children

So Lexi was supposed to be in the state pageant in June.  A few deadlines are quickly approaching and I really started reading what was required.  First, we’ve already given $100 deposit.  Now, the rest of the $300 entry fee is due.  THEN, there’s a required ad page that is $250.  You’re really supposed to sell the ad to individuals and businesses but I feel bad asking for people for money for a pageant and really, they want the money in THREE days.  Then, there’s t-shirts and optional contests you can enter.  Then, you have to have a professional headshot. I  haven’t had one so I was going to have to get her portrait done TOMORROW to send it off on Friday.  Then there’s the whole thing about the dress which is at least $100.  Then the pageant is actually held somewhere where we’d need a hotel room so that’s probably another $50-100.  And this is all for a THREE year old who may or may not be into getting on stage and waving for about 30 seconds.

With my recent debate of even buying things for the house we want, I REALLY can’t justify spending $6-700 on a pageant that Lexi won’t even remember.  If she was a little older and really insistent on doing this and it was going to be the beginning of a career type thing, I may invest in it for the experience, but for now, I think we’re going to have to give this a big no.

Let’s just hope Lexi’s teacher never reads this.

Emma: That Elmo at the party was FAKE! (I didn’t even realize she knew what that meant)

Me: Yes, it was just someone dressed up as Elmo but it looked like Elmo didn’t it?

Emma: No! It was FAKE!

Me: OK, I guess it was fake.

Lexi (sounding authoritative): Mrs. B is FAT!

I couldn’t help but crack up.

Me: We’re saying FAKE not FAT.  And Mrs. B is NOT fat and it’s not nice to tell people that are fat. Don’t ever tell Mrs. B she is fat. Because she’s not.

Lexi: I say Mrs. B is fat.

Emma: You need to write this one down. Are you writing this one down?

You know it’s bad when there is a 3 and 4 year old in the bathroom and you hear the 5 year old walk in on them and say:

“Oh, what a mess. I am SO tattletelling on both of y’all.  Whose idea was this??  Yours, S?  And you Lexi, you’re going to have to get a bath. “

What was the mess you ask?  Lexi decided it was a good idea to “refill” a red stamp pad with water.  When I walked in, their hands were covered, red stained water was all over the counter and dripping onto Lexi’s shirt and socks.

I actually stayed calm.  Sometimes in the worst of messes, I stay the calmest. Otherwise I would lose it.  And really, Lexi was trying to be do-it-yourself and refill her ink.  I can’t really punish that.

She’s on a roll this week….Lexi showed us a scratch from school right before we got out of the van and this was the conversation on the walk in the house.

Emma: How’d you get your scratch?

Lexi: Because.

Emma (confused): Don’t say because, say why! 

Lexi: Why.

Lexi is at such a great age for funny stuff.  Have two today.

We missed a birthday party of a girl in Lexi’s class this weekend and I wondered if I mentioned a few names whether she’d pipe up and tell me we’d missed the party.  So I was trying to get info from Lexi about what kids were at school.  I asked her about the little girl K whose party we missed.  And here’s the convo

Me: Was K at school?

Lexi: No.

Emma: Was she at the doctors or did she go on vacation?

Lexi (very matter of factly): She went on vacation to see the doctors.

Wow, what a bum vacation.

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Emma and Lexi are sitting on the recliner after their baths right now and this is the convo I hear:

Emma has the detangler posed right at her mouth and getting ready to spray and says: Yeah, do it like this, it will taste good, I promise.

I see the situation and intercept: Emma!  Don’t spray that in our mouth!  It will make you sick!

Lexi: Yeah, Emma, don’t do that. *pause* I will get a baby in my tummy. A real one.

Lexi surprisingly gave up her pacifier last year but has asked for it a few times since. Tonight was one of them. Lexi was crying in bed tonight and had her blankie up at her face and then the conversation went like this:

Lexi (still crying and whining): Paccc-eeee!

Me: Paci? You aren’t a baby anymore, silly!

Lexi (very dramatic and still crying and very serious): I’m crying like a baby! I’m a baa-beee!

Poor thing. I couldn’t help but laugh. I guess we’ve told her to quit crying like a baby a time or two.