Today was the first day I ever took both kids to the pool by myself. I started packing at 7:00am. We were gone all morning, but the cooler, pool bag and stroller were packed for when we were to finally end up poolside by lunchtime. My husband gets half day Fridays in the summer. It’s nice.

My pool babies were wonderful…until they weren’t. I think these texts between he and I speak for themselves:

Note the photo of the 3-year-old mid-tantrum. Can you hear the baby screaming in the background of that photo? I can. The pool is awesome…until it isn’t. Happy freakin’ summer, ya’ll.

This morning I had a heated mother-daughter discussion with my three-year-old about how it is not okay to wear socks with Crocs. She argued the Crocs have Cinderella, Ariel and Rapunzel and went perfectly with her socks that had Anna from “Frozen.” She looked at me like I was insane for believing otherwise.

She was dressed in her gymnastics leotard with a little cotton dress and capri pants over it. Gymnastics was after my exercise class. I gave up and let her wear the footwear of a princess. In hind sight I should have paid more attention to her wardrobe as she pilfered through my drawers while I was getting ready. I hustled the kiddos out the door, grumbling about how we are always late.

We made it and I got my workout in. At the end of my stroller workout class with other moms, the kids get out of the strollers to sing a song. She begged me to get out. That’s when I saw it. A saw a sliver of sheer pink I hadn’t seen in a very long time. I gasped. I peeked under her skirt and flashed back to a moment with my husband when the kids were definitely not around.

Yep. My three-year-old dug through my lingerie drawer, found a Victoria’s Secret thong that was once part of my honeymoon boudoir collection and wore it in public. I didn’t see it on her because her dress was covering it and I was in a hurry. Don’t worry. That thong was about as clean as it could be. I’m pretty sure I wore it for about two minutes on our honeymoon in Costa Rica nine years ago.

After I caught my breath I crouched down to her level outside the stroller. I could do that because I wasn’t wearing the flimsy excuse for underwear that she was. I said with a smirk, “Charlotte, did you go through my drawer?” She smirked back at me and said sheepishly, but with a bit of pride, “Yes! It’s pretty, Mama!” The other moms got a good laugh too.

It is extremely embarrassing and off-putting to see your child in negligee. But, it’s also hilarious. I can’t wait to return this embarrassment by telling her this story one day. It will embarrass her three fold:

1. She will learn what lingerie is.
2. She will learn that her mother owns lingerie designed to be wedged between her butt cheeks.
3. She will learn that in the car she spilled her chocolate milk on the thong she refused to take off. By that point she’ll know what chocolate milk on underwear would imply. Ew.

Growing up we did not plan the summer until we knew the date of the dance recital. Recital week was intense, long and wonderful. It began with days of rehearsals on a wooden stage in a high school auditorium. It ended with dinner and milkshakes at a Darryl’s restaurant. There were years as a teenager when my mom and I wheeled in a rack of costumes. A rack. Pink and tan tights. Tap shoes. Pointe shoes. Headpieces. Tape for blistered feet. Sequins. False eyelashes. Makeup and hairspray stashed in a Caboodle. The recital of course was after a year of competition weekends, Nutcracker Christmases and classes at least four days a week.

That was dance. A past life. A life before leaving home and becoming an adult.

This weekend we carefully timed Charlotte’s nap, reviewed lengthy emailed instructions from the dance studio, charged the camera batteries, printed our tickets and packed a bag.  I wrestled my squirmy three-year-old into new tights because she ruined the other pairs. I fluffed her tutu. I made a decent attempt at putting stage makeup on a child that kept rubbing her eyes and licking off her lipstick. We bought the DVD and had a bouquet of flowers ready.

I sat in an auditorium and watched my life come full circle. On either side of us were my parents. I mentioned to my dad that I was learning how expensive this hobby is. He laughed. He said, “You remember the recital when you had TWELVE costumes?!” It was fourteen. At least fourteen.

We watched the extraordinary dances of the teens with at least fourteen costumes and far more talent than I ever had. Then the prop volunteers brought a “house made of straw” a “house made of sticks” and a “house made of bricks” on to the stage. With a sweaty hand I grabbed my husband’s and swallowed hard. You could hear the collective “Aw!” of the crowd when they saw the tiniest dancers take the stage. When the lights came up you could see their pig ears and tales. The “Three Little Pigs” dance began. I grinned so hard my face hurt.

This group of tutued, highly distracted three-year-old’s mimicked their teacher standing off the side of the stage. They ran from house to house per the song’s lyrics. The most memorable bit of choreography was when they pointed to their chins for the line, “not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!” If only they could remember to do it. It was the cutest chaos I’d ever seen.

I was so proud I could barely breathe.

Will she do this for as many years as I did? Maybe. Maybe not. That’s okay. Today I sat with my parents and my husband and got to see my child’s first dance recital. That’s worth the price of fourteen-hundred costumes.

Many other parents of 3 year-old’s seem surprised when I tell them mine still naps. They tell me how lucky I am because their child gave it up awhile ago. At age 3 1/2, Charlotte will usually sleep 1-3 hours every afternoon. Typically some time between 1:00pm to 5:00pm. We can get about 1 1/2 hours out of her most days. The 2-3 hour days are becoming far fewer, but still happen. When I tell parents this they say, “Really?! She naps everyday?”

