Tea Collection fits all of our criteria.  Their designer children’s clothing is movable, playable and fashionable.  The new Modern Mexico collection is full of prints and graphics inspired by the vibrancy of Mexican culture.   I like it and my daughter likes it as well (sometimes it’s not so easy for us to agree on styles).  I let her pick out a few items online and this is what she chose:

The Amate Aves dress is perfect for school with leggings and Converse, but can also be worn to church with a pair of brown boots.

I like how the Bazaar de Flores Henley is casual, yet pretty.  My daughter wears it here with a pair of cropped jeans, but she could also wear it with a pretty skirt to Sunday brunch.

This green Happy Hoodie is my daughter’s new favorite shirt.   She could wear it alone or layered under a short-sleeved shirt or dress.  I also see her wearing it on the beach during our California trips.

As you can see, she looks adorable, but she’s able to move freely and play.  Most important to me, she looks like a ten year old.  The clothes fit perfectly, true to a size 10, but with some room to grow.   The prices are reasonable for the quality of fabric; I know that these clothes will last throughout the season and beyond.

*Full Disclosure: Tea Collection supplied me with a gift certificate to purchase clothes for the purpose of this review, but all opinions expressed are my own.

© 2011, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

I dont’ know if this is universally true or not because I’m not all up in people’s business to know what their kids are doing after school, but I know that it’s not true of my kids.  I purposely do not put my kids in too many extra-curricular actives because:  A). I don’t like driving them to said activities and B.) I do think they need time to “be bored” and use their imagination.  Of course, this only happens if I restrict access to television and the computer.   But even during the summer months when they are mostly at home, they find things to do both inside and outside to keep themselves occupied.

In his downtime, my son has taught himself how to pay the acoustic guitar and keyboard.  He doesn’t read as much as he used to, but he has taken up reading Harry Potter to his sister, which means that the are spending time together as well.  I like that.

Both of my kids love to play with our puppy when they are at home; he’s like their own living stuffed animal.  When they are bored, they will pull out the Dog Tricks book and try to teach Chili Dawg a new trick.  Last week when we were snowed in, we taught him this trick:

My daughter is an artist and spends most of her free time creating.   She creates elaborate hairdos for her American Girl dolls, she makes friendship bracelets for everyone (even the dog) and draws for hours.  Here’s an art piece that she made from materials in the recycling bin:

One of her favorite made-up games is “Spa.”   Unfortunately for me this spa is more interested in planning and marketing than it is in the actual spa services; my foot rub lasts about 30 seconds. The creation of the spa is the most fun for my daughter: she creates an  elaborate menu of spa treatments, mixes up special lotion, fixes snacks, colors signs and even makes a credit card scanner.   The entire spa creation can take her several hours.   This was one of the ways that she kept herself busy during Snowmageddon 2011 last week.  And she sewed too.  She made pillows for everyone, a toy for Chili Dawg and this cover for my Apple keyboard.  It even has a velcro closure at the top.

See? Bored kids are creative kids!

Visit Mama Kat’s Losin It to write a prompt of your own.

© 2011, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

A heart can get pretty abused that way.

The first time they don’t cry when you leave them with someone else.  The first time they drop your hand and run to catch up with a friend.  The first time they wax poetic about their favorite teacher/babysitter/other special adult with the same rapture that was previously reserved for you.

Your heart breaks, just a little, with each milestone of independence and each snip of the apron strings.  But you shake it off and solider on.  After all, isn’t this your job?  Aren’t you raising them to leave you one day?

At first it happens slowly in early childhood, with enough recovery time to adjust to this new level of parenting.  Get your wig on straight again.  But then during the teen years it’s a full blown assault.  Bam! Bam!  Bam!  There are new adjustments and negotiations that happen at an alarming rate.

At this time, you fully understand the phrase “with my heart in my mouth.”  It’s there so no one can hear you scream.

I’ve been the mother of a teen for a few years now and just like parenting a smaller child, it’s both joyous and heart-wrenching.  Sometimes within the same day.  But I roll with it.  I have learned to take the hugs when I can get them and not take it personal when I don’t.  I have learned to listen when he talks and not take it personal when he doesn’t.   Sometimes he wants to spend time with the family and sometimes he would rather be with friends.  I don’t take it personal.

That’s the key to being the mother of a teen and keeping your heart in tact–don’t take anything personal.

Except this.  This I am taking personal.

