B

How does a girly girl who loves purples and pinks and everything glittery choose Star Wars as her favorite toy, book, movie, and game to play? Somewhere in between Snow White and Princess Jasmine, B found her most favorite princess of them all...Princess Leia. Always the entertainer, she makes the world a brighter place with her laughter and booty shakes. B has a love of silly dancing. She has mastered such moves as "the sprinkler" and "the Whammy" and has created a few moves of her own. Perhaps what stands out most for my youngest daughter is her enormous heart. Things have never been financially easy for our family. Our children have learned to appreciate the things that they have, choose not to whine about what they don't, and know that there are plenty of others have far less. A few years ago, B was sitting in the kitchen with me while I made up the week's grocery list. We talked about her upcoming birthday and what type of cake she'd like to have. At no time did I state anything about her birthday party, who we'd invite, or anything of the sort. I mentioned the cake. That was it. B put her little arm around my shoulders and said, "Mom, I don't care what we do for my birthday as long as we're all together." Dear Lord, Thank you for the most amazing little girls. I am truly blessed!

Such a Funny Gal

Born with darling dimples that frame her impish face, M has the most contagious belly laugh that resonates deep within one's soul. With that laughter comes an adult-size sense of humor which sometimes causes her parents a bit of grief when she is misunderstood by her same-age peers.

Sitting with good friends last night while we awaited the start of our oldest daughter's first choir concert, M was visibly upset that her younger sister had found a friend to sit beside. A family friend noticed her disappointment and immediately made an attempt to strike up a conversation with M. "M, would you like to come by me? We can talk about school...and boys...and giggle!" M wasn't buying into it. I then attempted to prompt her slightly by offering, "M, tell Robin who the Grand Marshall in the parade is going to be." M took the bait, "Grandpa George!" Robin was quick to tell her how exciting that must be and asked her if she and her sister would be riding alongside. M explained that she wasn't sure yet, as parade details were still in development. When Robin asked if M had been practicing her "parade wave", M didn't miss a beat. With a twinkle in her eyes and a showcase of those lovely dimples she simply stated, "I been practicing my whoooole life!"

363 Days

It is official. Less than one year to go, and I will be forced to admit that I am the mother of a teenager. Yikes!

Where did the time go? Only yesterday, she was a squished up little bundle that did nothing but poop and hiccup. She easily became a "nookie" girl and didn't go anywhere without her Pooh pacifiers and her white fleece Pooh blanket. When she was a toddler, she would use her "cute face" to get what she wanted. Grandpa fell for it every time. She loved to watch Beauty and the Beast at 18 months old...start to finish, only getting up to refill her bowl of cheeseballs.

The wrinkles are gone from her fingers, her round belly now slender. That "nookie" has been easily replaced by an iPod, although she still drags around a blanket made especially for her by her favorite Big Sara. She still uses that cute face, and Grandpa still gives in to her every whim. The Disney movies have been tossed aside in exchange for iCarly and Hannah Montana, although those, too, seem to be losing her interest.

Twelve years later, my big girl still loves to snuggle, has never waivered from her favorite color blue, and will remain a Daddy's Girl through and through. She carefully walks the line of tweenager, choosing to "play" with her younger sisters while choosing to "hang out" with friends her own age. Her father and I are sometimes "uncool", but we're okay with that. We know in the end, she has her priorities straight...for now...and feel blessed to have such an amazing daughter.

Good-bye, Halloween

What has happened to the Halloween that I remember? As a kid, this was the one of the best holidays...candy, costumes, staying up late on a school night. I remember houses with large candy buckets sitting in the open on the front stoop with a note saying, "Sorry we couldn't be here. Take one and leave some for your friends." And that's just what we did. I remember creative costumes, huge costumes (like the Karate Kid in the shower curtain), scary without begin gory costumes. I remember fun parties at school that always included a fun "haunted house" put on by the student council or 4-H or some other club.

