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Emma did a little project the other day, with hardly any help. I think Meaghan might have helped a little. Emma had asked me and I had to keep putting her off, then eventually pointed out she really could do a lot of the work herself. (But, hellooooo mama guilt anyway)

Her idea was to take her barbie dolls and do her own version of America’s Next Top Model. She had no prompting for us, and all I really helped with was suggesting how she could set up the backdrop and what to use. (and I actually adjusted it after a small crying jag because it kept falling dooowwwwnnn… OHNOES!)

Anyway. Here’s Lakeville’s Next Top Barbie Model.

This is the group shot. Click through for the rest of the set on the right of the page. I’m on the edge of my chair wondering who will win.

(p.s. She also made runway videos, but I haven’t posted them anywhere. But still. She made ‘em. )

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Mom nagged me on the phone today saying I better update, so here ya go. Also, she wants you to know that I’m an awful mother because I got a picture of the Halloween sunset, but NOT a picture of her granddaughter in a princess costume.

To be fair, the sunsets are rarer than Emma in a princess dress. For her costume, all Emma did was root around in the dress-up pile a bit.

It was just her and I roaming the neighbourhood, as Meaghan is far too mature for something so childish, Sarah had to work, and there are no little kids near here. Seriously, we were the only ones out walking. Every so often a minivan would stop at the houses around us, but that was it. Nobody came to our door. (Is okay, more treats for us!)

We went to eight houses and were gone about an hour and half. We went maybe 500 yards. At each house, we had to come in (both of us) and close the door (it was cold, almost freezing), then pick out candy and catch up on the news. About halfway through we came to a house with a dog. Emma is, for reasons unknown to us, terrified of dogs. Any dog. Even chihuahuas. If it barks or wags, it scares her. The first dog they had she hadn’t noticed until she got near the door, so she was pretty wary. The second, someone had let out from a room upstairs and literally came charging in from seemingly nowhere, so she was pretty rattled. (Okay, utterly terrified and screeching.)

The owners felt really bad, so after a bit the lady came over to Emma with a sleeping kitty in her arms. “That better be fake,” I said. It was, and thankfully the BATTERIES to make it purr were worn out as well.

It’s okay there too, because Emma brightened right up and has lugged that thing around ever since. Not sure I’m going to visit them again soon, not because of the dogs, but I’m cautious of what else they might give her to lug home.

On the candy front: we had only purchased one box of small chocolate bars to give out because we knew we would not see a lot of kids. The key to not having a load of candy is not going to a lot of houses. See above where we visited eight places; each one gave out LOTS. Emma still came home with a cloth grocery bag more than half full. A few cans of pop, tons of bags of chips, loads of chocolate and four apples - she has plenty.

YES. We accepted APPLES from people we KNEW.

Anyway.

Today I had to run around a bit so I took Sarah to buy markdown candy for her own stash. Which she proceeded to graph results for after she unpacked them at home. (and took pictures)

At one grocery store, there were some young guys from Jamaica in front of us joking around and flirting with the clerks. A guy they knew was behind us that they were talking to over our heads, and eventually one of the guys said “Feel da rhythm!”

I muttered, “If dancing breaks out, I’m a-taking pictures.” They laughed.

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I still remember the small weight of carrying him on my hip, the jingle of the bell on his little baby shoes. I remember his first Halloween costume, the one I made for him. He was a clown. I still remember, loudly, how he would run everywhere - would he ever just *walk*? - and the time he ran right into the wall. I remember when he could sit on my knee and I had to bend over to hug him.

Now, I have to look up - waaaay up - and he’s fully grown. I’m kind of astounded.

Happy Birth-o-ween Addison.

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I took Emma to the movie theater this afternoon, as a treat because it’s expensive and something we just rarely do. Especially considering we’ll be getting the DVD even if we hadn’t seen the movie. In our house, a Pixar movie means an automatic purchase. Emma, and indeed the rest of the family, is a huge fan.

So, we went to see Wall-E.

And here’s where I’d love to tell you what a moving, wonderful story it is, but … I have no words. The words I just typed don’t even begin to describe it. A magnificent film that should receive every award in existence would not even begin to cover it.

Within the first minute, my eyes filled with tears. Ten minutes in I was just trying not to sob. I’m sure any feeling adult in the room was the same. And in the ending scenes it was the same. A roller coaster, swept along in the imaginative storyline, the world - indeed what could very well be *our* world - Pixar has not only done it again, they have blown their previous works out of the water. The competition should be quaking in their boots as anything else is just a cartoon.

The technical details of the animation of a garbage-ridden planet will leave you breathless in its horrific degradation. And this isn’t a film where the pure beauty of a class of professionals pushing themselves to the limit and breaking boundaries is such a joy and awe-inspiring moment. No, it’s the combination that you rarely see; one of fine craftsmanship in both the view and the storyline.

I can barely even express the storyline - the depth of feelings intertwined with what is shown on the screen, the sparse dialog that leaves you welling tears and laughing in the next moment.

And while the irony of it was not lost on me - leaving the theater and seeing the garbage on the floor, overflowing the two meager bins, being assaulted by Wall-E merchandise cropping up in stores now at limited quantities and low prices - there’s still the spirit of Pixar embedded in the file, thumbing its noise and wagging a finger even as it receives funding from its own corporate overlords.

Somehow, we don’t mind, for the creative talents they employ and the stories they have to tell need to be told, need to be unleased in almost any way possible. As long as we don’t fully succumb to the lure of consumerism.

Which, I think, was their ultimate point.

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Me: “I wonder what else we can have with supper.”

Meaghan: “What are we having so far?”

Me, distractedly rummaging though fridge; “Pork things.”

Smart-mouth; “How about potato things?”

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Especially with Emma. We were at the grocery store last night and she was chatting up the clerk, like she always does. And then I hear her ask,

“Do you know what powers solar sails?”

I’m standing there trying to make sure the clerk doesn’t put meat on top of the bread and simultaneously trying to figure out where Emma heard about this. I’m also playfully guessing the answer.

“Solar wind?” I’m thinking that’s obvious, right?

“Nope!” Emma grins at me.

The clerk and I go back and forth, and eventually I have to remind her there’s no gravity in space. Emma finally ends our suffering by grinning hugely, opening her arms wide and declaring, “PHOTONS!”

“Photons?” I ask, “Seriously?”

I look at the clerk. She shrugs. “Hey, I’ve never even heard of the word before.”

“Oh, I have,” I assured the clerk, “I’m just wondering where SHE did.”

Today, we were over at the post office and I asked Emma if she thought our post mistress might know the answer. We went through the same stream of questions. At the end, Wanda looks at Emma and says, “How old are you again?”

And shakes her head.

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