How can I not?

I’ve read the books out loud to him since he was 5 years old.  Every. Single. Book.  Even the last books when he was more than old enough to read on his own.

I’ve been to bookstore parties, played trivia games and bingo.

I’ve stood in line–at midnight–with hoards of other fanatics.

I’ve taken him to every movie.

I’ve bought every dvd and watched the movies again.  And again.

I admit, I’ve enjoyed reading the books as much as any kid and I am a fan even without my son, but I love that this was something that we experienced together.  His dad could not follow our long detailed conversations and nor did he try.  This was “our thing”–just us two–for over 10 years.

As I read the last page of the last book I was sad to have that time come to a close.  Yes, I would miss that world, but mostly I would miss sharing that world with my son.

But at least we still had the movie, the last movie, to extend that time together, right?

Wrong.

My son just informed me that he wants to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows with friends.

“But” I said,  my voice sounding small, “that’s our thing.”

Let me say that I think kids should want to spend time with friends.  I encourage it.  It’s healthy and expected but how can he be okay seeing Harry Potter with anyone else but me?

“Sorry,” he said.

He didn’t sound sorry.

He sounded perfectly okay seeing Harry Potter with anyone except me.

Sure, I’ll see the movie.  Alone or with my husband who will keep asking questions because he didn’t read the books and knows nothing about Harry Potter, but will feel sorry for me.   Or maybe with my friend, a Harry Potter fan with children still too small to share her passion.

Either way, it won’t be the same without my son.

I get it; he’s growing, changing and finding his own way in the world.  Trying on who he wants to become.  I fully support that, but sometimes it’s hard to find common ground and I miss how close we used to be.  But at least we had Harry.  Harry and the Wizarding World was always an easy thing between us.

I know that we will be close again one day, when he feels that he’s himself enough to be mine again.  And we’ll find new interests to share.   But we’ll never have Harry again.  That bond is, sadly, prematurely, over.

Can someone please come take this knife–er, Gryffindor sword–out of my heart?

***************

Other posts about me & The Boy that you may like:

A Great Day With The Boy

*Just when I am burnt from blogging, I write from the heart and get an awesome response you, the Funkidivagirl.com community; thanks so much.  Also Blogher liked this post so much that they paid me to syndicate it on their blog!  Read it there and check out other great blog posts too.

© 2010, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

I LOVED Sesame Street as a kid, absolutely LOVED IT.  You know, back then we didn’t have 15,000 channels dedicated to children’s programming; PBS and few local stations were pretty much it.   As a child I felt that all the Sesame Street characters were my friends and I loved watching them sing, dance, joke and experience the same life joys and disappointments that I was experiencing.   It was funny and relevant.  Yes, it was educational and of course I learned as I watched, but as a child that didn’t matter to me; the interaction between the characters and with ME sitting at home resonated the most.

Eventually I grew out of watching Sesame Street and moved on to programming targeted to older children like Zoom and The Electric Company (until Melrose Place took the place of all that), but when I had children of my own, I was happy to see Sesame Street still on the air and even better than ever.   Watching it with my kids was like coming home to old friends; they were all still there–Ernie, Bert, Oscar, Big Bird, Grover, Cookie (except Mr. Hooper, God rest his soul)–but there were new characters as well.  That was cool; I welcomed Elmo and Zoe into my home with open arms (even though Elmo’s laugh is only tolerable but for so long.  This long: *squinching my fingers together about 1/8 of an inch*).

Sesame Street has always been a parental ally by teaching both social and academic skills on the show, but as an adult I noticed something about Sesame Street that I took for granted as a child: that there were people of color on there.   Human people like Gordon, Susan, David, Maria and Luis and also muppet “people” like Roosevelt Franklin (♫ Elementary School ♫….remember that little ditty?) were on the show from the very beginning.   I didn’t think much of it as a child because I lived in Chicago and my real world was diverse like that; in my child’s mind, everyone else’s world was just like mine.

As a parent I lament the lack of diversity in children’s programming (how come Hannah Montana doesn’t know any black people?  I know, I know; it’s Malibu.  But if she can pretend to be someone else just by changing her hair, then they can get some black people in Malibu), but Sesame Street has always made the show to represent ALL children.

