Diva!

This is really exciting! I mean it; you don't know how lucky you are. Fiona's management (aka - her preschool teacher Mrs. Bradley) informed us after the show today that she stormed off the stage several times during rehearsal this morning and it was uncertain whether or not she would deliver a performance. Well, you can rest easy. That I ironed her dress, showered her, and blow dried her hair this morning was not for naught. The Diva took the stage. It was delightful.

"Uh, mom? Is this thing gonna start soon?" (Mike Putty voice must be imagined to make this as funny to you as it is to me.)

"Can I have my baba?"

(Mike Putty voice again - even more hilarious than the first one)

You can barely see Fi in this shot. I just like that the Parental Paparazzi is so alert and eager.

My Alumnus and me

Here is where I apologize for my camera and for the horrendous lighting in the chapel. This deadly combination makes is possible for me to take only two kinds of pictures during school performances: dark or blurry.

I know these pictures are all virtually identical. But how was I supposed to choose which one was most beautiful when they are all so gorgeous. It can't be done! Look, even the little boy on the left can't bring himself to look at her full in the face. "Your beauty is crushing my eyeballs," he says, "I must look away!"

Oh, and before you get all up in my face about being conceited about my daughter's exquisite good looks, let's take a moment to ponder one of the great questions of our age, posited by none other than cultural icon, Justin Timberlake: "Is it really cocky if you know that it's true?" I think not, JT; I think not.

"Hi Chachi, Chachi, Chachi!"

"Huh? Who, me? I'm busy drinking from my baby cyborg bottle arm."

(The Putty voice never gets old.)

Now it's time to perform and get very serious about choreography and hand motions, so much so that your intense concentration on your body movements renders you incapable of singing the words to the songs. Hey, it never held Britney or Janet back.

"I'm waiting patiently for the program to begin. Will I cry? Only time will tell."

I'm pretty sure that this is the one they use on the playground when someone cuts them off on their tricycle.

Who's doing the right moves here? We may never know.

Raise the roof, ya'll!

Domo Arrigato, Mr. Roboto

We knew it would eventually come to this. So much pressure!

The following is entirely a figment of my deranged imagination, in which I invent a fictitious cat fight between my daughter and the little blond girl beside her. In no way did any actual altercation take place. We are fond of saying the Fiona is a lover and a fighter. She would just as soon cut you as hug you, and you never quite know where you stand with her. So, I dreamt up this little conflict somewhere in the dark recesses of my brain. Again, no children were harmed in the making of this blog post.

Fiona: " And, we point over here..."

Little Girl: "NO, we point over HERE!"

Fiona: "Um, are you taking to me? Because I heard someone talking to me. Whatever, I'm not even listening to you; you're on the open part of the clap when you should be closed."

Little Girl: "Oh yeah, this is what you look like - mleeehhhh!"

Fiona: "Ok, I'm gonna pretend that I'm not seeing that, because then I would have to unleash my scorching rage upon you, and I don't want your mother to have to see that."

Little Girl: "Why don't you just go over there and stop bothering me?"

Fiona: "Oooohhhh, it is taking all the self-control I have (which you should know is infinitesimally little) to restrain my fingers of fury. Once set free, they will show no mercy."

"And what are you wearing, anyway? Pshhhh!"

Little Girl: "I'm telling!"

Fiona: "You will be CRUSHED under my hand of doom."

And, with that fake melee, we conclude the Preschool Spring Program - 2010 at Bethany Christian School!

Mis Hijas

Tada! Me and my girls.

Oh, and thank you Monica for the super cute dress Fi is wearing and Sarah for Maddie's Blondie shirt, which allows me to indoctrinate her into my "weird" taste in music.