Unicorns, Vampire Slayers and PomPoms

When I was little, I loved unicorns. I had about a million things with unicorns. Everything from shirts and posters to music boxes and figurines. I was unicorn crazy. It wasn't until I was an actual adult that I found out that my unicorn thing was actually my mom's unicorn thing. She was unicorn crazy first and I just picked it up from her.

It's no secret that sometimes my kids are a complete mystery to me. Brynna and her cheer leading, pink-obsessed, fashionista, Barbie-loving soul make me believe in karma. Maren's big things are horses and horsepower. I don't get horses. And as for things that run, I love to drive, that's about as far as that goes.

That kid in the middle?
The one throwing me a dirty look?
That one's mine.

I'll readily admit that sometimes my kids are a complete and utter enigma to me. Sometimes I stare at the little girl dressing and redressing her Barbies and the one next to her vroom-vrooming her cars around the floor and I wonder where in the world they came from.

This morning was not one of those times. Brynna's been all about the Buffy musical soundtrack lately, so a few weeks ago, I set us up in the bedroom with popcorn and kool-ade and we watched the episode. I had carefully thought out each scene and what was going to need some explaining and what I hoped she just didn't notice. It went swimmingly. Until she asked if she could watch the rest of them and I had to say no. Then came the desire to dress up as Buffy for Halloween.

My first thought at this request was euphoria tinged with pride. Until I realized what this meant. First of all, dressing up like Buffy means just wearing normal clothes for the most part. I mean we could try to do one of her more memorable outfits, but why bother when your audience is a bunch of second graders. Secondly, at her school, you have to dress up as a character in a book and then bring the book to school. So, not only was I going to send my seven year old out into the world dressed as a normal person on Halloween, but I was going to arm her with one of my graphic novels (which aren't exactly appropriate and are also quite precious to me).

I hope no one left the keys in it.

I've talked her into Laura Ingalls Wilder; which I think is better for everyone involved.

But this morning took the cake. The girls were singing a duet in the backseat of "Going through the Motions," when it came our turn in car line. Brynna hopped out, blew me a kiss and skipped merrily into the school. As I was pulling away, Maren broke into song. It seems my two-year old knows all the words by heart.

Yes, sometimes the Princess and the Shop Girl astound me. But sometimes they make perfect sense. Sometimes they are a little of me and a whole lotta them and absolutely perfect in every sense.