Baby decided to take up lacrosse. She was exposed to the game before a soccer match. It caught her attention and she decided to take me up on my offer to expose her to other sports. So we jumped in, as in our area they are enthusiastically trying to build up a girls’ lacrosse team.

Unfortunately, we did not look before we leap.

Baby saw a lacrosse game. She saw a BOYS lacrosse game. She saw throwing and running and hitting. Oh boy did she see hitting. And THAT’S what she wanted to do.

Boy lacrosse players wear pads. Girl lacrosse players wear skirts.

Boys can hit each other. Girls can’t even throw the ball over each other. Which makes you wonder “why are you running around with that pink stick?”

Baby is unimpressed. She left the first practice and announced “IT’S NOT EVEN A SPORT!”

We realized we were in for a bit of a surprise when we first went to pick up her stick. She had some options…..pink, purple and polka dots. I believe there might have even been some butterflies. Baby was not impressed. The boys had black and white sticks. They also had deeper pouches so that they can hit each other without losing the ball. That’s not an option for the girls. But, it being Baby, she expressed her lack of satisfaction at check out. The poor clerk most likely regretted his question “Did you find everything you need?”

It’s this spirit that is what makes Baby such an effective soccer player. After her third face plant, due to be shoved in the back by another player, her coach pulled her off the field. She passed his protocol and groused “I’d probably get a foul called if I didn’t get up so fast.” I think she’s right.

She’s my scrapper. At eight years old she was playing a soccer game and raised her hand to come out. Her coach pulled her and she took off running. She made it a respectable distance from the field and then vomited. She then trotted back over to her coach and said “Ok I can play again.” Her coach was dubious. After a while, and Baby’s nagging, he relented and put her in. She scored within three minutes but barely made it to the sideline before vomiting again. Her coach pulled her for good.

Leaving the game, Baby mentioned she didn’t feel well, so we made a stop at Urgent Care. She had a double ear infection.

That’s Baby for you. She doesn’t play sports with skirts.

Cinco is on a tear. She's running her own birthday countdown. She's indignant that it somehow managed to not be her birthday still. She's put quite a bit of effort into making it her birthday. She's tried sweet talking the father figure in the wee hours of the morning "wake up daddy, it's my birfday.....make me doughnuts." Stunningly, this did not work.

She's also tried barging into the office while I'm working, also in the wee hours of the morning, flinging open the door and announcing "today is my birfday I am having a party."  I don't know how she's going to handle the fact that Baba actually has a birthday before Cinco does.

I also have a feeling no matter what happens, Cinco's birthday will not  live up whatever fantasies she has concocted. But considering the threeager behavior she's been exhibiting, I'm ok with a knock down to earth.

In recent weeks, Cinco has decreed everyone's favorite color. Those who know me know that me and red go hand in hand. However, Cinco has determined that my favorite color in yellow. Daddy's is red and Cinco's is purple. And everyone else has color appointed by Cinco. But I don't care enough to remember.  That, and Cinco is nothing if not capricious.

Cinco's also taken to critiquing my wardrobe. "No mommy don't wear that." Now, I'm no fashionista, but I would think if my jeans and sweatshirt look doesn't warrent a second look from my tweens.....why would my two year old care?

She also has thoughts on my hair. Now, I have thoughts on my hair too, les accepting than Cinco's even, but I also have the thought that maybe just maybe children should be seen and not heard.  And really really maybe children should not say to their mother "mommy, I don't like your hair, it's scary."

She's enjoying full run of the house. Mostly because the father figure has yet to have his fashion or hair critiqued by the toddler tyrant. So he still caters to her every whim "daddy play my song and watch me dance. " So he hops to. He did draw the line when she demanded that he take a shower with her. But the line was a princess bubble filled bath with daddy singing to her.

I've heard of Italian mothers coddling their sons. But Italian fathers raising bubbly princess tyrants.....this is new. And alarming.