I zipped my sweet baby into a pumpkin costume for her first Halloween, just days before her first birthday. I’m a sucker for babies in fat pumpkin costumes. I think there are few things on earth cuter. A couple of months ago when my now almost 4-year-old and I discussed this year’s costume I tried to convince her to be Cinderella. Her brother could be the pumpkin. Cinderella and the pumpkin! I’d get my baby-pumpkin-fix and not have to buy another costume.

It’s Halloween 2014. So, you can imagine, that idea was put on ice. Pun intended. I did the appropriate Etsy price comparisons before grabbing these at the Halloween store as soon as it opened in early September:

She insisted her baby brother be Olaf. That was too cute to refuse. Thank goodness I bought them early, because the run on “Frozen” Halloween costumes is insane. Nearly every girl we know will be an Elsa or an Anna. We showed up at the neighborhood Halloween parade this past Saturday to a street corner filled with braided little girls, untangling their ice capes.

This “Frozen” Halloween hasn’t escaped parents on the Internet. We’re all having a good laugh. My favorite Facebook status came from a friend this week:

This meme is awesome. Halloween is on a Friday this year. Drink up!

I have heard some parents say they’re “so over it.” I get that. I do. We have been inundated with all things “Frozen” this past year. We start many days with the same burning question, “Do you wanna build a snowman?” Easter we all scrambled to find dolls for baskets. Parents wait in line the day shipments come into the Disney Store. In one group of friends, we are having trouble nailing down a date for a moms-night-out because we all have “Frozen On Ice” tickets that weekend. Idina Menzel’s powerful, beautiful ballad does wear on you after the millionth time in the car. Tell me you don’t think of Elsa when you say to a friend, “Hey man, let it go.” To say it’s a phenomenon is an understatement.

Here’s the thing. I’m okay with it. “Frozen” is a phenomenon for a reason. It’s a great movie. It’s not just a “princess movie.” So many little boys I know love it. I’ve seen a lot more Olaf, Kristoff and Sven merchandise for boys. My husband loves it too. He has said as the credits roll, “Yep, it’s good every time.”

Let’s also take a moment to appreciate that “Frozen” shows princesses as heroes. It is the love between sisters that saves the day in the end, not romantic love. Isn’t that something we all want our daughters to understand and appreciate?

That is why I will ask each little Elsa if they wanna build a snowman. I will ask each Anna about her trip from Arendelle. I will help them as they trip on their capes and repair their loose braids because all too soon our daughters will be begging us to be “sexy kittys” or any of the other horrible girl costumes I saw at the Halloween store back in September.

Happy Halloween, everyone. Enjoy seeing your daughter be a strong, fun princess on ice.

A detailed how-to for a Haunted Gingerbread House. Happy October!

1. Buy a kit at Trader Joe’s because only Pinterest show-offs actually bake their own.

2. Drive to preschool to pick up child with grandiose ideas of quality time after the baby goes down for a nap.

3. Get home after hanging out on the playground for a little too long with groceries in the car.

4. Put the sleeping baby down for a nap.

5. Bring in groceries after preschooler discovers the box in the grocery bags.

6. Tell her not to touch it when you see her trying to open it.

7. Try to distract her as you hurriedly put away any frozen or refrigerated items.

8. Open the box at the kitchen table and tell her not to touch the candy package she’s already managed to open.

9. Brew a cup of coffee so you don’t need a nap later.

10. Curse  under your breath when the doorbell rings, the dog barks and you hear the baby stir.

11. Go to the door to find the guy from the tree removal company. Realize your husband set up  an appointment for an estimate that he didn’t tell you anything about.

12. Check your shirt to see that your boobs have not leaked on your shirt after hearing the baby cry.

13. Try to remember which trees husband wants removed from the yard and tell the tree guy.

14. Yell to preschooler to not eat the candy.

15. Come back to the table to read directions while quickly eating a bowl of Pumpkin O’s, remembering that you did not eat lunch. Recall that Trader Joe’s is proof you can make anything pumpkin spiced.

16. Make a mental note of your weakness for pumpkin spiced anything and shop with someone who will stop you from buying things like Pumpkin O’s.

17. Follow directions on the box for how to use the icing packets, realizing the kit uses black and orange icing and nothing good ever comes of black icing.

18. Let preschooler hold your hand as you pipe icing on the designated grooves.

19. Smile as you listen to preschooler giggle.

20. Giggle to yourself when you read the word “erect” in the instructions.

21. Pretend not to see preschooler sneaking candy as you try to mimic the wildly unrealistic design on the box.

22. Allow preschooler to decorate the black cat and pumpkin included in the kit as she sees fit.

23. After decorating the sides and roof of the house, notice that preschooler is getting bored of this activity and just wants to eat icing.

24. Allow preschooler to view herself in the mirror to bask in her icing glory.

25. Help child wash up.

26. Negotiate the amount of candy you will allow child to consume and encourage her to put it on the house to “make it pretty.”

