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Frosting

Frosting is the perfect, sweet mix of butter, sugar, and milk. A white butter cream slopped in gobs on top of a deep chocolate cupcake is enough to send any toddler screaming with delight, and her mother too for that matter.

The process of creating frosting is pure fun.

On one particular day, my little one became the frosting.

She unwrapped the butter quarters, plopped them into the mixer, and watched as the wire whip cut and creamed the hard butter into yellow fluff. She helped measure the sugar?well, she poured it into a measuring cup and purposefully made it overflow onto the counter. He eyes increased in size as she stuck her finger deep in the middle.

?Yum.? Can I do that again, Mommy? She grinned.

?We need to make sure we have enough for the frosting,? I said.

?Oh, okay.? She momentarily understood. Though, the overflowing sugar part of the process was especially wonderful, the final product would be ecstasy?if she could wait that long.

The butter, sugar, dash of vanilla, and milk spun in a dizzy dance. She leaned over the mixer and reported several times, ?I think it?s done.?

Each time I checked, her level of anticipation increased; she leaned into the mixer more, her knees dug into the counter, and her feet tapped the stool.

At last, the creamy treat was ready.

?MOMMY, MOMMY, MOMMY!? She was frenetic. Heaven was within her grasp?inside a shiny, aluminum bowl. ?Can I please lick the bowl??

?Of course!? While I spread the frosting on top of the warm cupcakes, she sat on the stool with the bowl between her legs. Frosting covered her hair, her cheeks, her shirt, both legs, and some became toenail polish.

She officially became my cupcake.

To save this event for posterity I created the Simply Chickie t-shirt design?I am the frosting.

She is the frosting on my life.

Naked Barbie!

I found a naked Barbie underneath the kitchen table.

Barbie has become my daughter?s companion; she loves to dress her, undress her, comb her hair, take baths with her, and drive in a pretend blue convertible around the living room floor on her way to the ? beach.? What is her attraction to that doll? The long legs that twist in every direction? The perfectly painted red lips? The shiny long hair? Perfectly pointed breasts? Polished toes?

I didn?t want that doll in my house, and made that fact known. Somehow Barbie crept in though?she always seems to find a way into little girls? homes. My little one practices on and with her?practices putting tight clothes on, practices brushing the hair, and practices dives into the deep part of the bath near the drain.

Do I tell her now that she shouldn?t look to emulate Barbie?she can never live up to the ideal?that idolizing her can lead to eating disorders?that no amount of micro-dermabrasion can create skin like hers?

Just when I get myself into a froth over this subject?I find naked Barbie carelessly thrown? under the kitchen table?her hair cut off on one side?her designer clothes lost in a crayon pile?dried playdough on her hands?and a thick red marker scribble across her stomach.

I take a deep breath?calm down?Barbie really is a little bit like all of us.

She has bad days too.

Written by Gwen Gardner

www.LittleChickieWear.com