Hell yeah, everyday.

Well, everyday but Saturday. Seriously. I can remember only one other day of her life that she did not take a nap besides Saturday. I swear to you, she’ll take a nap until kindergarten if it means she can hold her shit together better than she did then. We had a picnic/reunion with my old dance company. I was so excited about it. I got to see old friends from growing up. I checked the invitation. 2:00pm.

NOOOOOOOO!!!!

It was a perfect time for the party. It was a beautiful day. We had time to visit and eat. It was the perfect time for everyone but Charlotte. We tried an early nap before the reunion. No luck. The gracious hosts even offered a quiet room for little ones to nap if they needed it. She didn’t bite on that. There were toys, games and lots of food. It was a lovely and well organized event. I was thrilled to see my old teachers and friends. There were tons of 3 year-old’s happily running around and playing. They were totally fine. My kid was not fine.

Here are some shots of Charlotte captured by a friend during the reunion. I’m in the striped dress.

Multiple times I straight up left my baby laying in the stroller to deal with her. He was quiet or sleeping so I felt less guilty about that. Thank God for old friends who will hold your baby in the shade and give him a bottle. Charlotte tried. She really did. I could tell she was trying to be good, but she was just too tired. She cried. She didn’t want to play. By the time we got to the car she wasn’t even making sense. She was sobbing and wailing. When she shouted, “I don’t even like cupcakes anymore!” I knew she was delirious. She was not herself and I only have myself to blame.

Greyson was out-of-town. If he were in town, I probably would have had him take her home so she could sleep and Henry and I would have stayed. I was a solo parent and it was crazy. It was my special thing and I was excited. Sometimes I think we’ll just have to miss some things if it’s during nap time. It sucks, but I don’t know what else to do.

Don’t get me wrong, most days I LOVE that she still naps and I’m in no hurry for them to end, but it is inconvenient on other days. I have questions. I would love your answers to the following questions:

• Is there any rhyme or reason to why some kids nap and others don’t?
• Is it unusual for a 3 1/2 year-old to still nap, because I’m feeling like the minority?
• Do 4 and 5-year-old’s still take naps?
• I’m curious as to when they grow out of it. What did your kid do?
• What have pediatricians/teachers told you about napping?
• What do you do when your kid misses a nap? 

Charlotte’s princess love runs deep. That’s typical for a 3 1/2 year-old girl. But, a new love has taken us by surprise. Love? Obsession? Call it what you will, but a new cartoon has become a huge part our lives. Actress Lily Tomlin’s voice fills our house and pipes out of my iPad everyday. Little Richard’s catchy theme song haunts my dreams. I sing his tune in the car and in the kitchen.

I hear, “Mama, do you want to play Magic School Bus?!” All. Day. Long.

For the uninitiated, “The Magic School Bus” is an animated series that originally aired on PBS in the mid to late nineties. It was based on a series of Scholastic books. It ran in syndication for awhile in the early 2000’s. All of this happened way after I was into children’s programming. I have Netflix and my step-brother, a well-meaning millennial uncle, to thank for introducing my daughter to this show.

Apparently Ms. Tomlin won a Daytime Emmy for her starring role as Ms. Frizzle. Ha! She’s got nothing on me. I play the role of Ms. Frizzle constantly. From the moment I am out of bed, through baby brother diaper changes, in the preschool carpool line, while I’m answering emails and even when I’m on the commode, I am Ms. Frizzle.

I hear, “Ms. Crizzle?! Ms. Crizzle?!” through the bathroom door. I say, “Yes, Ralphie?” You see, Ralphie is her favorite of the gang. I’m not sure why. He strikes me as the chubby slacker with his cap on backwards, but apparently she digs that. I then need to think of some adventure for this group of ethnically diverse tweens while incorporating elementary science education. Biology? Physics? Physiology? Climatology? Pick a concentration. I’m pretty proud of our trip “inside a flower” the other day. Without getting all “birds and bees” I successfully drove the bus through a flower, pointing out pollen, nectar, the stamen, the pistol, stem, roots etc. I should find my fifth grade teacher on Facebook and thank her.

I feel really guilty, but I must confess I’m getting pretty sick of it. It’s exhausting. I even suggested we play “Frozen” the other day for the millionth time, simply for a change of pace. Playing “Frozen used to be easy until Elsa froze something and the Magic School Bus slid on ice. I had to explain salt melts ice, not acts of true love. Charlotte knows that I am utterly repulsed by the episode where the bus gets into Ralphie’s bloodstream through the scab on his knee under his Band Aid. So, she loves to discuss that one. Gag. Some of the books we found at the library are over her head at age 3, so she focuses on the kids and their relationships.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE that she loves this show about science. It’s a really good show. It’s very educational.  I hear your argument, “Amy, we need to promote science and math to our girls!!!! STEM!!!! What is wrong with you?!?” I get that, but having to act it out all day is wearing me down. I don’t want to squelch her enthusiasm, but sometimes I need a break from driving the bus.

But, then she says, “Mama, my white blood cells attack the inflection!!!” ::sigh:: That bit of learning alone makes pretending to drive a bus through a scabby knee less gross. So, I’ll see you tomorrow on the bus, fighting “inflections” and doing my part for STEM education.