And the show is still evolving; always willing to learn, expand and grow.  One of the most recent songs on Sesame Street has taken the show and social media world by storm; I Love My Hair was created by head writer Joe Mazzarino in response to his adopted Ethiopian s daughter’s comments about (not loving) her own hair.  If you haven’t seen it yet, check it out:

I count at least 12 different hairstyles that the little brown muppet girl is wearing in the video; a little brown human girl watching has got to identify with at least one of those hairstyles.  I think it’s wonderful that Sesame Street realizes the importance of affirming the unique beauty of ALL little girls.

Thank you Sesame Street for all that you were to me as a child and all that you continue to be for children everywhere.

P.S. It is one of my life’s dreams to be on Sesame Street.  If you know someone who can make that happen, please tell them about me. Just thought I will put it out there, because you never know; your cousin’s hairdresser’s aunt could be a producer on the show. Can’t you see me chilling on the neighborhood stoop?

Visit Mama Kat’s Losin It to write a prompt of your own.

********************

Other posts you may like about Sesame Street:

Kickin’ It Od School: Sesame Street Classics and Richard Pryor

Who Would Be My Roommate On Sesame Street

© 2010, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

*Today I am participating in Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop by answering the prompt: 3.) The most unbelievable blue eyes you’ve ever seen…

This is an adaptation of a blog first posted on September 29, 2008.

This is a photo of my daughter; I think she is about 5 months old in this photo.  She had some cheeks, huh?  You know I just ate on them all day long.

As you can see, her eyes were blue–really, really blue (forgive my clumsy red-eye reduction attempt).  Two days after she was born–when she decided to open her eyes–the first thing we said was “Her eyes are blue!”  It was a shock to us as it was to everyone else.  And boy have we heard it through the years!  Her eyes turned green at about a year old and there they have stayed, but we still get the same reaction, even today.  People look at her and comment on her eyes; then they look at me, with my brown eyes.  If I am without my husband, sometimes they don’t say anything because it is possible that her father is the green-eyed parent.  But if we are all together, they look at her, look at me, look at my husband (with his brown eyes), look back at her, and always ask the same question: “So where did she get her eyes?”   Like we bought them at the store on sale somewhere.   The answer that I give, that her grandmother has green eyes, is met with skepticism.  People: I have videotape to prove that I am the one who brought her into the world in my living room on a sunny fall day.  I don’t think anyone wants me to pull that out!

Genes are funny things.  My husband’s mother was born with blue eyes that turned green, just like my daughter’s.  Both of her two boys have brown eyes and all of her siblings have brown eyes.  The green-eyed gene was waiting to make an appearance once again with the birth of her second grandchild.

Folks mean well, I know, with their comments.  But it makes my daughter feel self-conscious that people question her place in our family because she stands out among our trio of brown eyes.  It doesn’t help that my son looks just like me.

Here she is now, at age 8.

My hope is that as she grows, she will not listen to what people say about her eyes or hair or skin, or that she doesn’t resemble anyone in particular in the family.  Instead, she’s got a little bit of everyone in her beautiful face.  She long as she realizes that she is deeply loved in this fabric of a rich, complex heritage, that is all that matters.

I wrote more about my Green-Eyed Brown Girl on One Brown Girl.com.

Visit Mama Kat’s Losin It to write a prompt of your own.

© 2010, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

I call myself a pseudo-hippie and even though it was a latent tendency that was sure to erupt at any time despite my Midwestern upbringing, the hippiness emerged when I became pregnant with my first child. I started eating organic food and while reading everything that I could about childbirth and raising a child, I was drawn to “Attachment Parenting”. Childbirth with minimum intervention, co-sleeping, baby-wearing and breastfeeding all made sense to me.

I had a drama-free birth (if you can call being in the worst pain of my life drama-free) and my son took to breastfeeding right away. So while breastfeeding was not difficult for me, it was still awkward and new. I was certainly not adept at breastfeeding in public yet. That would come with time…I would become a breastfeeding pro who could be deep in conversation, discreetly whip out a boob, feed my kid and not miss a beat–while talking to my pastor, no less. But not yet.

Nevertheless, a few weeks after giving birth I found myself accompanying my husband to Will Smith’s house. My husband’s friend DJ Jazzy Jeff was there and invited him to a Playstation gaming tournament. My husband was a big gamer and wanted to go, but didn’t want to leave his wife and new son at home. So he brought us along.

I can hear you gasping now: “She went to Will Smith’s house a few weeks after giving birth? Sleep-deprived, still carrying baby weight and boobs so milk-sensitive that she could leak all over his (presumably) expensive sofa?” Yeah, those were my thoughts too.