The past costumes donned by my own children have been fairly creative, slightly crafty, and all-around fun. But the schools now say no to make-up and hair color and no to props that might possibly be used as a weapon (including wands). That takes some of the fun out of it, but fine. Try to purchase a ready-made costume at the local retail store and parents choices are limited to goth princess, goth vampira, goth cheerleader...Dora, a few movie characters, or Hannah Montana (all of which are simply a thin one-piece outfit devoid of any props or true character)...And all at a cost of over $30.00. What?

After numerous discussions and debating over what the girls would like to be and what I feel is appropriate and economical, they came up with three final thoughts. #1 Secret agents (black pants, trench coats, ear pieces and brief cases), #2 Monkey Ninjas (black turtle-neck and pants, black ski mask and knit gloves with tips cut off, and monkey ears and tail, and #3 Velma and Daphne of Scooby Doo.

I opted for #3. We took a trip to Goodwill where we easily found a purple dress for Daphne, orange turtle neck and brown skirt for Velma. The rest we gathered from around the house. Fully dressed and side-by-side, the girls' characters were unmistakable!

However, the excitement was short-lived as we received a memo from the school stating that the "student council" voted to have a Harvest Party in lieu of a Halloween and that the students would be dressing for miss-match day in lieu of costumes. I must admit, I have my doubts as to whether the idea was generated by the student body or an adult influence. Seriously, what 9 year old is going to say, "Hey, guys, wouldn't it be great if we didn't wear our costumes to school and instead just wore all miss=matched clothes. That way, everyone can participate...like the kids that don't celebrate holidays." Right.

We live in the state of Wisconsin. Trick-or-Treating is often interrupted by rain, sleet, or snow and therefore requires the appropriate outer gear which covers up the majority of most costumes. The in-school party/parade is the only time that the children have to actually see one another in costume. It's a time of oohs and ahhs over Timmy's costume, amazement over the creativity of Sally's costume, and wondering what exactly Mikey is supposed to be. But like the Christmas programs of years passed, Halloween is now removed from our school.

When will summer start?

A friendly waiter at a favorite Mexican restaurant once commented that his family members back home think we mid-westerners are crazy to allow our children to play any sports in such a tundra! With the snow yet to melt completely, the girls began soccer and softball practices this spring donning heavy sweatshirts, stocking caps, and mittens. They were eager to see old friends, learn new skills while perfecting old ones, and to spend a little extra time with their beloved coach...Daddy. Games began in May and the season was in full swing by the time school let out. We managed to squeeze in three weekends of camping into the month of June and one early in July. But our weeknights have been completely occupied with each of the girls' games and practices. It really is amazing to watch their progression as individuals as well as a team. As a parent, I love the friendly banter among parents cheering each other's child on, yelling at the refs for missed calls and the umps for not paying attention, and the gentle camaraderie that develops between teammates. As the last weekend of July approaches, soccer has ended and we are heading into the final softball tournament of the season. I am looking forward to breathing a bit in August and have put all fall registrations off to the side wondering...when will summer start?

M

The first time I held her, I was honestly taken aback. Her tiny pink hands were curled into tight fists and tucked beneath her perfect chin. Her nose wasn't smooshed or wrinkled like most newborns. It was this adorable little button that I couldn't help but kiss over and over again. The RN suggested that I try to nurse her right away, so I tentatively held her to my breast trying to figure out what exactly the two of us were doing. But M knew what to do, and with a grunt she latched on for dear life. It was amazing. She snorted like a little piglet, sweet and pink and apparently starving! Now, so many years later, I fall in love time and again as I sneek into her bedroom to kiss that sweet little nose. Some day, not so very far away, M will be grown...too old for secret kisses.

Fee Fi Fo Fum...I smell...chocolate?

