poopy diapers, sippy cups, dora the explorer.

back to work after a weekend of play. while babypoolside this afternoon i caught up on my observational skills of the girls and their peers at the valley country club, pissing up said baby pool. cutest little bleachblonde, maybe 2 years old, reminiscent of a baby emmyclairebear. what a wonder 20 years has done to my once whiteblond head. and what a difference 3 days in long island did to revert my crown to its glorious summer white. what a [shallow] cycle i go through year after year. the darker my hair gets in fall slash winter- the duller my exterior, the drearier i am in general internally. then, wham, a few days in the july sun, gimme a tan and a boost in blonde, and im happy as a clam. is it the healing powers of the sun or my own obsession w/ aesthetics that creates this summer sensation?

why can't these kids swim? i mean, god love 'em, but irene is 4 and can't manage one stoke without me holding her under her pits. she has become much less timid in the water, dunking her head under etc. but god, by 4 i was already diving and on the swim team. hell, i was off the diving board by eliz's age (2) and here eliz can't even use the potty. i swear, if mrs.taylor paid me i would pottytrain her myself and in my free time, teach irene to swim. simple rules of parenting would tell you: pottytrained by 2, swimming like a fish by 3.
oh! and one would assume that one could wipe her own butt by 4. but no. not that i'm really outraged that part of my job description requires me to help wipe after 3 poopoos a day, but just today, wow, irene comes up to me, naked of course, with a brown crayon in her hand, places it in mine, and in walks eliz saying 'irene pooped on that' and lo and behold, there it is, a poopy crayon! she used the crayon to wipe the remaining poop off her 4 year old ass. what? a day in the life...