But there I was, nestled on a big sofa with Will’s friends–all guys–holding my newborn son. After the initial hellos, pounds and whatssups, everyone forgot about me and the baby as they got deep into the Playstation tournament. And that was fine with me because now my baby was hungry and I had to figure out how to breastfeed him without calling attention to myself. Asking Will–who I really didn’t know–for a private room would be calling attention to myself. Moving off the sofa would be calling attention to myself. Trying to send brainwaves to my husband wasn’t working; he was in gamer-guy heaven and oblivious to my dilemma.

I had no choice; my son was starting to fuss. I put a blanket over my shoulder (I had never done that before; at home I nursed with my shirt open), unbuttoned my shirt and thankfully my son latched on immediately and silently.

Duane Martin, sitting next to me, noticed the silence and the blanket. “Wow, he stopped crying because you put a blanket over his head?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “He’s stopped crying because he was hungry and I now I am feeding him.”

He looked confused for a minute and then I could see the lightbulb go off. “Oh!”

And that was that. The baby was fed, it wasn’t a big deal and none was the wiser except for Duane Martin (who went right back to gaming).

I learned that if I could do it there, with a newborn baby, the only woman in Will Smith’s house during a Playstation gaming tournament, I could breastfeed anywhere. And for the next several years, that’s just what I did.

© 2010, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

It’s working.

So far.  Check back with me in a few weeks.

© 2010, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

Monday

My agenda: Work on project.

What happened: Girly wakes up vomiting and continues all day.

The result: No work gets done, but I am there to comfort my daughter when she needs me.

Tuesday

My agenda: Make up for a lost day and work on project even harder.

What happened: Girly is still too sick for school, but well enough to talk all day.

The result: No work gets done, but I’m glad that I helped her to feel better.

Wednesday

My agenda: Take a well Girly to school, puppy to daycare and really lock down to work on project.  It’s midweek and I can still get in 3 good days of work if I really concentrate.

What happened:

9 hours in the ER.

The result: No work gets done.  For 9 hours I was cold, uncomfortable, hungry, tired and worried.  But I was blessed to be there.  Blessed to hold her hand, distract her from the needles, watch old Full House re-runs, help her pee in a cup and smooth her hair while she falls asleep.

There is no doubt about it; being her mother is number one on my agenda always.

(She’s fine now.)

© 2010, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

As a mom, of course there are several instances over the years when my kids have been in physical danger because, well, kids tend to live on the edge without regard to bodily harm.  I’m a pretty calm person anyway and as a parent I am the calm one while my husband is the “you’re going to put your eye out with that thing” parent.  He’s the one freaking out when they climb to the top of the jungle gym at the playground while I carefully spot from below without comment.    While I let my kids experience more of the (unsafe) world than my husband is apt to do without my unflappable assurance that “they’ll be fine”, he is more cautious about their health in general and is quick to assess when the kids are getting sick.   Both kinds of parenting have their advantage and the kids are lucky to have us to balance each other out.

But still, you never know how you will react in a dangerous situation until one happens (I consider a dangerous situation an emergency).   I experienced two separate situations with my son involving a dangerous dog and both times I was able to act quickly and calmly.

In the first situation, my son was almost attacked by a loose Pit Bull in front of our house in New Jersey.  I know that Pit Bulls as a breed are not a danger, so don’t send me comments saying that I am anti-Pit Bull, but this particular dog happened to be a Pit Bull with a neighborhood reputation for being pretty vicious.   I was standing on my porch talking to a neighbor and my son was on the sidewalk next to the neighbor; he was about 5 years old.  Out of nowhere this dog comes charging across the street–headed straight for my son.   Now the details get a bit fuzzy for me after that, but as my neighbor tells it, I reached over the porch railing, grabbed my son with one hand–”like the hand of God” said my neighbor– and pulled him in the house while shutting the door with the other hand.  This all happened in a matter of seconds in one soundless swoop.   With my son safe inside I grabbed the phone and called the police, because my neighbor was still outside fighting off the dog.   Thankfully he was able to use his briefcase as a shield because the dog was relentlessly jumping and biting; the briefcase was covered with bite marks.    The thought of what that dog could have done to my son, who was the perfect height to have been bitten in the face or easily knocked to the ground, is quite scary.   I guess the split second thought of it was enough for me to spring into action and use resources that I didn’t even know I had.

