A/N: My heavens. I see people stopping by left and right in my stats, but only a few comments... I'll just trust you're silently enjoying, since the numbers are staying up there!

September, 2013

Pardon My Eccentricities And I'll Excuse Your Lack Of Aesthetics

Ducky and I decided early on that we were not going to have a cookie cutter child. Things that were important—a reasonably healthy food intake, sleep, proper behavior—those were the sticking points. Just because "every" child was wearing Cute Tush jeans, our kid didn't have to. Just because "every" child has a Playstation 2 or 5 or 600 or whatever number they're up to, our kid doesn't have to. (She'll play more than enough video games visiting Uncle Tim or Aunt Abby—or Aunt Charlie, for that matter.) So, at the age of three, when she saw Little House on the Prairie reruns and fell in love with the prairie dresses the girls wore, I had no problem letting her run around in them after preschool and on the weekends. (She was all for wearing them to school until I pointed out that pants were more sensible for the monkey bars and swings.) And when she saw Babe and decided to be a vegetarian, Ducky made sure her list of foods was balanced for proteins and carbs and vitamins and minerals—and I told her that, yes, I would make non-meat things for her but the rest of us wouldn't give up our burgers. It lasted almost two weeks, until Suzy made ribs for dinner. Nobody can resist her ribs.

Then there was the discovery of Cookie Monster. The fact that her father and I both love to bake, that her grandmother does pretty well in the kitchen (with close supervision) and most of her extended family is handy with a cookie sheet (Gibbs being the lone holdout—but he is unsurpassed as the grill master, so we don't say he's lacking), she was born loving cookies and baking just like she was born loving books. It's in the DNA. So a character that scarfed cookies day and night was easy to love. Tons of her clothing had the blue critter emblazoned on them—but her favorite was a tie-dyed shirt with Mr. Monster on the front and "I'm a cookie monster!" on the back. When I say favorite, I mean favorite. She wore it every day. Literally. I peeled it from her body every bedtime, washed it that night and had it ready for when she leaped from bed at 0600. (When we realized she was never going to part company with this shirt, Ducky and I tried to buy a second or third. Fat chance. See it now, like it now, buy it now.) Mom taught me to buy Lexi's clothes larger than what she was wearing, so as to get more than a week's wear out of it. So she was two and a half when we bought the shirt, but was still able to squeeze into it at five. It was faded, the hem and the sleeves rode higher than intended and the body was stretched tight across her tummy—but she could still get into it.

Five.

As we went from store to store, collecting school supplies and new clothes, it tapped me on the shoulder every so often. My baby is five. She's going into kindergarten, her first year of 'real' school. Five. Next year is first grade, a few years later, middle school, then high school, then college…

"Are you sure?"

She nodded enthusiastically, pigtails ("Just wike Auntie Abby's!" she insisted that morning) bouncing around.

I tried not to wince. Individuality. Independence. Freedom. But… "Wouldn't you rather—"

He brow furrowed. "You promised…"

I sighed. True; I promised. "Okey-dokey. Special breakfast will be waiting, special for the first day of school."

"Pancakes?"

"Yep."

"An' bacon?"

"Yep."

"Smiwey face pancakes?"

I laughed. Ducky had created smiley face pancakes, a smile and two eyes of egg and a face of pancake batter, and it was Lexi's favorite treat. They were a little time consuming, so we save them for special occasions—like the first day of kindergarten. "Yep. Smiley face pancakes, Daddy is working on them right now."

"Yea!" She clapped her hands and jumped up and down.

"So get dressed and hurry downstairs. What do you want for snack time?"

She thought for a minute. "Appow juice. Cewery and peanut butter. Raspberry yogurt. Oreos."

I shook my head. "Sorry, kiddo. No cookies or candy allowed. You can have Oreos with Grandma, for tea."

"Okay. Graham crackers?"

"Those are allowed. Anything else?"

"Cheese sticks and an orange?"

"You got it." And she'd eat every bite. The kid was on an eating jag; it meant she was due for a growth spurt. "Hurry scurry. What time is breakfast?"

"Wittle hand on the six, big hand on the nine." She thought for a moment. "Six-forty-five!"

"A-plus."

Ducky was carefully pouring batter over bits of egg. "Nervous?"

"Lexi? Heck, no."

"I meant you."

"I, Doctor Mallard, am just fine." I started pulling snack things out for the waiting lunchbox. Frozen juice box (does double duty as an ice insert), cheese, orange… "By the way, she's wearing special clothing for the first day of school. Good luck clothing. So—don't mention it, okay?"

When she burst into the kitchen, all he said was, "Your hair looks wonderful like that. Aunt Abby would be flattered."

Mother had her neurons collected enough to say, "My baby is going off to school! Such a big girl you've become." She hugged Lexi so long that I wasn't sure she'd let go. "Tell me everything at tea."

"I'w make notes," Lexi said solemnly. She probably would.

We drove over together in the van. When Lexi heard that the school offered before-school time to color or play or read, she begged us to sign her up. Who knows, they might have books she'd never seen before!

We'd met the teacher, Miss Westerna, during the kindergarten roundup. She was fresh out of college, brand new to the teaching arena. I hope she fared better than I did.

Lexi remembered where her cubby was and neatly set her lunchbox and backpack inside. (Backpack! Backpack! I didn't get a backpack until I was in college, for crying out loud!) "Hewwo, Miss Westerna!" she chirped.

"Oh, Lexi! Look at you!" The teacher squatted in front of Lexi and I held my breath. "You look wonderful. I'll bet you chose everything specially for today."

I looked over the two sizes too small, battered Cookie Monster t-shirt, Han Solo vest, red sparkly Wizard of Oz shoes, purple jeans and the belt from one of her grandmother's dancing frocks from the 50s.

"I did! I chose it aw mysewf!"

Miss Westerna looked up at me and I could see the smile in her eyes. "I was pretty sure you had."