Fifi is now my cuddly little girly girl. Beans broke my heart the other day when we were getting ready for Church and she informed me she 'doesn't like dresses.' WHAT? Next, she'll be telling me her favorite color is blue. Beans favorite thing to wear are jeans and her Hello Kitty! long sleeve tee shirt. So, we are all happy here the weather has turned and it's now in the 80's so she won't die of heat stroke in the name of fashion. I'm also not allowed to do anything besides put in a clippy into her hair. No pigtails. No curly ribbon pony tails. No french or other kinds of braids. No headbands. I can only look at other little girls and dream about the possibilities. Fifi is sprouting a little more fuzz on the top of her head, so the Crusty the Clown look is dissipating and I can actually get a little, tiny clippy to stay in for a while if I take every strand of hair possible, twist them together to create a rope, and then fasten it within an inch of her life to her scalp. Viola!
We spent this past Sunday at the Miramar airshow dragging a feverish 12 year old and four other winsome children around 25 miles of tarmac to look at things with wings. And see war games with real smoke and real loud BANGS! That Fifi didn't like last year, and you know what? She doesn't like them this year either. We saw the Blue Angels, but it was kind of a let down, after practically living with them at SeaFair forever in Seattle. Nice to have a little bit of home with us since we can't rely on the Dawgs to give us a warm fuzzy feeling. Can't wait to see the Notre Dame fans at the boys' football practices this week. It'll make for a long one.
Everybody run, 'Bina's got an AK-47 so some other pointy thing that holds lots of bullets. Zach was in HEAVEN. His latest fixation of learning-more-than-is-humanly-possible after his jaunts with dinosaurs, arctic animals, birds and owls is now warfare and guns. I have a lot of military shows that are impolitely taping over my Grey's Anatomy and House on the ol' DVR. He draws pictures and picture and pictures, reads all sorts of books and has Wikipedia bookmarked on his Internet browser.
All this collection of facts and his testing scores prompted a letter from the school letting me know that they are considering him for entrance into the Gifted and Talented program at school, and could I please take a moment to fill out this questionnaire. Great. You know what, people who make crazy rules? It is hard enough being a parent. I don't need the added pressure and catholic mother's guilt knowing that the questionnaire I filled out for my kid's consideration into a gifted program was so horrible that they decided not to allow him entrance. I won't know until later this week, I guess, but I'm already stressed about it. I waited until Hubby came home just to bounce my answers off him, have him analyze my handwriting (do I look too desperate if I slant it? I shouldn't heart my 'i's, should I?). For all I know, the school has tapped into my iPhone and it's already confessed that I'm probably not good material for a GATE parent. (which, btw, I CRASHED this afternoon. Seriously. The easiest piece of electronic equipment known to man? Something a monkey can operate - and I'm sure they have an app for that - died and won't open it's ever lovin' Apple eyes.)
Here is the Zman in front of something with wings that has some sort of significance. I'm sorry, I wasn't paying much attention, besides counting heads and sporadically screaming "Where is the BABY!" every so often and having various and sundry people related to me point out she was right next to me.
They are cute, aren't they? Or is it just my imagination? Football is going,... we got shut out this past weekend, but everyone is playing a good game and having lots of fun. That's what counts, right?