Oh, the things your kids will say.

(Note: I've had this post drafted in part for a few weeks, and after reading Maybe Matilda's post today, I got off my big rumpus and finished it up.  Rachel is truly a kindred spirit of mine.)

Seriously.  I feel like I read all of these wonderful blogs where these wonderful mothers dote on their children and photograph them beautifully and talk about how insightful and darling their children are... and I'm like, yeah, I get it, but how many seconds of the day are really like that?  On average, I'd say about 6.5.

The rest are something like this...

On our 7-minute drive to school:
Elliott: Mom, what pants are you wearing?
Me: Jeans.
Elliott: Oh, so not your black ones that you sleep in?
Me: No, I'm wearing jeans.
Elliott: ((Sigh of relief)) Oh, okay. You shouldn't wear those black ones that you sleep in.
(For the record, the "black ones that I sleep in" are yoga pants.  Heaven forbid that I drop off a four-year old to preschool in yoga pants!  And also for the record, I rarely wear my yoga pants in public.)

Here's me in my black pants with the Fashion Police hot on my tail.

Speaking of children's commentary on our clothing... do your kids ever comment on your body?  It's a blast, right?  I have this mole on the back of my leg that I'm totally self-conscious about and both of my kids mess with it whenever they have the opportunity.  They just relish any opportunity to touch it and really point it out.

And you KNOW you've made it into full-blown motherhood when you have to hold your finger up to your mouth and shoosh your children while trying on swimsuits at Target.  Heaven forbid any other fitting room patrons hear the commentary that your four-year old is about to provide. Or the questions. Oh.my.goodness.

Occasionally, I get on my high horse and ask for privacy in the bathroom.  On more than one occasion, Elliott has granted my request by shutting herself into the bathroom with me.  Yep, that's definitely what I meant.

For the record, the Fashion Police thinks that wiping her nose with her shirt is an acceptable alternative to a tissue.  I'm beginning to seriously question her authority on matters of proper fashion.

I recently had the great fortune of finding a one-piece bathing suit that I really love.  For me, it was a big day!  Because I stand in at just under 5 feet tall, it's not easy to find a reasonably priced one-piece suit that is flattering, modest, or even passable as appropriate swim-attire.  But shoved amidst a sea of XS string bikinis was an adorable online-return retro-styled one piece bathing suit that caught my eye... and after trying it on (please see reference above) I was practically giddy to buy it.

The first day I put my new bathing suit on to wear it out, Elliott stopped in to give her feedback.

"Mom, you look SO beautiful in your new bathing suit.

((Wait for it...))

Your bottom looks SOO BIG!"

And on that note, I'm off to crunch some celery and run a few miles in a rubber suit.