The Double-Digits Birthday Extravaganza!

Wait!  It's been TEN years since Sydney came screaming into this world?  It can't have been that long.  I am NOT old enough for this to be happening (stepping back to reality).

Well, it's here.  I threatened Sydney that if we cancelled her birthday, then she would never turn ten.  She didn't buy it.  I guess she's growing up after all.

We started her Birthday Week Extravaganza with a trip to Rainbow Kids, our trusty kids salon, for a little ear-piercing action.  Although there were tears when the guns went off, the end result (and a lollipop) were well worth the pain.

Next was the gift from Thomas and me.  Because of the pandemonium that would ensue on her actual birthday weekend, we decided to give her our gift early.  So, one night, when she got home from Bye Bye, Birdie rehearsal, hair still wet from swim team, she walked into her room to her armoire with a big ribbon on it.  Once she opened it, she only said, "Thank you so much!  Thank you so much! Thank you so much! Thank you so much!," in an awe-struck voice.  Now, the secret is this...it's our old TV.  We got a new one for downstairs, did a little rearranging, and voila!!! NO more fighting over VicTORIous vs. Ningago.  Ulterior motives.

Then came the birthday party.  We seem to be at a cross-roads in ages.  At ten, you're still friends with people because you've known them since kindergarten, but new friends are being made based on activities.  Well, Syd is turning into all sorts of a theatre kid, and was dying to have a theatre party.  I knew that some of her friends would balk at an evening of singing/dancing/ogling over Bernadette Peters, and keep within a budget.  So, here was the deal.  5 friends. Big dinner. An evening at the theatre. Spending the night.  Done!

The cake, of course, had to be Broadway themed, so we bought the cake plain from Vons, and Syd gave me her top logo choices to use for the decoration:

Then, Aunt Farrah arrived.  Farrah is my college roommate, and has come out every year for Sydney's birthday.  Well, since Farrah lives in NYC, she smartly took a stop by the theatre where Newsies is playing on Broadway (Sydney's current obsession) and brought her a T-shirt.  NICE JOB, Farrah!

The day of the party arrived.  Five little girls (oh...excuse me...pre-teens) showed up all dressed for a night on the town.  We started at Buca di Beppo, a family style Italian restaurant.  We ate, opened presents, and had cake (after being serenaded by the waitstaff---VERY entertaining).

After dinner, we took in a performance of Oliver! at the Curtis Theatre in Brea.  The girls had front row seats, and the adults had seats in the last row.  The girls were tickled to see kids on stage that they recognized, and they loved EVERY minute of the show!

Back home, and settled in pajamas in Sydney's room, the girls watched Once Upon a Mattress and thankfully fell asleep by midnight.  The next morning, as they left, each girl got a mixed CD of some of Sydney's favorite Broadway tunes complete with personalized labels.

The morning they woke up was Sydney's actual birthday.  We spent the day at a friends house, swimming, and enjoying ANOTHER birthday cake.

Sydney rounded out her birthday week extravaganza with an Apple iMovie camp at the local Apple Store in the mall, where the staff taught the kids Garage Band and iMovie. 

And, no birthday would be complete without getting the spend the gift cards that she received as gifts.  

It's been a wild and crazy ride with this amazing little girl (oh, sorry....pre-teen).  I can't wait to see what the next ten years bring.  Eye-rolling, I'm sure.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SYDNEY!!

What do the Olympics mean?

When people hear that I love the Olympics, they start cleaning out their ears, looking at me like I'm drunk, or concerned that their understanding of sarcasm has left them completely.

I get it, I get it.  Yes, I am the one that told my father that Dylan make two "goals" during his basketball team.  I am the one that cheered when Sydney ran the wrong way with the ball during her first season playing soccer.  I am the one who DVR's the Super Bowl, and fast forwards through the game to get to the commercials and the half-time show.  My principal even had this conversation with me at the beginning of June:

Ed: So, Stacy, those Tony Awards are on soon, right? (he's a big football guy, but really tries to    decipher my own strange world)

Stacy: Yeah, they are, and I'm so excited.  Neil Patrick Harris is hosting again, and it's been an interesting season for-

Ed: So, this is like the Super Bowl for YOUR people, right?

Stacy: Super Bowl....football, right?

