent photo that I casually snapped outside Roswell's Bulloch Hall. Guess which one I'll be framing?

In other news...


On the drive home from swim lessons today, we're listening to They Might Be Giants' Here Comes Science. The song is "Photosynthesis."


Lily: What's photosynthesis?
Isabel: Come on, you know what photosynthesis is.
Lily: No I don't.
Isabel (appalled and disgusted): They haven't taught you about plants yet?


I know what she's thinking. What kind of ghetto PreK is Mom sending her to? And now the wheels of Isabel's mind are turning. How do I get the number for DYFS? Surely this qualifies as parental neglect?

Big Creek

Lee and I are learning that hiking is slightly more palatable for the kids if it involves...adventure. Luckily, at their ages, crossing a fallen log over a teensy brook (a large puddle, really) counts.

Grinning

When I picked Lily up from school on Wednesday, she got in the car and handed me the proofs of her school picture. Notice the...well, I'd call it a grimace.

"I grinned," she said. Right, of course. Isabel always grins in photos. "So you were being like Isabel?" I asked.

"No," she replied. "I was being like Barbie. Barbie never shows her teeth." Lily and I have been reading her STEP INTO READING Barbie chapter books. At one point recently she read "Barbie grins" and asked me what that meant. I told her, and she said, "Like Isabel. She always grins." Exactly.

She really listens, my precious little pea.

Lilybug

Today when I walked Lily into her pre K classroom, Ms. Olivia asked, "Did Lily tell you what she did last week?" She went on to explain that she'd had laryngitis and couldn't read to the class. So she asked Lily to do it. "Lily read about the solar system. She's like on a third grade reading level. She's astounding!" All the while Lily hugged me close and looked up at me, bursting with pride. I almost burst myself.

If you went back and looked at my prayer blog from last year, you'd see lots and lots and lots of prayers about whether to hold Lily back a year or send her ahead to kindergarten. (She would have been the youngest in the class, and at a disadvantage.) I opted to send her to the Primrose School for one last year of pre K, and I'm so glad that I did. 

Here's a video of Lily before her bath the other night, dancing with her Littlest Pet Shops. I have a feeling that this is just how God meant for her to be--joyfully dancing around to her own little dance remix, sung out loud with all her might. I love watching her. Is that how He feels about us too?

I just read Gretchen Rubin's inspiring book, The Happiness Project. Here's her one-sentence summary:


 "The Happiness Project is my memoir of one year in which I test-drive every principle, tip, theory, and research-study result I can find, from Aristotle to St. Therese to Benjamin Franklin to Martin Seligman to Oprah [about happiness]. What advice actually works?"


OK, it's two sentences. This woman really appeals to my drive for succinctness. Is succinctity a word? No, it appears not, since my computer underlined it in red. What did we do before computers? (Spent time outdoors in the fresh air, no doubt. Meh.)


Here is how she described her blog:


"THE HAPPINESS PROJECT is the memoir of the year I spent test-driving the wisdom of the ages, current scientific studies, and lessons from popular culture about how to be happier. As one of the hundreds of experiments I've conducted, I started this blog. Here, I recount my daily adventures in pursuit of happiness."

Anyway, The Happiness Project has gotten the wheels turning in my head. And...that's all for now.

Lily is working her way through a learn-to-read chapter book collection of Disney princess stories. Last night she read "A Pet for a Princess," about Princess Jasmine and her tiger, Rajah. Only Lily doesn't read, per se. She sings through it like it's a lyrical score. I think the Disney princesses would approve.

Sadly, this "singing everything" stage also coincides with her and her sister's discovery of Katy Perry and Taio Cruz. Lily's iPod Cube (with these songs and others) keeps ending up in every room I'm in. Then I get in the car, where it's all "Annie," all the time. But it's not affecting me. Not at all. I hardly hear it anymore. Besides, I know that the sun will come out tomorrow.

Retro Slang

Isabel has taken to using the expression, "Oh, drat!" If I say, "Isabel, it's time to get dressed for school," or "Isabel, it's swim lessons day," I can count on a hearty "Oh, drat!" in reply. I keep expecting Linus or Peppermint Patty to walk in at any moment and call me a blockhead.

Happily, she had no cause to drat anything on Saturday. At 7:30 am she presented me with the invitations she'd written to all the dogs in the neighborhood. Yes, dogs. She informed me that we'd be having a birthday party for Hunter (our long-suffering, mixed breed terrier) that day. This required that we drive around the neighborhood, delivering invitations to mailboxes, as well as a trip to Kroger, to purchase doggie ice cream and other treats.

Isabel's invitations stipulated that the dogs must bring a gift for the birthday boy. I sent out a hasty email to their humans: NO GIFTS ARE ACTUALLY NECESSARY. But I added that yes, the invitations were for real, and please let me know if you think your dog will be attending. I expected a lot of no's. When will I ever learn?

Out of five dogs invited, four showed up. There was Marky the Chihuahua, Bailey the Golden Retriever, Lupe the Westie and Finnegan the Standard Poodle. Isabel devised party games for the people (she'd invited the kid owners, too), and placed the doggie dixie cups (gussied up with bones and walnuts on top) on a platter. She led the guests in a rousing version of "Happy Birthday to You."

I now see no need to plan her next birthday party. Clearly, she can do this herself. But if I tell her that, do you know what she'll say?

"Oh, drat!"