Merry Pouting Christmas Mommy

Every year there comes this day,

when Mommy acts in a peculiar way.

Primping our hair, pressing our skirts

sewing on buttons on holiday shirts.

Wiping the yucky away from our noses,

stuffing us into tight panty-hoses.

Sticking us on a scary mans lap,

as really bright light go snap, snap, snap.

For all your hard work Mommy, we won't let you down,

here is our best holiday frown.

Here is a hint Mama, this too shall pass,

but pictures with Santa are a pain in the #$*!

Authors note: Every year I vow to skip the dreaded picture, but every year I head back to the dreary mall, the sweaty santa, and the $20.00 snapshot. I guess I am a believer in the Christmas miracle.

GIRLY-GIRL

Yikes...Oh No....Trouble....

My 3 year old daughter is a girly-girl, and for a hockey playing, sport loving, outdoor living, jeans and a T Mama, it is freaking me out! I am not talking about the odd princess dress and dolly-tea party. I am talking about, barbie houses, socks must match shirt, and won't get a hair-cut because she wants to be Rapunzel girly-girl. The other day we were in the hockey store looking for a new hockey stick for Dada. Daddy pointed out the cutest little hockey jersey, but was Lily impressed? No way, little girly-girl bee-lined right to the figure skating dresses and proudly declared to the lime green, sequined, bedazzled spandex dress,

" You are bootiful, I want to skate with you".

How could she do this to me? Barbie, the most horrible, miss-proportioned, high-heeled shoe wearing role model, and this is all she wants from Santa this year. What have I done? Where have I gone wrong? The other night while tucking her in she whispered to me,

"Mommy, you can be a princess too, you just have to let your hair grow longer".

I replied, " Princesses have short hair too Lily".

She replied, " Actually Mama....they 'don't".

It seems I have not read the 'How to be a Princess Rule Book' lately but she has it memorized. I guess raising a girly-girl is not that bad. She rips on the ski slopes, dives in head- first at swim lessons, and belts it out like Joni Mitchell when no one is watching. She is one independent, determined little person. In fact, this little girly-girl has the determination of the the toughest of dudes... 'Conan the Barbarian,...just in pigtails, bubble skirts, and matching ribbons.

'How to be a Princess Rulebook' by Lily Miller

1. Must have long hair ( messy and tangled is allowed);

2. Must have 1/2 dozen dresses of tu-tu, tulle, and sparkly variety (curtains work);

3. Princesses do not eat peanut butter;

4. Princesses cuddle at any opportunity;

5. Must have pony (plastic, stuffed, or family Labrador retriever may substitute for real thing);

6. Must spend portion of day trying to convert baby sister into 'princess in training program', and if that does not work...lock her in bathroom with lights off;

7. Mermaids are princesses of the sea and are tolerated.

Going Home

I miss the ocean.

I bring my young daughters to my island home.

Whales guide our ferry to the bay.

The iron steps of the lighthouse we climb,

and climb and climb.

The cool salty air greats us each morning, and puts us to sleep each night.

Bull kelp makes us giggle, and squirm, and giggle.

The island casts a spell on us.

I am home...I am happy...I am home.

Prudy Mamma

When did I become such a prude? Lily, my two-year-old, lives to pee outside. She is like a Chihuahua, she will pee anywhere. Gopher holes, parking lot green spaces, outdoor music festivals, dried river beds, neighbor's flower gardens. At a recent birthday party she went right in the middle of a hula-hoop! A bright purple hula-hoop is a perfect pee target for a 2-year-old with a fetish for public urination. My husband is very proud of his little pee'er. Upon returning from his Daddy-daughter hikes he proudly states, " Lily just pee'ed in the back of the toy dump-truck, what an aim!" It is times like these where I quietly think to myself, "this is a dad of two little girls looking for testosterone anywhere he can find it". Not only is dad o.k. with our little public pee'er, he is as proud of her as can be. I however, am not. When did I become such a prude? As an outdoor educati0n instructor for over 15 years, I have pee'ed in the most majestic of places. From the sand dunes of Mexico, to the Canyons of Utah, and the Glacier's of Alaska...I have marked them all. Grand Canyon, Rocky Mountains, Sea of Cortez, Magdalena Bay, Prince William Sound, Chugach Mountains,...the list goes on. I lived to pee outside. As my genetic offspring, so should she. However, somewhere in the back of my brain is my china collecting, tea-tottering, Dublin raised, mother giving me the holy ' I raised you to be a lady' stink-eye. It seems the 'stink-eye' is a genetic trait too. It manifests itself when my Lily starts taking aim over the dog-food bowl. For now I am letting go of my prudy public pee-ing attitude, and letting her relieve herself wherever she is so inspired. However, tomorrow we are going camping. I draw the line at campfires...sorry Ken, that is one tradition you will have to continue with your nephews.

~moms the word

pLAy

Let's stop for a moment.

Stop from the busy-ness of our do-do-do lives.

And put on a

hair ribbon,

bright blue shorts,

puddle-boots,

with no socks,

And venture to the land of buzzing bumble bees, dandy-lion bouquets, and fairy dances,

And play.

~moms the word

Ain't your mama's, mommy group

You know you are in Montana when a 'mommy and me' stroll includes; sunscreen, diapers, teether toys, sippy-cup, bear mace and a loaded 22. Now that is what I am talking about ladies. Just knowing that between the organic beet puree, and the natural cloth diapers lies forged steel weaponry adds a hint of adventure to a leisurely jaunt through the wood with the babes. Follow the river 1 hour south and you will come to a beautiful creek hike. The path is well used, and comes with requisite pines, birds, old homestead fences and annoying volunteer park host. This season the psydo-ranger is more annoying than usual. He borders on creepy-guy. He notes that the path ahead comes with hidden dangers for us dainty ladies with children. Cougars, bears, wild dogs, (creepy host) ect. ect. What he does not know is that perhaps one of these mommies is packing heat. As we stroll through the trees, crossing small creeks, and ducking under old fences, we talk, and talk, and talk. About everything. Talk, talk, talk. Let the cougars stalk, the bears charge, the dogs growl, and the creeps leer. We are fearless. For between the homemade butty wipes, and the bottles of breast milk is our stick of courage. 'From our cold dead hands', I ponder as we pack up the cars to leave. Perhaps Heston and I have more in common than I ever dreamed of.

~Moms the Word