Sunday, August 9, 2009
Me: What's that?
Lilah: Well, it's just like the regular princess game only I'm also a rock star. You be all the princes and I'm going to pick one of the princes at the ball to get to marry me. You can use your own voice this time.
An explanation: The Princess Game is legendary and dreaded in our house. I invented it (curse me!) and now wish it would go away. It involves someone (either Lilah or a grown-up) selecting an imaginary mate at a "ball" from a line of imaginary prospects: Prince Cassiova, Prince Luluwu, Prince Williwick . . . each prospective mate is acted out and fails to live up to royal standards: messy clothes, bad manners, weak singing or dancing skills, inability to perform arithmetic (I insist on this one). Finally an acceptable prince appears (or, if we're playing in reverse, Lilah is called up). Cue the swelling music: a happy ending ensues!
This time, for rock star princess, Lilah hastens to assure me that I don't have to try to sing in a masculine voice. For some reason, this is the part of the game that really bugs me, especially when she tries to make me play it when we have company.
Lilah: Mommy, you can sing in your regular voice.
Me: Okay. Good.
Lilah: Just try to PRETEND you can sing as sweetly as me.
Me: Collin, why don't you say good morning to Ian? Say something nice to him before you run off to be crazy.
Collin: (in simpering baby voice) Ian, you're the youngest person in this house!
Ian: (whimper, quivery lip)
Collin: (same voice) No, no, don't cry! That means you'll be the last to die!
Friday, August 7, 2009
But this picture is hopefully our future with this little guy, who looks like he's cheering for something, doesn't he? Maybe (hopefully) it's me and Ryan, who are now outnumbered by our own children and thus trying to re-learn parenting as a zone-defensive skill.
Wish us ALL luck!