The other dog incident happened here in Atlanta, about a year or so ago.   My son (much older now, but still afraid of dogs because of the pit bull) and I were walking past a big grassy field where we saw a man playing ball with his off-leash dog, a Boxer.   The dog was running all over the field and not necessarily chasing the ball; just running crazy.   When the dog saw us, he ran towards us at top speed.  At first I wasn’t that concerned because I thought maybe he wanted to play, but as he got closer I could see in his face that wasn’t the case.  Meanwhile the man stayed where he was and called to the dog, who wasn’t listening, but he didn’t move to come get the dog, so we were on our own.   Unfortunately, the path that we were on was long and wide open; there was nowhere for us to go.   As the dog circled us snapping and growling my son was hopping around, but I know that is NOT what you are supposed to do in that situation, so I wrapped my ams around him to make him be still and said to myself  ”there is no way out; one or both of us is going to get bitten.”   I remember thinking this very calmly and steeling myself for the pain sure to come.   Just then the dog spotted another walker on the other side of the field and took off barking and growling at them.  The owner was still in the middle of the field calling to the unresponsive dog.    We took that opportunity to get out of there as fast as we could, still pretty shaken up.

© 2010, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

Have I ever mentioned that both of my children play violin?   No?  Well, they do and I’m impressed because I don’t play an instrument at all.  The violin is not an easy instrument to play, especially for little kids; if they start young, it takes six months just to learn how to hold the bow correctly.

My daughter has been playing about 18 months, since age 6 1/2.   She has come a long way in her lessons, when she used to cry if she didn’t play the piece correctly the first time.   This was her first recital and I was so proud of her; she remembered all of the notes and played with confidence.

My son started playing at age 4, so he’s been playing 10 years.   Here he is at age 5 playing for his kindergarten class on his birthday:

When he was six years old he got an amazing opportunity to play for Joshua Bell.  I think the group played “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”, but they brought the house down.  He carries this photo in his violin case for inspiration.

Besides private lessons like my daughter, he also plays in the school orchestra and a city orchestra here in Atlanta.   This video was taken at the same recital, given by their private teacher.   The piece that he played, “Haydn Concerto in G Major”, was about 7 minutes long, but I edited it down to just a few excerpts.

The kid has skills and that’s not just the mamma in me talking.

© 2010, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

A few weeks ago my husband James had a conversation with one of our neighbors that rubbed him the wrong way.  This was a man that we hadn’t met before even though he lives at the end of our block.  James felt that the man’s behavior during their conversation was erratic and even more cause for alarm was the fact that the neighbor mentioned our son.  Our son walks Chili Dawg the puppy every evening and obviously the neighbor had noticed as well, but according to James, the man was a little too interested in The Boy.    He told our son to stay clear of that neighbor and me too.  I didn’t think much of it until I was walking the dog myself one morning and the neighbor called out to me–thinking that I was The Boy (we do look alike).  I kept walking and later confirmed my husband’s suspicions to our son–stay away from that man.   We couldn’t quite put our finger on it, but there was something “not quite right” about him.

In general my husband is very trusting and open to everyone; he’s one of those people who talks to strangers on the plane and in line at the grocery store.   On the other hand, I am not like that at all; I do not trust easily and I warm up to people slowly.   But when it comes to our kids, James is more guarded than I am and more concerned about their safety.  Most of the time I soften his safety reigns and let the kids do things–even if it means that they might get hurt.   However, when it comes to “creepy neighbors” I trust his instincts.

And he was right.  The other day I arrived home in the afternoon to see 2 police cars and a police van at the end of my street (not a normal occurrence on my quiet street).  Come to find out that the creepy neighbor was taken away in the van; someone called the police because he was outside brandishing a pitch fork and shouting wildly.    What we didn’t know before–but felt in our interactions with him–is that he has psychiatric problems.   And lately he hadn’t been taking his medication and spiraled out of control.  From what I understand he is a nice guy when he’s on his meds, but can quickly turn irrational when he isn’t.   I think we met him on the down swing.

He didn’t hurt anyone; hopefully he’ll get the help that he needs and resume his medication, but I’m so glad that we trusted our instincts.

© 2009 – 2010, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

While I enjoyed being pregnant twice before, there are things that are not so pleasant: the weight gain, nausea, exhaustion and all the other mysterious ailments that bombard a pregnant body.  And let’s not forget the pain of childbirth, an experience really best forgotten or remembered through the hazy, rose-colored lens of time.

