Con-GRADUATIONS to Eve!

   The reigning princess of the pre-school scene got all gussied up in a new dress she helped me make for her so she could prance across the stage and accept her graduation certificate in style.  She stood vigil by the sewing machine and handed me the pieces for the skirt until we were done.  Her giggles of delight at the hand-crocheted cherries for the top of the dress were enough to send me into momma-heaven.  I think Eve and I have have worked in tandem on at least five new outfits for her and about three for Marie since we've had signs of weather befitting cotton creations.  Yes, I don't get much sleep and I'm constantly covered in flecks of threads, bloody nicks from my scissors and all of the pins I am constantly embedding in my feet. . . SEW what?  It's worth it!  Hearing the ooh's and aah's of adoration from a five-year-old mini-model is enough to compensate for any lack of zzz's!

Eve had her final pre-school shindig on Wednesday, so we HAD to make her an outfit that would match the giant cupcake we made for the cake-walk.  (If you haven't noticed, we're getting mucho milage out of our cake-pan!  If you want to borrow it, just give me a jingle!  I'm ALWAYS happy to share my wealth of "craft-crap," as Eric so affectionately calls it.)

The graduation was a parent's dream because the teacher has been around the pre-school block enough times to appreciate the miniscule attention span of pre-schoolers, their siblings, and their program-weary parents.  The program was literally FOUR minutes long!  Dreamy, eh?  Mrs Doggett had each child stand while she told the audience what that child has in store for themselves in the future.  Imagine the way our academic hearts swelled with pride when Mrs Doggett announced, "Eve wants to be a ballerina. . . and a cheerleader."  Hooray for the feminist movement!  Elizabeth Cady Stanton, you're work has not gone unheralded!  We've tried to convince Eve to sign up for a summer sport, but she sticks out her pouty lower lip in protest every time, and says, "No!  I want to be a cheerleader!"  Ack.  Luckily I've got a few more years to try and mold and shape her into some sort of literate, analytical, free-thinking, strong, independent cheerleader hybrid.  (Yes, you can sneer in my direction all you want.  I recognize the inherent contradiction between my insistence on raising a fashionista, and my groans when she says she wants to be a cheerleader.)

In honor of her academic achievements, Eve's vocabulary has been blossoming.  It's adorable to hear the sweet sounds of her high-pitched voice saying things like, "Mom, apparently my shoes are in the other room" or "Actually, I don't want any beans."  The girl isn't afraid to use words either.  At Church on Sunday, our new Home Teacher greeted Eve, and she slowly looked him up and down and said with a tone of apathy beyond her years, "I don't know who YOU are!" and then she kept right on walking as if she were leaving behind some social unpleasantness in the Jr High hallway.