Well. I found it.

My inner stage mom.

That's right, if from now on you notice fake eye lashes and bleached hair on Stella, do not be alarmed. It's totally just me, living out this buried persona I never knew I had!

Whoa. Just kidding.

It's not that bad. I don't need her to look like a baby prostitute for me to find value in her. But seriously this whole like recital weekend thing is actually really fun. Like really fun.

It's insanely busy. Like. Bananas Busy. But, we made it to the other side and had a great time!

I seriously love it. Call me crazy. But I love it.


The hecticness of pictures, which by the way, Stella didn't fight at all, she walked right to the middle of the frame, struck a pose and smiled a competition worthy smile! It's the best picture she's ever taken willingly(I mean, I think, I haven't actually seen the picture yet!).


She either really loves dance, even enough to take pictures for it. OR. I just need to start warning her three months in advance that she's going to have to take pictures and have a little chat with her every single day up until picture day. Over kill? I think the end product will speak for itself!


Ha. And there was no headache for me. You know what I'm talking about. Dancing behind the camera. Stella where's my nose! Where's my hair? What color eyes do I have? What color Hair do I have? Do I have ten eyeballs? Ok picture lady, take the darn picture as soon as she looks like she's not crying. She's not even remotely looking at the camera and there are still tears on her cheeks? Oh well. That's good enough.


See? There was none of that.


And then there was rehearsal day. Hectic enough. Wake up. Eat breakfast. Quick get ready. Go to dance. Quick get ready for soccer. Go to last soccer game. Quick get ready. Speed to dance. Go to dance rehearsal again. Oh, there was definitely a happy meal in there somewhere too because I had to bribe her to stay on the field in her soccer game and play.


And by "play" I really mean she walked around the field crying and picking grass for me(Like a bouquet. I'm not even kidding.). And half of the time she was sitting or laying in the middle of the field.

Saturday was her last game. And at one point she was accidentally standing in front of the goal. And another player tried to shoot on goal, but accidentally kicked it at Stella's feet and she accidentally stopped the goal. The little crowd(Like seven people) literally went wild because ok, it was the first play she's made in weeks, possibly the entire season. But instead of being proud of herself, she turned around screaming. It was seriously a traumatic experience!

Ok. So Soccer is over Thank God. Oh man. Zach's whole coaching gig turned into him working every Saturday. Stupid Grass. You're not supposed to grow every week. Well, ok it probably grows every day. But you know what I mean.

So I had to take over as head coach. And man was I awesome. Oh wait, except that we had the worst team in the league. I'm not kidding you. I had all of these flash backs to high school and getting beat 23-0 by Gretna. Come on people I'm going to need some serious therapy. I have like Post Traumatic or something.


But in our defense we were the youngest team in the league(Stella's team. Not OCA. Don't even get me started there....) and we only had three players. We had just turned three, and everyone else was almost five. There is a BIG difference. Plus when the other team has eight almost five year olds and we have three just three year olds. I mean, come on. What do you expect?

So to Sunday. Recital Day. Stella loves dancing on stage. Loves it. I can totally see how those pageant moms get into the whole gig because their kids really do love it. Granted she's not asking for fake teeth and a monthly spray tan package(Yet.), but she really does love to be on stage. She's a performer, what can I say.

And I totally get in to it. It's like our special thing. We do her hair in the morning and go to dress rehearsal and then get a special lunch. We take a short nap together and then get up and I finish her hair and do her make up and take a million pictures. It's just really fun! This year she even let me put mascara on her! I mean, that means something, right?

And Zach makes it special too. He demands the hot pink two dozen roses(Calm down, they're from Costco, but they're still pretty!) for his little ballerina and then takes us all out for a special dinner afterwards. Granted there's not many fruits and vegetables involved on Recital Day, but we can cheat once a year(You know, because every other day of the year I am a totally perfect health nut mom!).

And then. She does amazing. Actually her entire class(Both of them) did amazing! Seriously though, you look at these girls through out the year and you think they are never going to get it by recital. Especially when some of them are just two or younger. But then you put them on stage with the bright lights shining and they are suddenly prima ballerinas. Plus, Lindsay does a great job with them!

So after the whole experience I have to check myself. I could see how addicting the experience can become. I mean, seriously, I can't really see myself doing the whole pageant thing. First things first, I'm the cheapest person in the universe(Slash Poorest.). And Dancing is a WHOLE different ball game from pageants. I mean, it's an actual sport(Or sport-like anyways.). I'm just kind of excited for the whole competition thing. Which we'll see how different pageant moms and competition moms are apart. Oh my. It's a guarantee I won't fit in. They'll take one look at my hair and bag-lady wardrobe and ask me to stand in the back with the "help."

Yikes.

Moving on to current events.

I'm busy this week. Like really busy.

Yesterday I worked a 12 and a half hour day. That's a long day for me. Heck, that's a long day for anyone watching someone elses children.

But we made it.

But I need to say this:

I can't stand 4 and 5 year olds. Geez. Whew, I had to get that off of my chest. They are sooo snotty. All they do is boss me around and correct me. It's like, get a clue kid. I'm the grown up. I know what I mean!

You know how they are! They are always correcting you with a "Oooooh you mean this." Or. "Oooooooh you mean that." Ok, basement and dowstairs can mean the same thing! Also, so can lunch and dinner. Ok? And they don't have manners. None of them. They always demand I do things for them. And they're too old for me to find cute anymore. So I can barely tolerate they're snotty attitude.

It's possible this is only my limited experience of all the 4 and 5 year olds I watch, but I have a pretty extensive database to go from.

Yesterday I had two of them trying to tell me how to drive!

I get it, I'm not the best. But I also realize that yes, green does mean go. And red means stop. And yes, I did use my blinker to make a right hand turn. But NO. I will not pass that semi so stop telling me to!

I sound crazy, right? They're just kids. They're just kids. They're just kids. They're just kids.

Oh boy.

Speaking of though. Dora's last day was today.

She's done for the summer and then off to kindergarden in the fall, so her time over at the Higginson Household has come to a close.

It's a sad day for us.

As snotty as she was this morning and as much as my kidlets wouldn't stop screaming and fighting, I'll be sad to see her go. I mean not today, today I about pulled my hair out(Which actually might do me some favors.....). But later. I'll be sad.

Farewell Dora the Explorer.

Mabye longest blog ever. Maybe.

So I'll close with all of the rambling.


I do want to give you a little teaser for tomorrows topic however.

What do you do when your husbands hair stylist has him in her phone as "Zach-Pretty Eyes" and continually reminds him that she's getting a divorce??????

Do you A. Laugh about it because you trust your husband implicitly.
B. Make a hair appointment yourself, even if you're afraid the sight of your hair will only encourage her.
C. Stomp in there, grab that little hussies phone and drop it into her ammonia, smack her across the face and use her own scissors against her.
Or.
D. Realize, please. There ain't nobody out there better than me.

Fine. E. Wins.

What's E?

All of the above.