Sylvie woke me up at 6am this morning, weeping, because I wouldn't let her order a suit of armour and a bow and arrow through the mail. (A bad dream, apparently. Because Of COURSE I would let her order such a thing through the mail.)
Inspired by the four-year-old and her mom who make fancy dresses from paper, I promised Sylvie a couple of weeks ago that we would try it. She called me on it today so off we went to Walmart to buy some supplies. Although we bought some bristol board and a lot of tissue paper, this dress is actually made from just two plastic tablecloths that cost a buck each. (That and a whole lot of stick-on jewels that took a loooong time to put on. Unfortunately, in the photos you can barely see them.) I just tied the tablecloths on her. We might have been better able to mimic Elsa's neckline but I tied the knot in the white tablecloth too tight to then pull it down over her shoulders. Next time I'll do better.
The braid is made from three sheets of white tissue paper and attached to her own hair with an elastic. I wanted to use at least one yellow sheet to go for a more white-blonde look but Sylvie insisted Elsa's hair is WHITE. Although she's taken the dress off now, she's still got the tissue paper braid in.
I like the Elsa attitude here -- we got a lot of dramatic hand gestures, too, while we were taking the photos but most of those are slightly blurry.
We also picked up a copy of the newly released Frozen dvd, which we didn't even realize was out yet. I won't tell you how much we paid for it. Let's just say the dress was a lot cheaper, fancy jewels and all.
On the way home from the library, in the car. Soft music is playing on the radio; sunlight is glinting off the snow. I glance into the rear view mirror and am struck by my daughter’s profile. Her delicate features, placid beauty. She is all pink and white and petal soft, sitting in her car seat in the back as if on a throne, gazing out the window as the scenery drifts by, a quiet, thoughtful look on her face. I pull into the driveway, turn off the car. I look into the rear view mirror again, drinking in her perfection. She catches my eye and says matter-of-factly, “I really think I could kill. You know, if I was a super hero.”
Four-year-old Sylvie "reads" her current fave, Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus! I don't know why the colours are so wonky -- something's wrong with my camera.
Sylvie and I have been reading a lot of fairy tales at bedtime lately -- we're particularly fond of James Marshall's versions of them. Last night we read Cinderella.
Sylvie sensibly pointed out to me that things could've been much simpler. While we were gazing at the picture of the prince trying the shoe on one of the stepsisters, she said, "That's why, when you meet someone, you should always tell them your name right away. And you should find out theirs."
Sylvie has decided to go as Wonder Woman for Halloween this year. I'm delighted by this switch in her allegiance to the Disney princesses. She is now obsessed with superheroes and spends a great deal of time making up new ones. If DC suddenly puts out a comic featuring Bubble Girl, Cookie Girl, or Blood Girl, you'll know they hired Sylvie. Those are just a few memorable ones out of the dozens she's suggested to me over the past few days. Oh, yes, and Princess Girl and Princess Boy, so I guess she hasn't forgotten completely about the princesses.
You think I'm kidding but it's happened before.
Last night, three-year-old Sylvie and her father were having a bit of a disagreement about her dinner. She didn't want what was on offer and was suggesting a list of other items she might deign to eat instead. (I tend to cater to their whims; David thinks they should eat what's been set in front of them.)
David (frustrated): You should've grown up in MY house!
Sylvie (in the same frustrated tone of voice): I AM in your house!