100% Polyester Lovin’

Do you have a shirt that you really love,
One that you feel so groovy in ?
You don't even mind if it starts to fade,
That only makes it nicer still.
I love my shirt, I love my shirt,
My shirt is so comfortably lovely.
- Donovan

At first I thought Em was just beginning to express her own sense of style.

But I was wrong. She doesn’t care what I dress her in. I can put her in a potato sack, a shimmery gold jumpsuit, or a chicken costume and it doesn’t matter, as long as she ALSO gets to wear her pink and gray striped, totally cheaptastic, don’t-hold-it-too-close-to-a-fire-or-it-will-melt, 100% polyester hoodie.

I’m more than slightly aghast. Over the past 17 months, I have presented her with numerous viable options for a “security object” that I thought she would take a liking to: a soft blankie with smooth edging, a little cotton worm (trust me, its far more adorable than it sounds), a bear that has a hot water bottle inside it, a lamby that makes lulling, soothing sounds, just to name a few. Em has resisted attachment to all of these perfectly wonderful companions. It seems that she has been holding out for a far more unlikely, far more oddball source of comfort.

Seriously? A polyester hoodie? Every time Em wears it (which is pretty much ALWAYS now), her hair balloons into an orb of static electricity, making her look like a half-pint-sized Art Garfunkel. On the rare occasion that she is NOT wearing her hoodie, Em holds it, squeezes it, and does a little happy dance like she’s just been reunited with a long lost friend.

My husband thinks it’s so cute, this love of such an unassuming object. I agree, I really do, it’s totally adorable. But come on, Emmy. Polyester? Really?

Em’s wardrobe is full of beautiful, 100% cotton hand-me-downs from my sister’s children (which I am eternally grateful for). They are the epitome of comfort in clothing – organic, slightly worn in, and completely non-itchy. If Em has to be the weird kid (which she does, because after all she is MY child), why couldn’t she have at least chosen to emotionally bond with a slightly less offensive material?

I myself was totally attached to a blanky through many of my early (and not-so-early) childhood years. Rumor has it that as a baby I started dragging a full-sized blanket around with me everywhere I went, until my mother had the wisdom to cut it into blanky-sized quarters. It was a smart move on her part; each blanky piece had a shelf-life, and would be retired after it started to “show its age,” only to be replaced by a newer but nearly identical blanky.

I still remember my blanky with incredible fondness. It was pink, super fuzzy (highly pilled from its overuse), and had a ribboned edge that I loved holding against my face, especially at night. I swear, if I close my eyes now, I can almost feel the memory of it rubbing against my cheek…

Oh, crap.

I’ve just realized.

I’m quite certain my blanky was 100% polyester. Or acrylic. Definitely NOT 100% cotton.
Ok, Em. I give in. You can love your little hoodie. Mama gets it now.

Let it Snow!

Today the world gave me a gift in the form of a snowstorm. As a working mom, I’m over the moon whenever I’m given a “free pass” to spend the day with my daughter. The fact that the roads are far too dangerous to drive on (especially with a kid on board) and the tree limbs are threatening to down power lines doesn’t bug me. I’ve gained a precious eight hours that I can spend playing, talking, dancing and laughing with my girl. Woo hoo! It’s our first snow day together!

After breakfast, Em and I got bundled up in our snow gear and headed outside. At first Em seemed slightly overwhelmed and confused by our backyard’s transformation into a winter wonderland , but she quickly figured out what fun snow can be. It’s a toddler’s dream come true: you can throw it, eat it, make it into a ball, and fall down in it without hurting yourself!

Our family inherited a child-safe sled from our former next door neighbors. To say Em enjoyed herself on her “one horse open sleigh” would be a vast understatement. Even though I was moving at a zippy speed of about 0.5 miles an hour, Em squeeked with delight and sang happily as I pulled her along. Each time we completed a loop, and approached the finishing line, she yelled “more!” and waved her hands in the air. How could I let her down? Panting and cursing myself for not being in better shape, I completed as many loops as I could before my legs actually threatened to give out on me.

No snow day is complete without the making of snow angels. I tried showing Em what to do, but I’m not sure she fully grasped the concept. I think she just thought I was being a lazy goofball, lying on the ground flailing my arms and legs around. When I laid Em down on the ground and told her to flap her arms, she just laughed at me, and then said “Hepp. Up!” and rolled over so she could eat more snow. We’ll have to revisit snow angels next year.

Back inside the house, we stripped off our wet, cold layers, took a warm shower to help thaw our toesies and fingers, got dressed in nice warm clothing, and had one of our epic mother/daughter dance parties. We twirled, whirled, and shook what our mamas gave us until we collapsed onto the living room floor, totally spent.

Em’s now napping in my arms, after a lunch of chicken, applesauce, and snow cone (snow, milk, maple syrup). And I’m basking in the exhaustion of a beautiful, snow-globey day, completely thankful to the universe for surprising us with a March storm.

Let Me Count the Ways... Part Deux

I'm going to keep counting the ways I love my daughter. One of which is the fact that Em is perhaps an even bigger fan of dancing than I am, which I didn't think was even possible.
She's got some killer moves, too..

Future candidate for "So You Think You Can Dance?"
Absolutely.