Some days, asking my children to make their beds AND pick up the floor of their bedrooms is a battle that I simply choose to ignore. While straightening B's bed the other day, I reached for her pillow and threw it onto her sister's bed while I began to strip the covers from her own. There was a slight waft of chocolate in the air. I dismissed it entirely, thinking clearly that this low-carb re-diet of mine was truly getting to my head. As I fluffed and tucked and made less-than-spectacular hospital corners that would have my grandmother clicking her tongue at me, but the job was nearly complete. I reached for the pillow to remove the pillow case when that familiar scent again filled my nostrils. Knowing full well that this is not a scratch 'n sniff Dora pillow case, I lifted the pillow toward my face to investigate. Suddenly my fingers felt a strange crinkling like paper...foil paper. I reached into the pillow case. When I removed my hand, there were several wadded foil papers, the remnants of my secret (or not-so-secret) stash of mini Snickers candy bars!!! MY PMS STASH!!! My boiling point screeched above the thermometer...and then it was gone. I was suddenly dumbfounded by how devious my otherwise innocent daughter had suddenly become. She is the second worst liar of the three, and always breaks under pressure. I never would have expected this from her. And then I began to wonder what else she had hidden and where...I've been missing a few things...

To Each, His Own

M. Sweet, sassy, sensitive M. She is small in size, but gigantic of heart. And her heart is filled with the love of basketball. Her talent is incredulous, given her inexperience and size. But she really is a natural. The only element missing, a good 15 inches in height. And still she's learning how to use her size to her advantage. In soccer, she managed to weasel her way in and out of the clusters and come out on the other side with the ball and a smile. In softball, she manages to make her strike zone nearly non-existent. In basketball, she has found that when you are closer to the ground, it is heck of a lot easier to steal the ball. And then away she goes...Now, if we could work on that fast-break lay-up.

Little Girl, Young Lady

We've been preparing for this for over a year now, since the first subtle physical changes. I've been dreading it's arrival. She has been anxious wondering what the fuss is all about. We played out all of the possible scenarios to reassure her that no matter how, when, or where...she would be just fine. We attendend a workshop at the hospital and recently, the entire 5th grade classroom watched gender-specific videos. And after a year of anticipation, it happened in the comfort of our home while I was starting dinner in the next room. Neither of us panicked. Everything was at hand. And within a few minutes, our worlds went back to normal...somewhat. For the next few hours, I stared at her just a little bit longer. I fingered a loop of her hair. And I allowed my heart to walk down memory lane. My little girl was now a young lady. (sniff)

Then and Now

When I was a little girl, I always thought that if I had enough money, I could change the world...or at least my world. Over the years, I have finally come to the realization that I will never have "enough" money to change my world. All of those material things that I thought I would need when I grew up, no longer have the same meaning. I wanted a sports car, a beaming red Mazda Miata. I drive a dust-covered mini-van, no CD player, broken heater motor/air conditioner. But the sports car that I dreamed of so long ago, could never do for me what this beat-up ol' grocery-getter does on a daily basis. It's the vehicle that I love to hate and hate to love. But it's paid in full, allows each of the girls their own personal space without the "she's touching me", and can load an entire team--ball bags and all. I wanted a huge house with at least 5 bedrooms, 3 baths, swimming pool, and acreage. I can barely keep our 3 bedroom/2 bath clean and can't even imagine how much time it would take to clean a larger home without hired help. What we have now is not immaculate or spotless. It is lived in, worn in some places, but cozy and comfortable and quite well kept in comparison to some. We even hosted a 25-person Christmas gathering this year without any complaints and plenty of room for food, socializing, and gift-opening games. I wanted Prince Charming, 5 beautiful well-behaved boys, and a small dog. I've since decided that a dog is the last thing I desire (pet hair, expenses, smell, and having to worry about another "kid"). God granted me 3 beautiful, amazing, and talented daughters that give me reasons to be proud and grateful daily. And because of those lovely girls, we will surely have plenty of boys around the house in the years to come. As for Prince Charming...well, I did manage to nail that one.