Of course once the baby is here there are the sleepless nights, leaky breasts, endless crying (both me and the baby), constant cleaning and the whole 24/7 of it all.  When would I find any time for me? It’s something that I have slowly grown accustomed to.  I like having the space to explore different parts of me; that would be hard to give up.   With a baby, my day would revolve around nap times, which of course the old saying goes, I really should be napping also.  As much as my mind thinks that I am 25 years old, it’s actually not true (are you as surprised as I am?); I would need to nap!

The truth is that I would be a different kind of parent for the 3^rd child because Gymboree groups and floor play are not as fun as they once were.   I relished those days when I did it, but there are only so many games of Candyland that you can play without wanting to bang your head on the table.  What I once found delightful and fulfilling does not seem appealing to me anymore; I can’t even romanticize it.  I like sleeping all night, wearing clothes free from spit-up and being able to take my children anywhere; naptime meltdowns or tantrums are no longer a threat.  I really enjoy the conversation and fun that I have with my children now.   The last few years of traveling have been so light: no strollers, sippy cups, snacks or toys needed.

Do you know what else I’ve discovered, by having a teenager?  Mothering doesn’t get any easier!  The infant/toddler parenting is physically exhausting, yes, but a piece of cake compared to the anxiety and worry that goes into making sure that you are releasing a decent human being into the world in just a few short years.  I think I know too much now.  It’s probably best to have children all at once—knock them out, as people say—before you have too much time to reflect on what an awesome responsibility you have undertaken.

These are sound arguments for being thankful for the 2 wonderful children that I have and not even consider having a 3^rd–and I’m sure that my husband can come up with many others.   Still I can’t deny that I feel regretful.  Now that I see how fast it goes—zoom!—I wish that I would have been more intentional about planning my family.

© 2009, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

My husband and I both take the kids to school on the first day and walk the youngest into the classroom.  And as always I take photos.  I have always done this; it is tradition.  My daughter happily smiled outside of school and inside the class room as well.  She’s an old pro in 2nd grade now, so we didn’t hang out too long, just long enough to get her settled and take a few shots.

Check out her cool new lunchbox from Lunchboxes.com

On the other hand, this is a photo of my son:

For the first time ever, he refused to let me take his photo on the first day of school.   Today is his first day of high school and I was trying to be sensitive by asking to take the photo in the parking lot with no one remotely nearby.   He willingly gave me a hug and kiss, but he was adamant about not being photographed.   My husband tried to hold his lunchbox hostage until he took the photo, but I told him to give up the lunchbox and let the boy go.  It was a bittersweet start of the new school year.  Let the boy go….I think that we will be doing so much more of that now.

As he walked away, I turned around so he wouldn’t see me cry.

© 2009, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

He went on to play an elephant in The Floating Zoo (based on Noah’s Ark), a turtle in James and the Giant Peach, and Chuckie in Toons On The Loose.  He always gave a good performance and had a great time, but really didn’t think of acting again after we moved to Atlanta.

That is, until last year when he played Winthrop Paroo in his school’s jr. high production of The Music Man.    Although I knew that he was talented at many things, I was very pleasantly surprised by his performance of “Gary Indiana” shown here on YouTube.

As you can see, he had a ball; I think that he has been bitten by the acting bug now.  This week he’s in the jr. high musical, Suessical; here he is on YouTube performing “Monkey Around”.  He just got a part in a fall production of The Sound of Music as well.   Musical theater camp and dance lessons this summer will only tighten his game for the high school productions in the near future.

When you see his name in lights one day, remember you saw him here first!

© 2009, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

I couldn’t scan the entire article with all the different burger panelists, so be sure to pick up your copy of Atlanta INtown this weekend and read their reviews about the best burgers in Atlanta.    Or stop by my house….I have a few copies lying around!  :-)

© 2009 – 2011, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

© 2009, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

It’s that wonderful?  

Such an artist, that girl!

© 2009, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

© 2009, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

Do you see the different poses?  They look like they are having conversations, a la Toy Story style. 

I think some of them have dominance issues.  There’s a story there for sure.

© 2009, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

THIS

to THIS

in what seemed like a complete blur?   Time flies when you’re having fun!

*Check out this 12 Second video that we made this morning right here.

© 2009, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.