Ballerina Lollipop
This little girl is like a delicious gobstopper lolly.
Layers of jaw-aching sweetness.
Layers of jaw-aching sweetness.
One of my highlights is spending one-on-one time with her at a cafe over a baby-chino.
Although trying to scrub her artwork off the floors has to come a close second.
I am just so blessed by her creativity.
Now that I think of it, her refusal to eat dinner and disobedient jumping on the couch, flinging her head back and shattering the glass of this picture does also compete for the Fab Time awards.
But I must confess, it was Tuesday's little dash to the ER to get her stomach pumped that really took the cake I think. Her rebellious over-indulgence in a bottle of chewable multi-vitamin tablets took our relationship to enchanting new heights. That was an excellent day.
However, finding her cheerfully entangled in irreplaceable cassette tapes from my childhood was another shot of sheer love that took care of the following day.
Ah, this child.
She is beauty, and mischief
She is beauty, and mischief
in one dynamic package.
Her end of year preschool show, held at the auspicious Raffles Hotel, complete with ballroom and chocolate fountain, chefs in white hats and acrobatics
was a completely necessary and breath-taking event on Friday.
was a completely necessary and breath-taking event on Friday.
For it allowed us to sit back and be reminded
to keep licking a sense of humour
and holding the disasters up to the light
to watch the sparkles
and holding the disasters up to the light
to watch the sparkles
as we are drenched in joyful delight
from her latest creative antics.
Clearly, Santa is not to be trusted when you are 3.
She edged close enough to snaffle the gift and gap it.
She dropped her marshmallow on the grubby passageway floor and then ate it gleefully.
But I didn't mind.
I kept looking through my lens and snapping,
gathering up the memories,
and smiling as I slept.
For I know I will miss this when she is lanky, grumpy and cranking her i-pod to distressingly high decibel levels, chewing gum and leaving her impossibly hard maths homework to the last minute. I adore my other offspring too, please don't get me wrong.
They just don't stop me mid-sentence when all I hear is silence.
I don't rush to find them as soon as they leave the room
and they don't DARE touch my makeup.
I am writing this post for myself to read in the future weeks/month/years of parental adrenalin fatigue to distract myself from repeatedly banging my head against the wall, or rocking back and forth deliriously in a corner.
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