Queen of the Bowl

Pearly girl is moving toward independence by leaps and bounds. By independence I don't mean driving motorized vehicles, paying her own rent, and generally assuming the responsibilities of adults--though I suppose her progress is a start. 

I We officially began the great procession known as the weaning of diapers on Saturday, January 4. With the boys, our system--if you can even call it that--was less official and more gradual (diapers to pull-ups or the much-preferable training pants, with rubber pants, then without, and finally moving into actual dandified underwear as the ultimate prize. Or exhausted finish. Whatever.). People had always told me that girls were easier to potty-train than boys. I thought Little Professor and Superman were pretty easy, if messy. Superman moved into underwear on his second birthday, so I figured an older brother role-model really helped him.

Well. Pearly Girl has put them both to shame. Granted, she's one and a half months past her second birthday, but I can't remember the last time I put a diaper on her. Last week? Anyway, after one day of full court press of the training pants, she was telling us when she had to go. A few accidents later, she's into the girlie underwear I figured was at least a month away. I am relieved the way runners are when they get to the last lap. And we got here much faster than I anticipated.

I know more accidents will happen, because they just do. But in the meantime, I am crowning Pearly Girl Queen of the Bowl and loving washing the prettiest little undergarments that mark her transition to Big(ger) Kid. 

So much cuter than cars and Ninja Turtles pants! Say it with me: ooooh!

Our Pigtailed Whistler

So our sweet little C just keeps on growing and learning new things. A few weeks ago, she started whistling. I think she literally woke herself up with a little pucker and a little air through her lips, and since then she's just been whistlin' Dixie constantly. She whistles when she's happy; she whistles when she's excited; she whistles when we whistle to her; she whistles when she wants attention at the dinner table; she whistles as Papa holds her in his arms in Sunday morning Bible class and charms everyone there. (This has happened twice already. I think I know why she's suddenly gotten separation anxiety when I leave to go teach Sunday School; she wants an audience. Unless Gary H. is there to bribe her with animal crackers. But I digress.). She's already cute as a button; now she's cuter than a root-toot-tootlin' whippersnapper sparrow on a sunny summer morning! And no, I'm not exactly sure what that means, except to say that C's whistling is adorable and only adds to her charm.

Well, I thought the cuteness had maxed out. That's until just the other day, when the boys convinced me that C's hair was long enough to put into pigtails. It doesn't look like much, but it looks so girly! And while I find the word "pigtail" slightly repulsive, the actual bunches of baby hair are cheek-pinch-worthy-cute. Now we've got a pigtailed whistler!

AND she smiles at the camera!

Pucker up and sing along!

Fashion Note to Self

I happened upon this kitschy-yet-adorable place over a year ago and kept meaning to visit the website after my brief but delighted browsing (since I wasn't going to be visiting the Mall of America again anytime soon). While some of the things here are a little much (in other words, if you really, really want to get a for-real poodle skirt with matchy-matchy sweater and bobby socks, look no further), some of their stuff is classy-meets-vintage-means-c-u-t-e. So note to self: try to find, and save up for, this dress someday.