History repeats itself. As does fashion, some may say. Or as Grams put it, “payback is a bitch”. I remember being on Altoona Place in our duplex home begging my mom and dad to come into the kitchen so that I could tap dance on the tile kitchen floor to “I don’t need anything but you”, the finale of Annie. Ask my brother, I used to watch that movie like it was the last one on Earth. I loved the music and story and the clothes. I loved Old New York and packed my bags every day as I transformed into a lonely orphan of Mt. Lebanon.
When I bought my own sweet angel the musical Annie, it was most definitely for me too. Okay, it was a little more for me than her. Would she like it? At the time she was only three going on four. I promise you that I did not force it or put it on every waking moment. I just told her that I loved it when I was little and I thought that she may too.
My little Betty Davis was born. She loved it and before I knew it, she was teaching me how to find the song “Maybe” (my personal favorite) on YouTube. Yes, you read correctly. She was teaching me. She knew the words and would grace us with musical performances only if the dress was ‘spinny’ enough. I would frequent ebay for the traditional red dress and locket. Both were hers in no time. We even have the wig which ironically looks the exact same as her real hair, only red. She would dress up and sing and on occasion, I would catch her on video using my phone.
Now she’s five. Actually, five and a half. Fourteen on some days. I have been told that it is the “worst day ever" of any day ever in all of history. She has reminded me that she “must have that ‘baby princess’...it reminds me of when I was little” (insert eyes and a pouty lip). And there have been times where I’ve caught her out of the corner of my eye, staring into the mirror, squeezing tears out to perfection so that they dangle down her sweet cheeks just right. She gasps and twirls and has pretended that she is running from the evil queen for as long as I can remember. And I have played the part of the evil queen, with a loud voice and sometimes even in costume. She reminds me so much of myself, I can hardly believe it.
She’s seen the movie Frozen three times now. Slightly ridiculous, I do recognize. But, I really don’t mind. I hear her singing those songs. I saw her face light up when she saw that Anna dress hanging from the fireplace on Christmas morning. It’s her thing. At least it is now. And it’s adorably wonderful. She is so very talented and sweet.
Today, she asked me to draw freckles on her cheeks and braid her short curly hair into two pigtails, just like Anna. I agreed right away. The fun of having a snow day. Her eyes lit up. “Really!?! What will you use to draw the freckles?” I told her eyeliner. She was sure to remind me that it must be brown, not black. I told her that I had a brown eyeliner, and like a leaping lizard (there’s a little Annie), she dashed for her dress. I followed through right then. I didn’t return to the task that I was involved in when she had come to ask. I was ready to braid and dot. She asked me if I could do her hair first and then she would do her own make-up in the same way that she learned on the make-up tutorial she had watched. Confidently, she tells me that “the freckles will stay on much better if you have a little blush on first.” Five minutes later, she dances into my room. Her make-up looks impeccable. Beautiful. I compliment her and begin to dot her little cheeks and nose. She is in her own little Magic Kingdom.
Later on the same fun-having snow day, she breaks down over losing a DVD. She tells me that she will never sleep tonight. How could this happen? I just can’t believe it! I had it and now it’s GONE! A few minor stomps and sighs later, we are able to regroup and get ready for bed. A story about me when I was little and then a story about her when she was littler is always how we end the night. I make most all of mine up. Not completely, but most of these literary accomplishments end in something slightly hysterical (at least to her) or with some sort of a moral purpose. I do tell her truthful ones, I promise. Like the one about the time I got hit in the mouth with a softball. Or about the time my cousin and I gutted the bread out of the baguettes on Greek Easter and meticulously put the crusts back together to make it seem as though they hadn’t been touched since the bakery: one of the greatest pranks of all time.
But the stories about her are mostly true. I may add some details for effect and add a little to the plot here and there, but I do tell her about when she was little(r). I tell her about the first day that she walked; nine months on the day and how she never, ever, ever stopped. I tease her about how when I came into her room after she’d napped that I would need a nose-plug because that was was her ‘bathroom time’. She giggles. I’m not even sure what a nose-plug is really, but I always say it specifically. This little time is our little time and it is very sweet. Some nights I am so tired and I can barely get out a logical sentence and on many nights the stories are really short. But, I do tell her something every night when I put her to bed. I remind her that it’s late and we only have time for one story. She asks for two. Usually, she wins.
And then, I kiss her, stand at the door, and wait for her to be perfectly comfortable-because she has to be ‘nice and cozy before the door closes’. We “I love you” back and forth. And after that, there is always a question or closing statement: “Mom, how many hours until morning?” “Mom, why do we have to sleep?” “Mom, I was the art expert in art class today!” “Yes! Tomorrow’s gym! We missed gym last week because it was a snow day.” I issue a quick response and wish her sweet dreams. And then we I love you back and forth one more time...usually it's more like two or three.
