Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Five. Cinco. Da-deot.

Last Friday was my daughter's 5th birthday. (I know, right?! FIVE? It's true. I can't believe it either). If you've ever met her then you know she's a high-volume, high-energy, feisty, butterfly-loving, hip-hop/ballet/modern/interpretive-dancing, charming, demanding, sassy, take-no-shit goofball. If you haven't met her but get the chance some day, a word of advice: cover your nads.

Here are a few of the many things I love about Evie - When she hears a foreign language she asks people if they're speaking in Spanish or Korean - those are the only two options for her. If they answer "I'm speaking Arabic", she looks at them with sympathy and like they're mildly retarded, then says "no, that was Korean."  She wrestles on living room floors in homes we don't actually live in. She asks women with even the slightest paunch if they have a baby in their tummies, and tells my actually-pregnant friends that she hates babies. She has no sense of fear and an incredible ability to make pre-teen boys do her bidding within 40 seconds of meeting them. Pre-teen boys, and most adults. Recently we went to a dinner party where we knew only 2 of the guests (they just so happened to be one adult and one pre-teen boy, but she'd already had her way with them ages ago and so was thrilled to have a fresh audience). Within an hour she had grown women allowing her to undo their elaborately styled hair and take off their accessories, then put their hair clips, glasses and necklaces on other completely random guests.

I usually say that she's nothing like me. At all. But it's been pointed out to me recently that we have some similarities. One thing I've passed on to her is my capacity for pain. She runs a lot, so therefore falls a lot. Like me, when this happens she gets back up, gives a "fuck it" kind of shrug, and keeps on running. She and I both enjoy partaking in a good amount of Crazy Dancing. We both stare at each other, disbelieving and at a loss for a coherent solution, when the other doesn't do what we're telling them to do. We both love cheese.

Because I'm more flat-out poor than I've ever been in my adult life, I didn't get to throw Evie the Butterfly Princess Party she requested. I'm not surprised she had something so specific and fanciful in mind. Last year she asked for a Ballerina Princess party, and by the time I'd put the last handmade tutu on it's assigned chair, it looked like the Tulle truck had exploded in my house. There were ballet lessons. There were pastel pink and white balloons and streamers whacking people in face everywhere they turned. There was a banner spelling out her name. Prosecco for the grownups. You know; it was nice.

But, sometimes kids can't get exactly what they want (just ask me - every year I asked for a party - never did I get one. I'm fine now! Totally fine!) Luckily Evie has some of the best Aunties on the entire planet, and when she asked for "steak and chicken" for dinner, and a "chocolate cake with pink frosting and chocolate chips" for dessert, you know she got exactly those things. Family Parties are the best. It takes less balloons to bonk people's faces, and there's a lot more sparkling wine for me when I don't have to share with 20 guests.

My family knows I hate this shit
And, without the distraction of so many other people milling around, everyone gets to see her reaction to her gifts.

That girl just loves a plastic hot bod and flaxen oddly-styled hair!

Five years ago I popped that kid out, (I'm smug enough to say here that it was a natural childbirth. No tearing, either. Yep, you wanted that info, and you got it. You're welcome!) Afterward, I almost smothered her when I passed out from exhaustion with her tucked into my armpit on the bed of the hippy birth center where she was born. She survived. I then proceeded to get to know her - all the while wondering where the hell she came from, even though I was there when she emerged from my own body.

I can't wait to see what happens next. Happy Birthday Evie!

Evie with her fiancee at Fairyland!


  1. My first memory of that kid is when you would drop Jonah off at school, and she would reach those chubby little arms out for me. I would make it a point to be by the door when you were arriving, just so i could hold her. Can't believe it's been five years...

  2. I love that little baby-hating fool. Happy belated birthday lovie!