Happy Father's Day

Happy Father's Day to all of the dads...especially ours! I swear the cards will be in the mail tomorrow. Proof in these pictures of Ava coloring your cards this morning. Sorry they're belated, it just means that you can celebrate Father's Day into the week. We love you! Mike started off his day with his favorite breakfast, biscuits and gravy, prepared by his lovely daughters and served in bed. He's such a good daddy and the girls absolutely adore him. I just love the way that Emily looks at him. It melts my heart. Hope everyone has a wonderful day celebrating their fathers.

Fashionista

I was a little put off when Ava refused to wear the dress that I'd laid out for church this morning. She selected a knit purple skirt and white tee. No biggie and definitely not a battle that was worth fighting. Then we called her down to get into the car. Check out how she accessorized.

hat, belt, Fall shoes, purse, and basket. Nice.

Irritated

I knew that there'd be a day when I regretted teaching Ava to "use her words" to express frustration. This morning we were getting ready to make Father's Day Breakfast. I politely informed Ava to remove her pull up, put on the undies that I handed her and wash her hands with soap and water. She headed for the bathroom and returned to the kitchen about 2 seconds later.... au naturel. "Ava, you need to put on your undies and wash your hands before you can help." She gave an impatient sigh and stalked back to the bathroom. She returned quickly and thankfully, wearing her undies. "Ava, you still need to wash your hands." Ava answered, "I already did." To which I replied, " I didn't hear the water running" to which Ava growled, "MOM! I'm gettin' very irritated with you this morning!" Irritated. Huh. Good word, Ava.

Hairspray

Nope, this isn't a review of the musical.
We were getting ready to run errands on Friday and I headed upstairs to corral Ava into the car. "Ava...." I called as I climbed the stairs. No reply from Ava but I heard the sound of her little feet running fast from our bathroom. Not a good sign. I rounded the corner to see her with brush in hand, apparently styling her hair. It looked really wet. She had that mischievous smile on her face. I ignored it. What was that smell? Lotion? Perfume? She'd been into something. "Come here, let me put a barrette in your hair. We need to go." I reached for her hair. It was absolutely stiff. Not wet....SATURATED with hair spray. She must've used the whole can of hairspray. I found out later that she had. There was no way I was getting a brush through that mess. It was solid. "Ava..." I started to reprimand her. And then the weirdest thing happened. The feel my baby's shellacked hair in my hand took me back to the 7th grade. It was the feel of my very own hair in 1989, Aussie Sprunched and Paul Mitchelled into stiff, brittle hair hell. I shook my head and returned to 2008. And then something even stranger happened. The words of my own mother, the very words that I had once rolled my eyes at, came from my mouth, "Honey, you really don't need to use so much hairspray."