Where I remind myself I am not Julie Andrews.

I adore Julie Andrews. First off, she's absolutely gorgeous and a complete class act. I think she is just fantastic in whatever role she plays. And as such, I have aspired to be her at times. I'd love to spin in the warm spring sun, arms outstretched, singing "The hillllllllllllllllllllllls are aliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive.... with the sound of muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuusiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiic!" Alas, I live in Kansas. Not that we don't have hills - WE DO, contrary to popular belief! - but it certainly isn't Switzerland. Nor am I a nanny of a musically-inclined group of siblings. Which is unfortunate, because I would love to be able to give that adorable curly-haired stud on Glee a run for his money.

Who doesn't want to frolic and sing? ADMIT IT. You know you want to.

Mary Poppins is one of my favorite movies. Julie Andrews is a BADASS in that movie! Holy crap - I wish my kid would respond to "the look" like she got the Banks' kids to do! She is FIERCE! And she has magical stuff! OMG! I want her carpet bag o'stuff! I want to snap and my house to clean itself! I WANT TO FLY AND NOT HAVE MY HAIR LOOK LIKE, WELL, LIKE IT DOES RIGHT NOW! I want a super cute young Dick Van Dyke to be all in love with me and stuff! I want to be able to put the maid in her place! I want a maid! I want a tea party on the ceiling! I want cartoon penguins to dance for me and be all flirty and stuff! I want songs written about me! I want every holiday with Kelly to be jolly! Wait. Maybe I hate her. I need to think about that for a minute.

Look at that bitch face. OMG. I only hope my "look" is a fraction of that awesomeness.

Irritated Mary is irritated. But Bert is adorbs, no?

I know I look like this. A LOT.

Teach me, Julie. TEACH ME.

Even though Audrey Hepburn is the face of Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady, Julie played Doolittle on Broadway. Had she been cast in the movie, there would have been no Mary Poppins, so see, kids? FAILURE IS OKAY. To thoroughly show my appreciation for Dame Andrews (you have to be a legit badass if the Queen of England says you are!), here is my rendition of "My Favorite Things" from My Fair Lady:

Not Exactly My Favorite Things

Sippy cups that I find under the car seat

With just enough milk to make a big, foul stink

Strawberry jelly on the curtains, you see

These are not exactly my favorite things.

Discovering all of the stuff in the heat vent

Counting all of the money I have spent

To replace all of the lost pacis you fling

These are not exactly my favorite things.

When you don't sleep

When I have to sweep

Up a giant mess

I start to remember more unfavorite things

And then I start to stress.

And then I look at your sparkling blue eyes

Your grin that can light up the darkest of night skies

The sounds that you make when you're content, you see

These are a few of my favorite things.

When you want to do nothing but snuggle

I don't worry about all the stuff that I juggle

All of my frustration and frowns go and take wing

Because you are my most favorite thing.

An Open Letter to My Child

Dear Shortpants,

You are loud. You are (currently) stinky. You flap and squawk and stomp and knock stuff over and watch things eleventybillion times and refuse to take your medicine or eat anything that doesn't come out of a box.

I love you.

You don't sleep worth a crap. You are whiny. Not Calliou-whiny (Good LORD, I think his parents must be on drugs or deaf, because that shit just, yeah... no.) but whiny, nonetheless. You can clear a room with one little tiny turd. I have peanut butter and jelly smears all over my curtains.

I am proud of you.

You don't use silverware. Not quite ready for a cup without a lid. You'll eat tapioca, fig newtons, cheese cubes and Doritos by the pallet, but not the ends of hot dogs. You think butterscotch pudding is a food group. You (currently) abhor wearing pants, including pullups.

I am constantly amazed by you.

You either don't want to take a bath, or you never want to get out. You think my bed is a trampoline. You won't eat popsicles or ice cream. I'm waiting for the results on the DNA test to make sure you're mine for that reason alone. You have a bajillion toys that you won't play with, but you'll watch the same youtube clip a thousand times.

It is an honor to be your mama.

You think my toothbrush is yours. You can't sleep without a pacifer in your mouth and one in your hand. You leave the refrigerator door open. You have selective hearing. You look at most things with a sense of indifference that is fascinating and infuriating. You'd rather play in the street than in the sandbox. You scrunch up your face so that I can't see your gorgeous eyes when you see the camera flash.

My life would be empty without you.

You hug tightly. You smile brightly. Your laughter equals angels singing. Your facial expressions make it so hard to consistently discipline you because I'm stifling laughter. You smell like lavender, when you have clean pants, that is. Your head fits perfectly into my neck. Your snore is adorable. Your hand was meant to be in mine. You love fiercely. Your people are YOURS. You are braver than I would have ever imagined. You are beyond smart, and even though you can't speak, I am kinda positive you can read. You give my life meaning. You are FULL of JOY. You were meant to be my kid, just like I was meant to be your mama, and I thank God for you every fucking day.

You are loved. So very much.

Now get back here so I can change your pants and don't you dare stick your fingers in your...*sigh*... wanna take a bath?

Love,
Mama