Princess Lolly

I have a favorite princess. It is not Belle, or Aurora, or Cinderella, or even Rapunzel. It is Princess Lolly. From Candy Land.

Over the years, Princess Lolly has appeared on the Candy Land board in a variety of iterations, from preteen to thirty-something, innocent to frankly a little slutty.* But in our household, there is only one word necessary to describe her: Messy.

A few months back, our dear then-two-year-old, Coriel, was going through a phase. The “tell me a story please, and if you pause in your story to draw breath I’m just going to ask you again” phase. I don’t remember exactly when during this phase the stories of Princess Lolly first took shape. Perhaps it was simply that after telling Sleeping Beauty ad nauseum, I was ready for something different. Perhaps it was the inevitable lure of places like Molasses Swamp, Ice Cream Sea, and Gumdrop Pass. However it began, Princess Lolly has become part of the Stay family canon.

Princess Lolly has been on many adventures. She has visited all of her friends through Candy Land innumerable times. She has tried, unsuccessfully, to make peanut butter and gumdrops. She has learned the secret of Plumpy’s special plum pudding (and fallen into a batch of it). She has painted scenery for the school play using ice cream. She has gotten so sticky that she is unrecognizable even to her mother, a very loving and patient Queen Frostine.

One of my favorite adventures was when she met Princess Coriel.** She showed Princess Coriel all around Candy Land, and by the end of the day Princess Coriel was every bit as sticky and messy as Princess Lolly. And she went home happy.

Sometimes Princess Lolly crosses over into other storylines. There was the time that she stubbed her toe on a Lifesaver, for example. Covered in candy goo, hopping around, and groaning in pain, she was mistaken for a monster. The men in black (who just happened to be walking past at the time) took her to the secret government facility for monsters, where she met Susan, Dr. Cockroach, and even Escargantuan.***

After the harrowing experience of taking three baths (in water! with soap!), she was finally able to convince them that she was not a monster after all, but just a little girl. So they sent her home very clean and with a band-aid on her toe. So dismayed at her appearance, and unrecognizable to her mother (who apparently has difficulty recognizing Lolly when she is either too clean or too messy; she has no problem with just fairly messy), she promptly dove into the Molasses Swamp and soon felt much better.

I love the stories of Princess Lolly. She can always be counted on for a little bit of stickiness. But you want to know one of my favorite Princess Lolly moments?

“Mommy, tell me a story,” said Coriel.

So for the second time ever, I told her the story of when Princess Lolly met Susan. We had just gotten to the part where they gave her the baths and sent her home.

“With a bbmphd, Mommy.”

“What?”

“With a bbmphd, Mommy.”

I still didn’t get it.

“They gave her a bbmphd. For the ouchy. On her toe.” She looked up at me, expecting me to get it.

“Oh! You’re right. I forgot, they gave her a band-aid for her ouchy. Thanks for remembering.”

My darling Coriel, who had only heard the story once before, already knew exactly how it was supposed to go, and she wanted to make sure I got it right. What joy to have such an amazing person to take care of, to tell stories to.

Coriel still requests stories, though not with the same urgency she used to show, and we still tell them to her, though sometimes I think our creativity is dwindling. She is getting older, and I am saddened to think of the day when she may not want to snuggle on the couch and get a story. Fortunately that day is still far away.

And who knows? Maybe someday her children will want to hear about Princess Lolly too.

*Wanna see pictures of all the versions of Candy Land? Here you go: http://www.hasbro.com/games/en_US/discover/candyland_history.cfm
**Incidentally, I suppose that Princess Lolly is really only my third favorite princess. My first two are Princess Coriel and Princess Addra.
***From the movie Monsters vs. Aliens

On the rather ponderous topic of my daughter’s tummy

I have heard mothers speak of their babies’ beautiful toes, their sweet fingers, their soft, fuzzy heads, their button noses. I have seen pictures of baby feet up close, in sharp focus and with everything else out of focus so that it seems that these feet are the center of the universe. Gazing into a baby’s eyes is considered one of the great experiences this life has to offer. And I do love all of these things. I love my baby’s toes and eyes and gorgeous eyelashes and sweet nose,* her little rosebud mouth, her chubby legs. She is truly a marvel.

