I know. We all need to get over it.

1. Marley is branching out, clothes-wise. She doesn't always have to wear pink, although it is still her signature, and most frequent, color. The other day, she actually wore a pair of sparkly jeans I bought for her about half a year ago. And since she's a string Beanie, yesterday we bought purple and pink belts at Target to hold them up. This morning, she had the jeans on and was ready to leave for preschool, looking like such a kid, when she slumped over to me and grabbed me around my hips. She said she wanted to change because the other girls in her class don't wear pants. Because her girl friends, as she put it, usually wear skirts and dresses. [Her cousin Emma doesn't. That kid's in jeans and a tee-shirt just about every day, and she is such a cute little lady who I know will be an amazing athlete some day if she wants to be. Her default for running begins with an athletic stance, and then she's low to the ground and just so strong. She will be a bruiser. Go Hawks.] But, Marley.

Here we go. Marley's flair, her need for ruffles and necklaces and flower hair clips, is who she is. I still believe that. But it's also apparently heavily influenced by her classmates? Jesus. I told her she could change if she wanted to, but on the drive to school, I let her know that she had a lot of school days in front of her, and if she couldn't wear what she wanted or do what she wanted because she felt like she had to wear and do what other girls in school were, she could end up being unhappy. She reminded me that she had decided to wear the jeans on Friday. So we'll see, I guess. But, really?

2. Rudy and I had a special trip to the farm last week while Marley was at school. She got to hang out with some other cute ladies when I met my friend Mary there with her two daughters, and they all had a good time running in and out of playhouses until we had to leave to pick up Bean at preschool.

At one point, Rudy became mesmerized by the inflatable bouncy house in a nearby section of the farm, and she moved toward it and away from us in a trance. I scurried over and then crouched beside her. "Hey, Toot," I said. "That looks like fun. Do you want to do some jumping?"

"No," she said quietly. "Too scary [cair-dee]."

Rudy, who is a rascal and a ham and so silly and ridiculous, is suddenly shaken by slides and pony rides and now, bouncy houses. I don't want to push her to do things that make her sad or scared, but I don't want her to miss out on fun kid stuff when it's likely that she just needs to get over some initial trepidation. And we learned about a month ago that slides aren't even the most dangerous things on the playground.

We spent an hour at a playground a few towns over on one of those days when the sun was, surprisingly, out. And Rudy refused to go down any of the slides, even the teeny ones. She got upset on the swings when she thought I was pushing her too high. And then as we were walking to the car to head home, she tripped and fell and scraped a large section of her gums. She was wailing and bleeding and I got her right into the car with some water and paper towels and then we went right to Liz's house for a second mom opinion. After a few days, she had healed, but c'mon, Toot! Go down the slide!

3. I am tired and glum. The Celtics lost their first two games against the jerky Heat, and unless Saturday is different, it does not look good. I am in the middle of a stretch of commitments that includes boot camp, coaching lacrosse, teaching an SAT prep class, and, oh yeah, handling (and loving, of course) two little girls who are alternately adorable and bratty. Mostly adorable, but the bratty wears me out pret-ty fast. Our front yard is textbook suburban blight because we're in the middle of Curb Appeal 2011. I am behind in birthday and wedding and new baby wishes and treats, in putting away winter clothes and getting spring and summer gear out, and when I have consecutive minutes of free time, I'd rather watch Sesame Street with Rudy, so I'm not making much headway.

I'll be fine in a few more weeks, and I know I'm just whining into the cavernous internets, but I feel better putting it out there.

4. Todd is also tired. He's been working hard as the middle and high school English and social studies curriculum coordinator for our district, and when he has consecutive minutes of free time, he works on Curb Appeal 2011 and his list of (T)odd jobs. But because I've been coaching and teaching almost every afternoon into the evening, he's been doing a lot of Jen jobs for the past few months, like getting Beanie to gymnastics and tee-ball and ballet. And handling Toot in the meantime. And he's dealing with the Celtics' losses, too, or more accurately, his wife's reactions to the Celtics' losses. And then last night he was up complaining about how much his big toe hurts. So, he thinks he has gout. Gout! We have no time for such things, Todd. The front doorsteps need refacing!