Waterlogged at the Waterpark

This year was the perfect mid-winter break vacation for our family. We stayed at the amazing Wilderness Hotel and Resort via Glacier Canyon Lodge (which we whole-heartedly recommend to anyone with school-age children or teenagers who don't mind the short enclosed walkways to each indoor park) and spent three days at each of the waterparks. Our small fry, M, managed to squeak past the How Tall are You posters by puffing out her chest and standing extra "tall", raising her chin just a tad...and she made full use of each and every ride! We each took turns on the body slides, tube slides, and family raft rides. The favorite pool was the huge Wave Pool at the Waterdome. The girls also loved The Hurricane waterslide at the Klondike and had ridden it a few times with their dad before finally convincing me that it was my turn. As I climbed the massive stair case to the ceiling, the girls elbowed each other secretly and covered their mouths to stifle their giggles. We pulled over to the side of the staircase a few times to allow my jello legs a quick rest. I knew that I was in for it, but little did I know what was truly about to happen to my poor unsuspecting body. When we finally reached the top, we were directed to a large scale. As if getting into a bathing suit mid-winter isn't bad enough...they now expected me to get weighed? The four of us took our place on the scale and the lifeguard read the results. I held my breath for a brief moment before she gave us the anxiously anticipated thumbs-up. I looked at the four large men behind me and wondered how they would fare... Before I could turn to see them load the scale, the lifeguard was directing me into the tube. The girls were now laughing as she pointed at the back of the raft, indicating that I would be riding backwards. My heart stopped, my knees shook, and the only thought I recall is that of my loving husband who had seemingly turned his back to me to arrange the towels over the chairs while the girls begged me to go on this God-forsaken ride. I entered the raft and took my place. The lifeguard asked if we were ready. The girls answered immediately, but before I could eek out my reply we were on our way into the dark tunnel. The girls screamed with laughter when we suddenly plunged straight down! This was clearly the path to Hell. The water propelled us forward into a large tube which we skidded up one side and down the next several times, each pass feeling as though we would surely capsize. A stream of water in the center of the tube slowed our movement and continued to move us forward until we were pulled into a smaller tube and doused with a heavy waterfall. I'm not sure how the girls could sputter water while still laughing! I was still trying to catch my breath when a lifeguard grabbed our raft and shoved us toward dry land. The girls hopped out and headed toward the bottom of the staircase again, not bothering to check to see if I was still alive. I rolled out of the raft like a stunned sea lion and plopped not-so-gracefully into the pool, trying desperately to gain my footing. As I crawled up the pool steps, I caught my sweet husband's laughing eyes. Yes, revenge, will be sweet indeed.

The Bucket

I was an adventurous young mother. I had always loved family camping as a kid and decided to join my two aunts and cousin on an all girls camping weekend with the company of my three angels. Although the campground was less than two hours away, summer road construction sent me on an hour long detour, putting our in-car travel time at 3.25 hours. The girls were hungry and tired, and I was quickly losing patience with the Disney sing-a-long CD they'd chosen to listen to over an hour ago. By the time we snaked our way to the BFE of the campground, I realized we were no where near a bathroom and little B was doing the dance of a lifetime. My quick-thinking aunt handed me an ice cream pail that they'd been given by the office (just in case nature called in the middle of the night). I grabbed the bucket and a tissue and handed it to O asking her to please take her sister behind the shrubs to tinkle while I unloaded the camping gear. She grudgingly obliged. A short while later, she returned with the bucket in tow asking me, "What now?" With my hands full and desperate to get the massive tent up before dark, I gritted my teeth and growled, "Just dump it out, please." She did. She returned again to explain that she couldn't "get it all out". The hair on the back of my neck stood tall. "Get WHAT out?" I asked. "The poop," she stated matter-of-factly. "WHAT?!!" I shouted. "Where did you dump it?" She pointed to the in-ground fire pit, of course. I was boiling over...and my lovely aunts, who seemed to find this ever so amusing, howled with laughter...until they realized that this was the same fire pit we would soon be cooking dinner over. I ran over to the fire pit to assess the damage. Yes, indeed, there were "logs on the fire". Using a small, and I mean VERY small, forked stick, I managed to roll the poo up the side of the pit and back into the bucket. Then I built a fire in the pit to sterilize and burn off any excess. With my aunts still in tears with laughter, I proceeded to walk away from the camp deep into the woods to bury the contents of the bucket. Still grumbling when I returned to camp, I looked directly into the wide eyes of my little gremlin who simply said, "Mom, M said she has to go potty."