But to me, the sweetest skin and one of the things that most exhibits the awe-inspiring growth and change of a baby is my daughter’s belly. What an amazing thing!

Concerning its size: it is immense. Translated into adult proportions, she would need a major workout regimen. It grows bigger and bigger as I give her my milk.

Concerning its shape: it is incredible. When she is lying down, relaxed and at play, it flattens out and flattens itself into a giant plate. When she tenses it, it is as if she has swallowed a small bowling ball. It shifts from shape to shape moment by moment, proving her body’s ability to adapt to its needs.

In the middle of this beautiful stomach is her belly button, all that remains of the intimate tie that used to bring her life from my body. It is a reminder that she is truly mine, flesh of my flesh. I admire how it has healed and accepted the fact that it is no longer needed but still present.

But the most wonderful thing about her tummy, the thing that makes me want to never cover it with a t-shirt, is the softness of her skin. This is the skin I want to pet and rub and just stare at all day long. It is beautiful in a way my stomach’s skin will never be again (particularly after two children!). It is beautiful in a way it is almost impossible to imagine my skin ever was. It is perfect, flawless, sweet.

*A little copyediting treat: After two read-throughs of this entry, I had still failed to catch the fact that I had written “noses.” Plural. That’s quite the image.

Pansies for Mother's Day

I have a confession to make. It’s deep and it’s dark and it’s a terrible thing to admit.

Here it is: I don’t particularly want a pansy for Mothers’ Day.

I understand that the holiday is all about honoring the beauty of women and their power to create beautiful things (e.g., children). I recognize that the flower is a symbol of those beautiful things that we create, that we nurture them, that we are like sunshine beaming down upon the tender blooms, providing nourishment and light.

But honestly, what I see when they pass out these flowers in church is something else that I am going to have to water and take care of. And when I forget to water it and it dies, I’m going to feel guilty. And I’m going to think to myself, “I can’t even keep one little flower alive. Pathetic.”

There is a growing trend in many wards these days to honor men on Fathers’ Day the way that we have been honoring women on Mothers’ Day for a long time. I think this is a wonderful thing. Some of the men in my life are amazing and have been incredible influences, my husband most of all. I am thrilled that they get the chance to be honored as well.

My only complaint is this: they get chocolate. Or cookies. Or Rice Krispie treats shaped as hearts. Something delicious they can eat, feel happy about, and move on afterward. It’s a one-shot deal, and they don’t have to water their cookies. They aren’t given cookie dough. They get the finished product.

So I admit that what I really want them to hand out in church for Mothers’ Day is food. Preferably of the chocolate variety, but I would not be opposed to Skittles, sugar cookies (though, please, not those terrible ones with all the frosting), even a little bag of Doritos or animal crackers.

Having said all this, I am already aware that what I will be getting is pansies. Pansies and a quote about how wonderful women are. This quote may even include my personal most dreaded phrases: “mothering instinct,” “nurturing nature,” and any combination of the above (dreaded largely because these items are things I entirely lack). I will feel even more inadequate than I do on a daily basis because, hey, I’m supposed to be good at this mom thing.

But I also understand the sentiment behind the gift. Mothers are great, they are important, and they deserve to be honored. It’s true that we have an incredible job, one that involves creating beautiful things (my daughters are the most beautiful things I have ever seen, and many months of pregnancy pretty much convinced me that I did most of that creating). In our best moments, we really can be rays of sunshine in the lives of our children and husbands.

So I will smile and appreciate the gift because it was given with love. I will try not to kill off my pansy too quickly, and actually this year I will probably manage to keep it alive since we have a whole garden full of pansies that seem to still be thriving. So the gift will not come with the guilt of being a plant-killer.

But deep inside, I will long for chocolate.*

*Fortunately, my fantastic husband is aware of this, and he is an excellent provider.