Ed: (rolls eyes and walks away)

Yup, my people. So, you can understand why people do a double take when I talk about how much I love the Olympics.  But here's my take.

The Olympics IS NOT about sports.  Ok, there are some games that are played, but for me, it's always been more than that.  To me, the Olympics stand for two weeks of a feeling of world harmony as we watch the parade of nations, and everyone cheering for everyone else.  It's watching people from around the world who have spent their lives pursuing their passions, working harder than anyone else in the world, and getting the chance to show the entire world what it means to be an achiever, to be a teammate and a team member, to be a part of something bigger than bi-partisan politics, and hot-button issues, or suicide bombers, or war, or local news filled with rape and murder.  It is a chance to see little girls fly through the air with the greatest of ease, for swimmers to cut through the water like it's nothing, for runners who defy speed laws, and for people to cheer on their countries. For once, it seems like people stop fighting and remember that they're a team.  THAT is what the Olympics are about to me.

The commercials aren't that bad, either.

La Cage aux Dylan

So, I'm sure that many parents do everything they can to let their kids "find" themselves.  Thomas and I have been against guns as toys since Dylan was born, but inevitably, he'll find a stick, a rock, or his finger to use in a faux gunfight.

I'm sure that Sydney, being the Queen Bee that she is (more on that after the big birthday weekend), has something to do with some of Dylan's choices.

Sydney is often hard to find in her bed amongst the dolls and stuffed animals, and Dylan has had to endure trips to the American Girl store in his brief life.  So, years ago, he inherited a baby doll from Sydney.  Oddly enough, when you press her hand, she says, "Da Da!" which Dylan took to meaning that the doll was meant for a boy.  So he named her Caroline.

Caroline has spurts of activity.  She'll sit on a shelf for months, and then find herself dragged around all over the place, including school during "Friday Share."

So, even though I am all for gender equality, there are times when I ask him is he's REALLY sure that Caroline needs to go to K1 go-cart racing with Dylan.

This morning, the fact that Dylan is all boy was reiterated.  From my perch in the kitchen, I hear Dylan yell, "Mom!  Caroline is going skydiving for the first time!"

I peek my head into the living room and look up at the landing just in time to see Caroline plummet from the second story to the living room floor, waking Niko up from her aged stupor, both of which causing Thomas to spit coffee out, and a triumphant yell from above as Dylan congratulates Caroline on her first solo jump.

So, again, as a little brother to an older sister, Dylan is often as the mercy of Sydney's antics.  The other day it was "The Dylanette Show."  This consisted of a heavily made up 6 year boy parading around the house wearing a myriad of dresses from his sister's/director's closet.  Actually, other than the buzz cut for summer swim team, he's not a bad looking girl!

So, I text this picture to Thomas, and it was met with a very different reaction from my lip biting amusement.  So, I again took the time to remind Thomas of the bad-assness that Dylan is usually displaying for us:

He felt a little better.

It's Getting Hot in Here

I have always said that Californians are complete weather weanies.  Since both of my children were born in California, they have also joined the ranks of those "unable to cope with anything."  This is what I mean:

1. When it rains in California, and I mean the mere sprinkle of precipitation, Californians run for cover as if the Zombie Apocalypse is banging on their doors.  I have often asked Sydney and Dylan if they think they're going to melt (as they put on rain boots, raincoats, grab umbrellas, and make a mad dash for the car), to which they often answer, "Yes!"  Even the weathermen are in on this, making every slight rainfall a "Stormwatch (insert month or year here)!!!!" as they report next to a puddle.

2. Heat. I say "heat" as a person who lived most of her life in a humid oasis of mosquitos and multiple showers: Houston, Singapore, Orlando, you get the picture.  As a high school student in Singapore, I was even known to sport a turtleneck during "monsoon season" when the regular temperature of 95% dipped to 90%.  In Florida, I wore dress pants and shirts, as well as black socks and shoes to tour unsuspecting British tourists through Universal Studios, forgetting to tell them to reapply sunscreen (sorry 'bout that).

Now, Californians pay A LOT of money to not have to deal with weather (how American, right?) but I sure got a kick out of listening to the news, and the people around me, complaining the other day about how they just couldn't take the heat anymore.

I don't know how they managed.