Pep Talks

Last night, I received a phone call from the mother of O's best friend. I knew that our daughters had been experiencing spats over the past month and had actually considered calling her last week. But I wasn't sure how to approach the situation, so I let O simply handle things in her own way. I was happy to hear from (parent) and listened intently as she described the recent conversations (parent) had had with her daughter regarding O and their on again/off again friendship. It seemed that they had taken up other friendships which did not include one another and each was struggling with jealousy and hurt feelings. O had been encouraged to explore these other friendships after having her heart stomped on by whom I refer to as "the Mean Girls". If you've had the chance to see the Lindsey Lohan movie, you'll know exactly what type of girls I'm referring to. The ones who manipulate the social circles to meet their needs, who smile sweetly at you while whispering behind your back, the ones who string you along until they tire of you. I knew girls like that, and I, too, thought that I had to please them in order to be liked by them and be like them. It wasn't until I was heading off to high school that I finally realized that they meant little to me, and that I didn't need to meet their approval. They certainly hadn't met mine. O and I had talked through her relationship with "the Mean Girls", and she agreed that she felt better about herself when she chose to hang around other friends. Therefore, she made a decision to ignore their hurtful behavior, smile, and be the best friend that she could be to those who treated her with respect and kindness. Unfortunately for O, her best friend chose the Mean Girls. O has since struggled with trying to ignore the MGs without ignoring her best friend, but her emotions tend to get the best of her. After I hung up the phone, I knew that approaching O with the information I'd learned wouldn't help the situation, so I called in reinforcements. This morning, O happily informed me that she'd had an enlightening conversation with her Daddy at bedtime and that he helped her to remember to not be pulled in by wanting so badly to be liked by someone (like the MGs) that you say or do hurtful things to others. He reminded her that she is a beautiful and talented young lady who is blessed with many friends, including a very special best friend. O decided that she'd go to school this morning and try to keep an open mind about her friend's choice to hang out with the MGs and not let it get the best of her. Sheesh. And we have Middle School yet to look forward to!