27. Kick yourself for allowing that amount of sugar before “nap time” or “quiet time.”

28. Set finished product out on the counter before spouse arrives home.

29. Look for receipt in anticipation that spouse will ask how much the project cost.

31. Take child upstairs for quiet time.

32. Marvel that there is no black or orange icing on your white shirt.

33. Finish coffee and ignore sugared-up child’s noises coming from their room.

34. Smile, realizing you had a lot of fun. Smile again, hoping she’ll remember that her mama made a Halloween gingerbread house with her and let her smear black icing on her face.

35. Repeat in December with Christmas-themed kit.

I’m over here pouting. Lips twisted, arms crossed, eyes rolled. Pouting. So is my nearly 4-year-old. She is pouting too. We sit and pout for one reason. The same reason. She’s trying to give up her nap.

I want her to sleep the same time as her baby brother so I can tap away on the laptop or unload the dishwasher without anyone trying to grab a serrated knife. I just want to watch “South Park” on the iPad while I clean the kitchen. It’s a new season! I want Eric Cartman to fire away with all the “shits” and “damns” he wants to without it falling on my children’s ears. I want to sometimes take my own nap because I’m tired after waking up at 5:30am with the baby, I’m getting over a cold and it’s Friday and I just can. If she would go to sleep, I could.

Other mothers say “Just do quiet time in her room!” We do that. She is still restless and begs for my attention. They say, “Put on a movie and crash on the couch.” Yeah, I could do that, but I’m always taking TV and movie privileges away as punishment and I have to follow through. Damn my conscientious parenting! Really, I just want her to take a freakin’ nap because she acts like someone else’s menacing, naughty child when she doesn’t.

No one feels my pain. No one cares about this plight. This is the look Erin gave me when I told her Charlotte was giving up her nap. It says, “Really, Amy?! No one feels sorry for you.”

A dear sweet reader reminded me “You’ve had a good run.” after I was complaining on Instagram. ::sigh:: We HAVE had a good run. She’s almost 4. I hear horror stories of kids giving up naps at 2. I can’t, ya’ll. I can’t. That’s too early.

Never mind me. I’m just going to pout. I’m in good pouting company, after all.

Greyson said good-bye one morning last week as I was wrangling Charlotte into school clothes and scooping baby cereal mixed with applesauce into Henry. A minute later he popped his head back in the door, “My car won’t start. I need your keys to jump it.” He took them off the kitchen desk while I continued to wrangle and scoop.

It was the first week back at school so naturally things had to be more frustrating. Greyson had no cell phone since he put it in the pool bag and it got wet during the summer’s last fling at the neighborhood pool . It was at the phone repair shop, so there was no way to contact him when he wasn’t at work.

Now that school has started we live and die by the clock. We have to be out the door at 8:45 am to be at preschool on time. You can guess what happened at 8:40 when I was loading the car. I searched the kitchen desk drawer where keys, old lip balms and broken ball point pens in our house go to die. The car keys were not there.

I went back out to the car that was already packed with my purse, diaper bag, breast pump bag and Charlotte’s lunch box. The keys were not there either. It was 8:49. I started to panic. “Charlotte! Do you remember where Daddy put the keys?” She replied, “No, Mama. Can I wear my ‘Frozen’ bracelet to school?” “You may not go to school today if I can’t find the keys.” That’s when she asked a bunch of questions I tuned out before whining about not being able to wear the bracelet to the school I couldn’t get her to anyway.

There was no way to call him. I cursed the day I let moisture into the bag that tainted his phone. I knew he had driven off with the keys! Blerg! We were going to be late to preschool. I texted my preschool mom friends to vent. It’s the 21st century so started wracking my brain for other ways to communicate. That’s when I turned to Facebook. I ran to the laptop and friended Greyson’s coworker, begging her to have him call me when he got into the office.

At 8:52 I heard him pull up. I literally ran out to the driveway to grab the keys from him as he said something. I feel like it was an apology, but I was in the zone. I shouted for Charlotte. He helped her in the car. He asked, “Charlotte, was Mama mad at Daddy?” She grinned and said, “Yep!”

He looked at me through the car window slightly puzzled and said, “Why are you so concerned with getting there on time?” My eyes grew large, I took an exasperated breath from the drivers seat and replied, “Because those preschool teachers have us by the balls, THE BALLS!!”

They do. They rule our week. I have to drop her off at the right time and pick her up exactly on time or face the dreaded walk of shame to the director’s office to retrieve my child. I already got a talking-to from the director once. I have problems disappointing authority figures. I can’t do it. Plus, I don’t want to be “that parent” who is always late and appears to neglect their child and disrespect the institution of preschool. I’ve heard some of the  moms talking smack on the playground about other moms who can’t get there on time. I can’t have that. Oh, no. I mean, if you wanna talk smack, come find me. Just don’t make the smack talk at my expense.

