Are we Americans? Or aren’t we?

Okay, I’ve debated whether or not to write about this. It’s controversial and a bunch of people are fired up about it. But ultimately, I feel I must. Because what is happening in my country right now is scaring the living shit out of me.

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Complementary colors

Well, we're fully into exploring our fashion sense now. I could hear her in her room this morning, rooting around in drawers. I laughed when I heard, "Oh! My tutu! My tutu!" That's what she calls that little purple skirt with ruffles thing. Then she called in to me, "Mommy? Do I have to match?" Oh boy. I told her she's a big girl now and can choose whatever she wants. She skipped out of her room so happy after she got dressed that her smile made the outfit. I can't help but love it, too. I said, "Wow, Zo. Purple and orange. You're so…bright!" She was quick to point out that there is bright yellow on her shirt, too. I wonder if this is how Lady Gaga started.

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Note to self

When encouraging your almost-five-year-old daughter to pick out her own clothes, remember to remove the one-size-too-small clothes from the drawer. If you don't, she will pick those items (naturally) and then refuse to change (of course). Then she, and you, end up looking ridiculous. M is freaking out, mumbling something about too-short shorts (they're called Daisy Dukes, sweetie) and how they must be retired immediately.

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My dream car

We got back to the museum after our lunch tour (where we ate awesome barbecue…and that's saying a lot since I don't typically like barbecue) to find a show featuring some vintage cars. They are staged in the main hall where new Corvette owners take delivery. Very cool. I gave M a choice: he could buy me either a new Corvette (automatic tranny in gunmetal gray) or a Nomad. He shook his head and walked away. Methinks I'll be driving the Accord until it can be classified as vintage. Still won't be as cool as a Nomad though.

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