I *Love* Being Fancy
Today's blog is SO not going to be one of those blogs.
Have you guys heard of Fancy Nancy?
Fancy Nancy is the precocious, over-accessorized heroine of a whole legion of books that my daughter has become completely devoted to (and somewhat obsessed with). I have to admit, I've jumped on the F.N. bandwagon myself. The writing is funny and clever and the illustrations are full of movement and detail and, well, they're just doggone cute.
Patoot has grown so fond of F.N. that she has the first book almost completely memorized. This is awesome for two big reasons:
1. Memorizing books is one of the first big steps towards reading!
2. Patoot's dramatic readings are beyond adorable. When she reads the poignant lines: "I don't feel fancy anymore. I want to go home." It KILLS me. Every time.
Miss Fancy is also wildly creative AND uses big words ("Then I get an idea that is stupendous! That's a fancy word for 'great.'"). Oh, and she also wants to learn French, because "everything in French sounds fancy." Really, what's not to love, people?
But today I've come across an odd side-effect of our new-found love of Fancy Nancy. Not only does Patoot want to be her...but I think I kind of do, too.
Patoot's very literal in her Nacy-isms: when the Insane Clown Beagle had done something insane the other day and was getting scolded by yours truly, Patoot said to me in all seriousness, "Why don't we get a NEW dog, Mommy? Like Fancy Mancy in da Posh Pooch?" I nearly bit my tongue clean off to keep from laughing at that one, while the Esposo got all offended: "HEY! I LIKE our dog!"
My Nancy-ism was far less obvious. Esposo just bought Patoot "Splendiforous Christmas" for doing a good job of listening at school the other day. So we've obviously rolled it into the regular bedtime rotation. And the illustrations of this book are particularly winsome, because they're not just fancy -- they are Christmastime Fancy! I know I've already told you guys how pumped I am for Christmas this year anyway. Well now...now I'm completely regressing about it. There's this one line near the end: "I tell everyone, you can NEVER have too much tinsel." And I found myself longing for my childhood tree which was always glistening with far more tinsel than was reasonable. My dad and I especially loved piling on the shimmery, slippery stuff. My mom...hated it. And, as a grown-up, I understand why. She was probably still vacuuming up tinsel well into the summer. So as soon as my youngest sister was a bit older, she banned tinsel from our tree. And that was that.
As an adult, I always wanted a "classy" tree. No big, bawdy colored lights allowed, no garish garland, just twinkly white lights, pretty ornaments arranged just so and strands of lovely metallic and "glass" beads perfectly wound around the branches. I was always Very Particular about my tree.
Now I find I'm getting Particular again. But this year, I want the Kid Tree. The wild and crazy, colored light a-blazing tree, laden with a veritable maelstrom of tinsel.
I think the Esposo is going to think I've taken leave of my senses. And he will probably be right. But dang it. How much fun will Patoot have throwing stuff that looks like liquid silver all over the tree? So what if I'll be finding it peeking out from under rugs and tucked between couch cushions for the rest of the year? I think it will be worth it.
Thoughts? Am I insane? Or did those of you with kidlets experience this same kind of nostalgic insanity when said kidlets were old enough to "get" Christmas?
Fa-la-la-la-la, comment away.