The teachers aren’t gonna put up with crap from some thirty-something who’s only been a parent for 3 1/2 years. They’ve been teaching preschool for 25 years and have helped raise a generation of 3 and 4 year-old’s. Who am I to argue with them? Charlotte’s teacher told me that getting to school on time is crucial because that’s when they come in, get settled and form that day’s dynamics, reinforcing relationships. Also, when they arrive they will begin spelling exercises at the start of the day. She said that children who are frequently late are often not ready to move up a class in preschool because of their spelling. Ahhh! That’s the way to terrify a parent. Tell them their slacker ways will hinder development. I pictured my child living on our third floor, eating Doritos and taking improv classes at the community college when she’s 30. Gah! No!

Greyson was like, “We pay for her to go to preschool.” This is true, but I explained that it’s not like it was when we were paying for daycare. At daycare I could take her and pick her up whenever because it was open all day and we paid them as much as our mortgage payment. I felt like a premium customer.

At preschool, it’s less expensive, but they own my ass. Own it.  I do what the preschool teachers say. I wait in their long carpool line. I obediently sign out my child and wait in the designated area for pick-up. I write checks for the Booster Club. I buy only healthy snacks listed on the Snack List when I’m the “Snack Mom.”

They are genuinely sweet and kind people. I mean, they’re preschool teachers! But, for some reason I’m terrified of them, their sweet voices and perpetual upbeat attitudes. I smile at them and accept my child’s folder full of art work with gratitude. I can only hope they don’t see how frazzled and flawed I am as a parent and continue to educate my preschooler because I can’t.

In recent weeks I’ve asked my 3 1/2 year-old daughter repeatedly, “What does a flower girl do?” She replied, “They throw flowers down the aisle before Aunt Tahlia gets married!” I was impressed that she understood this. Charlotte was extremely excited to be the flower girl in my step-sister’s wedding this past weekend. She knew she would get cake, get to stay up late and wear a pretty dress.

It takes time to recover from a family wedding. The preparations, scheduling, events and emotions are exhausting. I always feel like I need a vacation after a family wedding. Having your young kid in the wedding party? Psh! That’ll wear you out like nothing else.

We strategically timed meals and napping that day. She knew it was the big day. She said, “It’s my special day! I’m the special girl!” I hated to break it to her that her aunt was the special girl, you know, being the bride and all, but if the title of “special girl” got her down the aisle, I wasn’t going to argue.

Dress from Nola Collection on Etsy. They were awesome! Great prices and selection. Loved them over the bridal shop dresses for sure!

I WISH I had someone filming her coming down the aisle with my phone. I’m kicking myself for not doing that. We have to wait for the videographer. I’ll have to tell you what happened in my own words.

It was a long walk down some steep steps for two little girls in poofy dresses. Charlotte and Kylee held hands and wandered down a brick pathway to the outdoor awning where the bride and groom were to say “I do.” They clutched their baskets, staring back at the smiling crowd, “Canon in D” coming through the speakers. We told them, “When you get to the bottom of the steps, you can throw the petals down the aisle.”

In hindsight there were two problems with that:

1. We didn’t practice with petals at the rehersal. They have some fire code or something. The venue was particular about when you could throw petals.
2. We used the wrong verb. We said “throw” instead of “toss” or “drop.”

The girls got to the bottom the stairs and stopped, though Pachelbel’s tune continued. They looked at each other. They looked down at the yellow rose petals still in their baskets. They looked confused as the adults dressed in matching dresses and tuxedos whispered “Okay! Throw the petals!” while playing a game of flower-dropping charades. They looked at us like we were insane. We were. We had not told these poor children exactly what to do. So as children do, they had their own interpretation.

Remember I said we used the wrong verb? Charlotte threw her petals. She threw them. She tossed them in the air with the the flair only a “special girl” can have. It was with the dramatics of a runway model or in her mind, a fairy princess, that she threw the petals and watched them fall. She threw the heck out of each one. Those flowers didn’t have a prayer. We wiped away tears of laughter as Kylee sprinted to her mom and Charlotte emptied her basket, one enthusiastic fling at a time. They were adorable little show stealers.

We danced into the reception hall to Taylor Swift’s latest pop crossover “Shake It Off.” Charlotte now refers to it as “the wedding song.” As the sun set she asked if she could finally dance. Dinner was over, the cake had been cut. I told her it was okay for her to take the floor.

She did. All. Night. Long. She wouldn’t even come off the dance floor for cake. The song didn’t matter. Earth, Wind & Fire, Garth Brooks, Iggy Azalea. Everyone. She even joined the crowd for her version of “The Wobble” and “The Cupid Shuffle.” She earned the little blisters on her feet. She saw other girls with their shoes off, she joined in.

We got in the car around 11:00pm, the latest she’s ever stayed up in her life. She said sleepily from the back seat, “That was really fun, Mama.”

I will never forget the looks on the bride and groom’s faces as they made their vows. I’ll never forget the fun and love at a great wedding. Most of all, I’ll remember my curly-haired flower girl in her poofy dress dancing until her feet hurt because she could. I watched her hoping one day she would have this much fun at her own wedding, as only “special girls” can.

This is when my heart burst.