Just Eat It

Early on, my husband and I made an important parenting decision that continues to pay us back tenfold. We did our best to offer our children a wide variety of food experiences. In doing so, they have each developed a broad spectrum of likes with few dislikes. At the age of 7, O discovered she no longer liked cottage cheese. Later, at age 9, she discovered that green beans leave her with an unpleasant feeling in her stomach. Her favorite foods include steak and mushrooms. She won't be one of those salad and water prom dates, so save up, boys. M has always had a love affair with popcorn. However, the relationship came to a sudden halt in the summer of 2009 when we finally attributed a rather horrendous odor continually emitted from our lovely 8 year old to the tasty treat. The combination of popcorn and milk has become lethal. She has learned to limit both and never co-mingle. She prefers vanilla to chocolate and would rather skip the pat of butter on her bread. B has a disturbing love of chocolate that began in infancy when her child care teacher shared a small bowl of M&Ms with her. She soon learned which cupboard held the special candy and would tap on it until one of the two teachers gave her a small bowl. This continued with her daily visits to her favorite teachers until she moved on to kindergarten. The kid can now sniff out a morsel of chocolate in 2.5 seconds. Do keep your fingers out of harms way. B is also a corndog, hotdog, grilled cheese, and hippopotamus loving fiend. (Hippopotamus is actually chicken cordon bleu...that's another story for another time!) Thankfully, the girls learned early on to try a little bit of everything. We've also stressed with them to try things a second time, because our pallets are ever-changing and because not all recipes are equal. At the end of a meal, if their plate hasn't been cleared, we simply ask they eat four more bites of something. This can lead to grumbles, but more often than not, they simply do as they're told. As guinea pigs, my family must endure new recipes often. Some are met with great enthusiasm, while others are picked apart relentlessly. Nevertheless, many of our meals are trial and error. Tonight's dinner was a chicken and penne dish with an easy four cheese sauce, mixed veggies, and sour dough bread. Simple and quick. I was disappointed in the pasta, but everyone ate heartily...well, almost every one. As I watched B pick another piece of chicken out of her pasta, I reminded her to at least try the pasta. She pointed her fork at me and said, "Mom, are you up to something?" Confused, I said, "No, sweetheart, I don't think I'm up to something." She pushed another piece of her penne aside and said, "Well, I think you're up to something." She reached for the bowl of mixed vegetables and heaped another spoonful on her plate. She looked at me thoughtfully and said, "I think you made that stuff (pointing to the pasta) so that I would eat more vegetables." It was all I could do to keep from showering the table with a mouthful of my dinner. I swallowed hard and asked, "Did it work?" She said, "Yup." I didn't even bother with making her eat the usual "four bites" before being excused from the table.

Tell Me More, Mama

"Tell me about when I was a baby, Mama" M lay her head gently on my shoulder and wrapped her little arm around my own. B overheard her older sister's request, and lay her head on my other shoulder, taking my arm, and batting her long, lovely eyelashes at me. Such cheeky girls! How could I resist? I told M the story of how pink she was when she was born, like a sweet little piglet. And how tiny she was. I told her how she ate for three days straight, even making snorting and grunting sounds like the hungry piglet. And that she became a plump, round little thing that I loved to call, "My little sausage" because her chubby little legs looked like sausage links stuffed into knit leggings. I told B how her older sisters stuffed her into a cardboard box and put the over flaps over her. I'm sure they were trying to send her back from wherever she came from. I told M and O the story of the bathtub. I was fat and round with baby M tucked safely in my belly. O and I were taking a mom'n daughter bath, making bubble beards and laughing. She kept saying, "Helloooo, baby" and would get on all fours and put her little eyeball right against my belly button. But she couldn't see her baby...so she'd call out again, "Hellllloooo, baby!" We talked about their first words, foods they loved to eat, and silly things they said and did not so many years ago. They laughed and asked for more...I said, "We'll always have more, won't we?" And as I fell asleep with those thoughts, I thanked God for giving me "more" each day and said, "If it's not too selfish...I'd like more, too."

Respect Your Elders

I have never been embarrassed, nor felt any kind of regret for my children's behavior when it comes to older folks. The girls are simply too loving and compassionate for words! Last night, as our family joined my husbands' parents and his father's family around the table for dinner at a quiet restaurant, we laughed at old stories, ate hearty, and enjoyed one another's company. Sitting across from my husband and O, was Aunt Jean, who suffers now from Alzheimer's Disease. She looked excitedly around the table at the unfamiliar faces and asked of Olivia, "Now who are you, dear?" O answered sweetly, "I'm O." Aunt Jean smiled and told her what a beautiful girl she is and proceeded to ask her if she enjoyed singing. O giggled and nodded her head. Aunt Jean sang a quick verse of 76 Trombones. The table overheard the conversation and all smiled, continuing on with their side-conversations. A moment later, Aunt Jean looked at my husband and said, "I know I should know you, do you know who I am?" He nodded his head and said, "Yes, Aunt Jean, my dad is George...your brother." She looked about the table then. George waved his hand at her. He said, "Jean, yes, your handsome baby brother!" Aunt Jean laughed. Then became teary. O whispered to me, "Mom, is Aunt Jean crying?" I patted her knee under the table and smiled. A moment later, Aunt Jean looked at O and said, "Do you know who I am?" O smiled at her and said, "Yes, you're Aunt Jean." Aunt Jean said, "That's right! You are such a beautiful girl. I hope that we can be friends. Do you like to sing?" She began her verse of 76 Trombones, clapping along. The table took note again, some joining her in song. M and B looked around wondering what was happening. When she finished, Aunt Jean looked at O and asked her what her name was. O answered her again...and later answered her again...and again. The meal was a round of 76 Trombones and O's first name to be repeated over and over. But O never showed sign of wear. And Aunt Jean's daughter, Mary, looked at O with such adoration for her genuine kindness. O already knew of Aunt Jean's progressing disease over the last two years. But she'd had no idea how taxing it could be for someone on a daily basis, and got a heavy dose of it that night. She commented later that night after we'd all parted ways that she didn't know that Aunt Jean would "be like that". Yet, during the dinner, O never let on that she was confused by her aunt's behavior. She simply carried on with the grace of someone who loves so greatly outside of herself. It was truly inspirational.

