Oh Ava!

From time to time I like to write down some of the things Ava says.  Since I am in no way crafty and swore off scrap booking circa 1995 I've got to find a place to record some of these things.  Sure, keep a journal.  But we all know how fabulous my journal skills are.  In case you missed it, here is a sampling.  I always have felt weird about keeping a journal.  It's like talking to yourself but recording your crazy ramblings on paper for posterity.  When I've attempted to start up a journal in my adult life I always clam up thinking about who will be reading my innermost thoughts.  I find myself writing things down as if speaking like a person out of a Jane Austen novel.  Very proper and all that, Mr. Darcy.  I can only imagine what  Sophia Concetta Bellasario, my great-great-great-great granddaughter will think of me.  Hopefully by then one of my grandchildren will accomplish my life long dream of marrying a foreigner.  Preferably, Italian.  European variety, not Jersey Shore variety.


The point is, these types of posts are mostly for me.  I have been thinking of making my blog each year into a bound book so I won't have to print off photos and put them into cheap photo albums.  I'll cherry pick the posts of course.  I don't think anyone twenty years from now will be interested in my opinion on booty bling.  Without further ado....

I went to pick up Ava from preschool the other day.  Let me preface this by saying that Ava has transformed into such a girly girl the past couple of years.  I swear when she was three she was playing with dump trucks and trains.  I remember singing Thomas the Train songs to her repeatedly: They're two, they're four, they're six, they're eight.  Shunting tracks and hauling freight.  But now it's all tutu's and princesses all the time.  Oh and she's in the market for a husband.

I can't tell you how many times I've caught her blowing kisses to boys from ages 18 months to 55 years in stores and restaurants.  She giggles and says, "He's so handsome!"  So on that day one of the preschool teachers pulled me aside and told me that while they were finger painting that day, Brewster, a boy in the class said casually to Ava, "Ava, why don't we just get married already?"  Ava was mum while her best friend, Zoe told Brewster that they were too young.  Good girl, Zoe.  She's a keeper.  Let's hope that friendship lasts through their twenties.  Steer Ava clear from any premature marriage offers.  Sheesh.  A marriage proposal before the age of six?  We are in trouble.

Recently I signed Ava up for swim lessons.  A neighbor of mine recommended the facility and said it was also fun to just do open plunge in.  I smiled politely, thinking to myself that I'd rather be caught dead than in a swimsuit in public in the worst shape of my life.  But as Ava and I talked about her swim lessons she was getting so excited.  I remember as a child seeing other children's mothers sitting fully clothed pool side.  I always wondered why they wouldn't get in with their kids.  I mean, now I know.  So in an insane burst of bravery I said to Ava, "You know, we can go swimming too during the summer without lessons.  Me and you and Brielle.  Although I'll be uncomfortable in a swimsuit I won't let that stop your fun."  She looked at me with empathy in her eyes and said, "Mom, I understand.  Is it because your swimsuit gives you wedgies?  Mine does too sometimes, but it's okay.  I just pull it out!" 

This last story qualifies me for Mother of the Year award.  It's literally an anti-Debbie moment.  Ava really tests my patience at bed time.  She does whatever she can to drag out the whole pajama/teeth-brushing/praying routine.  So on this particular night I had had it.  I wanted to have just an hour or two to myself before Milky Von Milkensmirtch, my greedy little milk baron was up and suckling again.  My temper flared and I said, "Just brush your damn teeth!"  Ava without missing a beat said, "You brush YOUR damn teeth!"  I said, "Ava, don't you swear!"  To which Ava said, "Why?  You just did."  Touche.  I guess I missed Parenting 101 where the first rule is Say what you mean, and mean what you say.  She's caught me before in a hypocritical situation.  Coca-cola.  Need I say more?