It’s a bit of a process and sometimes I can feel myself rushing through it. But the one lesson I have learned is to try not rush through it. I start earlier or take a deep breath if needed. Everybody ends up happier in the long run. I try to take my time: something that I have to remind myself to do every day of my life. Take the time. Because as I mentioned, I am learning how to use the ipad more efficiently from my five-teen year old. And I swear to you, I was just reaching for my nose-plug yesterday.
When I bought my own sweet angel the musical Annie, it was most definitely for me too. Okay, it was a little more for me than her. Would she like it? At the time she was only three going on four. I promise you that I did not force it or put it on every waking moment. I just told her that I loved it when I was little and I thought that she may too.
My little Betty Davis was born. She loved it and before I knew it, she was teaching me how to find the song “Maybe” (my personal favorite) on YouTube. Yes, you read correctly. She was teaching me. She knew the words and would grace us with musical performances only if the dress was ‘spinny’ enough. I would frequent ebay for the traditional red dress and locket. Both were hers in no time. We even have the wig which ironically looks the exact same as her real hair, only red. She would dress up and sing and on occasion, I would catch her on video using my phone.
Now she’s five. Actually, five and a half. Fourteen on some days. I have been told that it is the “worst day ever" of any day ever in all of history. She has reminded me that she “must have that ‘baby princess’...it reminds me of when I was little” (insert eyes and a pouty lip). And there have been times where I’ve caught her out of the corner of my eye, staring into the mirror, squeezing tears out to perfection so that they dangle down her sweet cheeks just right. She gasps and twirls and has pretended that she is running from the evil queen for as long as I can remember. And I have played the part of the evil queen, with a loud voice and sometimes even in costume. She reminds me so much of myself, I can hardly believe it.
She’s seen the movie Frozen three times now. Slightly ridiculous, I do recognize. But, I really don’t mind. I hear her singing those songs. I saw her face light up when she saw that Anna dress hanging from the fireplace on Christmas morning. It’s her thing. At least it is now. And it’s adorably wonderful. She is so very talented and sweet.
Today, she asked me to draw freckles on her cheeks and braid her short curly hair into two pigtails, just like Anna. I agreed right away. The fun of having a snow day. Her eyes lit up. “Really!?! What will you use to draw the freckles?” I told her eyeliner. She was sure to remind me that it must be brown, not black. I told her that I had a brown eyeliner, and like a leaping lizard (there’s a little Annie), she dashed for her dress. I followed through right then. I didn’t return to the task that I was involved in when she had come to ask. I was ready to braid and dot. She asked me if I could do her hair first and then she would do her own make-up in the same way that she learned on the make-up tutorial she had watched. Confidently, she tells me that “the freckles will stay on much better if you have a little blush on first.” Five minutes later, she dances into my room. Her make-up looks impeccable. Beautiful. I compliment her and begin to dot her little cheeks and nose. She is in her own little Magic Kingdom.
Later on the same fun-having snow day, she breaks down over losing a DVD. She tells me that she will never sleep tonight. How could this happen? I just can’t believe it! I had it and now it’s GONE! A few minor stomps and sighs later, we are able to regroup and get ready for bed. A story about me when I was little and then a story about her when she was littler is always how we end the night. I make most all of mine up. Not completely, but most of these literary accomplishments end in something slightly hysterical (at least to her) or with some sort of a moral purpose. I do tell her truthful ones, I promise. Like the one about the time I got hit in the mouth with a softball. Or about the time my cousin and I gutted the bread out of the baguettes on Greek Easter and meticulously put the crusts back together to make it seem as though they hadn’t been touched since the bakery: one of the greatest pranks of all time.
But the stories about her are mostly true. I may add some details for effect and add a little to the plot here and there, but I do tell her about when she was little(r). I tell her about the first day that she walked; nine months on the day and how she never, ever, ever stopped. I tease her about how when I came into her room after she’d napped that I would need a nose-plug because that was was her ‘bathroom time’. She giggles. I’m not even sure what a nose-plug is really, but I always say it specifically. This little time is our little time and it is very sweet. Some nights I am so tired and I can barely get out a logical sentence and on many nights the stories are really short. But, I do tell her something every night when I put her to bed. I remind her that it’s late and we only have time for one story. She asks for two. Usually, she wins.
And then, I kiss her, stand at the door, and wait for her to be perfectly comfortable-because she has to be ‘nice and cozy before the door closes’. We “I love you” back and forth. And after that, there is always a question or closing statement: “Mom, how many hours until morning?” “Mom, why do we have to sleep?” “Mom, I was the art expert in art class today!” “Yes! Tomorrow’s gym! We missed gym last week because it was a snow day.” I issue a quick response and wish her sweet dreams. And then we I love you back and forth one more time...usually it's more like two or three.
It’s a bit of a process and sometimes I can feel myself rushing through it. But the one lesson I have learned is to try not rush through it. I start earlier or take a deep breath if needed. Everybody ends up happier in the long run. I try to take my time: something that I have to remind myself to do every day of my life. Take the time. Because as I mentioned, I am learning how to use the ipad more efficiently from my five-teen year old. And I swear to you, I was just reaching for my nose-plug yesterday.