The Stick-Shift Diaries

I’m starting to think that Saoirse comes by her fascination with cars quite honestly, given the way David and I pounce on the newest issue of Motor Trend the instant it lands in the mailbox. It’s only been in recent years, when we’ve had to buy vehicles with “sensible” and “family” in the descriptions, that I’ve realized how very much we’re, well, into cars. It’s just a little inconvenient that our status as a one-income family with small children doesn’t exactly jibe with what we see on those glossy pages. The other day, the girls and I were running some errands, and Saoirse saw a vehicle the exact year and model as my old one. “Look, Mom! Your red car!” she exlaimed, pointing out the window. I was shocked. We’d sold my cute little Jetta when I was pregnant with Quinn because two car seats wouldn’t fit in the thing (that and we were about to sink a down payment’s worth of money on repairs, so alas, new car). How did she remember…

Yes, I’m Comparing My Girls to the Duchess of Cambridge

Because I had to tear myself away from all the glory and splendor that was the wedding-across-the-way (and yes, the scones were awesome, thankyouverymuch), my bleary-eyed self took the girls to their music class today. After all my immersion into the vicarious world of fascinators and morning suits and open-topped carriage rides (did you notice how Catherine–sorry, the Duchess of Cambridge–bowed her head every time her husband saluted? How often did they have to practice that?), it took me awhile to adjust to all the freedom and joyous do-what-you-will that is Music Together on a Friday morning. I’ve been taking Saoirse–and now, the mighty Quinn, too–to this class since she was about a year old. It’s more of a music appreciation program, and quite honestly, I break a sweat every time I write the check for it, because it’s that expensive. But I can’t stop signing ’em up, even if it we can’t make our electric bill that month (no, I’m just kidding. We just stop using lights after 8 pm…

How The Royal Wedding Makes Me Want a Sandwich

I turned on the TV today so SK could watch a little Clifford. I must’ve hesitated a bit too long on coverage leading up to the royal wedding, because SK finally turned to me and said, “Mom, are they married yet? Why not?” I guess Wills and Kate have been a part of the household conversations more than I’d like to admit. I just finished reading Peggy Orenstein’s Cinderella Ate My Daughter, which is all about the effects of the girly-girl culture–with all its princesses and glitter wands and glossy perfection–on girls growing up today. It basically reinforced every fear both David and I have had about the “girlie” stuff and validated my defensive pride when SK opts for Lightning McQueen instead of My Little Pony. I am a modern woman, I think, and therefore an aware mom. Yes, my daughter asks to paint her nails, but by golly she’ll go kick around a soccer ball before the polish has dried. We are rising above, dagnabit! Please. I’m so full of baloney that you could make a sandwich out of my…