Priceless Princesses

Daughter number one is very into princesses right now. The dress up costumes, crowns, slippers. The whole shebang.

Today she was playing dress up with her friend (we'll call her Sidda). They came out of her bedroom, dressed to the nines in all their princess gear. Daughter number one came up and told me that she was a princess. (Thanks, I missed that one) She then tells me that I'm the prince and she's the princess and I have to marry her! So being the mom that I am, I try to tell her that princes and princesses can just be friends and they don't have to get married. This does not go over well with her. She tells me in no uncertain terms that the prince HAS to marry the princess so that they can go to the ball.

I ask Sidda what she thought. Her version had the prince up in the big tower with the wicked witch and the princess saves him.

Funny how kids think.

Morning Mommie

Six am this morning. Daughter number one bursts out of her room, a massive ball of never ending energy compacted in to three and a half feet of little girl. She's on a mission. That mission leads her directly to my bedroom. More specifically to my bedside, right by my sleeping head.

MOOOOMMM!!!!!

Jolted from my slumber I open my eyes and see her staring at me. That's just not what you want to wake up to. Aside from being slightly creepy, she does not seem to understand the concept of decibel control in the early (read: pre-coffee) hours.

I mumble something resembling,"What is it sweetie?". To which she responds that she's awake (thanks for the memo) and that Daughter number two has woken up and made a big mess. Good morning. Some where in that short conversation she managed to squeeze in that she was hungry. (She's always hungry)

I pry myself out of my very warm comfortable bed and pad down to the other end of the house. You know, where the little gremlins have their lair.

Upon entering their room I get an immediate reminder that Daughter number two is still teething. There, in all it's technicolor glory, was the evidence. Let say this, dear reader, stomach teeth are the devil! When they start to rear their ugly heads, your washing machine will work overtime.