Princess and the Wild, Wild West

I'm in the process of cleaning out the attic and I found this. Something bought for Sierra, originally.

Mireya was on the computer, but I set this out in case she might find it interesting. Then I went back in the attic for further rummaging.



When I came out I found this:


And let's not forget the sharpshooters on the ridge...





And the fight over in the ravine...


Given our heritage, I'm glad it's not clear who is the good guys and who is the bad guys. Cuz we're a mixed bag over here.


You know, I don't think Disney has a wild west princess. Well, there's Pocahontas, but when you read the history and realize she was 13 and her name means "spoiled child" and she was held captive by the boys in Jamestown, it gets a little pedophilia.

So we'll have to start with Annie Oakley. I wonder if she wore pink...

Van-ity

Van-ity…

I recently discovered something disconcerting about myself. Something that has been steadily eating away at me for a few years, and only recently has risen to the surface.

I want a mini-van.

Now, for most rationale adults, this desire is not at all disconcerting. Minivans are nice vehicles, perfectly suited for family life; even more ideal for lives lived on the road as anyone living in this area does to a large extent. They are perfectly practical. Then there are all those really cool things in them now.

DVD players. Thirty-two cup holders. Doors that open when you walk up to them with a squirming child in your arms and a hairbrush in your teeth.

What's not to like?

I've driven my mother-in-law's minivan, ridden in grand style in my aunt's, and waved at my children in my friend's. And I think, there, but for a misplaced sense of car ego, go I.

I inherited from my father a deep-seated belief that you are what you drive. I have, in my driving career owned a 66 Mustang, an old MG Midget, a Datsun Z-28 and various SUVs. I've even had a couple of motorcycles. So when I had to give up my VW bug when child number two was on the way (the baby car seat wouldn't fit), I was looking for a stylish alternative with four doors.

I ended up with a car that was featured in ads filled with camping gear, surfboards, musicians and very jazzy music. Not a diaper bag in sight. I was relieved that I had found a four door car with a hatchback that was somehow still hip. I COULD be cool and practical.

Then, two years later, I got my registration renewal and there it was. I had bought a station wagon.

A STATION WAGON!

How did this happen? I was despondent, quickly paid my renewal and tried to forget about it. I tried to imagine the surfboard, the jazzy music and the very cool people I was going to hang out with right after I got the playdoh out from under my nails. But the State of Texas Department of Transportation has no such illusions.

They know I'm going from soccer to piano lessons to school.

But one of these days I'm getting that surfboard.

Take me to Kid Town

Here's a few more facts about Kid Town...

There's a Vet and Hospital in the same building... Which is interesting.


And a restaurant that sells all the grass you can eat.




And a cute Sheriff...

Hmm. Looks like a good place to move to!

Welcome to Kid Town

The kids had a blast during the last gasp of Christmas break creating Kid Town.


Here's my tour guide. It's a pretty big town and you really shouldn't go without a guide.



First you have to come in to the town. There's the sign that tell you that you've arrived.



Here's the mayor in her office. That's the town dog she adopted but graciously shares with the residents.



There's a fitness center. Those... things that look like wood sticks are weights (spelled whates in Kid Town)



There's a supply store...


And a post office... It was closed when I got there. Isn't that always the way?




Here's a photo I got of one of the museum's exhibits. "Old Pail" I believe...



I liked it so much after my tour, was hooked up with a real estate agent who sold me this nice little spot to call my own...


More pictures tomorrow. I'm also proud to say Kid Town has a credit union. That's my girls.

Tell you what, I'll take a sharpie, pieces of wood and a pile of rocks over a Wii any day.

And fortunately, so will the kids.

Child of the Volcano
Recently we temporarily adopted a little girl, sort of. She knocked on the wall of the hallway and informed me that she was here to live with us because she had lost her entire family in a tragic volcano eruption.

"It was the lava," she said solemnly, looking remarkably like our four year old, right down to the curls.

"I imagine it was very dangerous," I said, noting her serious demeanor, appropriate for a recent orphan.

“Yes, it was. There was a fire.” She looked up, either checking for a smoke alarm or recalling the eruption.

Mireya, who was now the orphan named Sophie (which, incidentally is the name of our real daughter's real best friend), came with an imaginary small bag of belongings which she dutifully unpacked.

"Well," I said, "let me show you around."

We toured the house and I pointed out where the bathroom, kitchen, snacks and playground were. She noted each location politely, nodding and clearly committing the strange environment to memory. We talked a little about the rules. Where to put your dirty clothes. Where the shoes go. The "scrape your dish" rule.

Then I introduced her to our two dogs, whom she agreed were very nice. She asked me to repeat their names twice, because she wasn't sure who was who.

I have to say, she was so exceedingly pleasant that I wondered, briefly, if we could make this arrangement permanent.

For about 24 hours we adopted the child of the volcano, introducing her to Grammy, her adopted sister and her adopted father. In fact, Daddy, when he heard the story of the volcano, insisted it was simply too sad and he just couldn't bear hearing about it ever again.

Periodically we'd all slip up, forgetting that she wasn't Mireya, hadn't lived here forever, and had no idea where she might find a fork for her dinner. She'd smile and remind us that she was the orphan who came to live with us, and naturally needed some extra assistance.

This year we've seen many incarnations of our four year old. She's been a princess, a secret agent, a finishing school student, a new girl in school, and a very scary monster. As the spotlight shifts onto a new character, I find myself wishing for an encore of the child of the volcano.

That kid even picked up her socks. Try to get a princess to do that.