Big Trouble, Little E

When my phone rang at 1:25 p.m. this afternoon announcing a call from my children's elementary school, my heart sank. I wondered if one of the girls became sick at school (they're only on the second day back from break!) or worse that one of them was hurt. I crossed my fingers for the first versus the latter and answered the call. The voice on the other end was friendly and upbeat, our favorite second grade teacher. She assured me right away that it wasn't "a big deal" and was actually laughing as she began her story. Yesterday afternoon, she returned from lunch to find a small group of children in her classroom. She asked them what they were doing there and questioned why they weren't out at recess with the rest of the school. They collectively replied that they'd "just missed" recess, so they waited in the room since the others were due in any minute. The teacher explained to the children that if that ever happened again, they'd need to wait in the hallway where they could be seen because they were unsupervised in the classroom. Today, following lunch, the teacher noted that four children hadn't returned yet from recess and requested aid to locate them. Another staff person overheard loud noises coming from the girls' bathroom and investigated. There, she found the missing group, including our beloved 7 year old, B. The girls had packed themselves into a single stall and were sitting on a heat register (perhaps to keep their feet from being seen). And they were taking turns listening to their voices echo. They were escorted back to their classroom, half-giggling, half-scared witless. B's teachers said she pretended to be very upset and explained to the girls that hiding in the bathroom was not safe and scared her, and most importantly could have landed each of them in the principal's office. She told them that she'd need to contact their parents to let them know what happened. And since B's teacher is so tender-loving and compassionate, she saw the worry in their eyes and reassured them that it would be okay. She was still laughing as she finished her story and told me that she simply wanted us to know what happened and didn't expect any further incidents. I aplogized profusely, still in shock (B?), and told her that I'd be speaking with B this afternoon. The teacher laughed again and said that she was honestly very surprised at this group because they are "without a doubt the least likely to cause trouble...EVER". I agreed and couldn't wait to hear B's side of the story. Later that afternoon, B was waiting apprehensively on her bed. She looked up with her giant blue eyes pooled with tears as I approached her. I sat on the floor in the bedroom with my back propped up against her dresser. She slowly walked towards me and sat a few inches away, hands wringing her shirt in her lap. Her dad followed me in and plopped himself on the floor beside me. I asked if she had anything to share with me. She began her story, fighting back tears. Her daddy and I listened intently, trying unsuccessfully to appear extremely upset. Finally, after B wrapped up her story about wanting to get away from a friend that was "bugging" them, so she and a friend tried to hide but were followed by two other friends. I asked her if she made a good decision. She smiled shyly and said, "no". I asked her why and she responded quickly, "Cuz, I coulda had to go to the principals' office." And just like that we let her off the hook. Lesson learned (hopefully), point made (hopefully). I am still in slight disbelief, as B isn't often the leader and I'm always hoping she'll take the reins and make her own path. Today, she did.