The Princess and the Frog: A Critique

Darby was lucky enough to receive “The Princess and the Frog” from her Gran this last weekend. She was so, so excited and wants to watch it every waking hour. I didn’t really know anything about the movie except that it is Disney’s first black princess and that it supposedly is such a breakthrough movie. Have you seen it?

Well, I beg to differ when it comes to the movie breaking through stereotypes. I thought it was a black princess, but it is not. The main character, Tianna, is a lower-class girl working two jobs (for white people) to try and make a better life for herself. Yeah, what a break through. Then, she tries to buy a building, but is denied because she is black (I think; I wasn’t really paying tons of attention at that point because I was cooking dinner). Then, our black heroine is turned into a frog via voo doo black magic. Hmmmm. So, our black “princess” is actually a green frog for almost the entire film. She makes gumbo (Forest Gump, anyone?) and falls in love with her latino frog prince and the two of them dupe a few white bayou yokels and what I’m getting at is that I don’t really see a lot of breaking through. She doesn’t even become a princess until she marries the prince and then a Mammyish character says, “It’s gon’ be good!” Come on people. It is a really great movie and lots of fun to watch, all I’m saying is that it wasn’t the class-crossing event it claimed to be.

That said, Darby loves every bit of it and it is a cute movie with a really dark villain, so be sure to watch it before your small children have the chance. That way you’ll know when to fast-forward through the scary parts!

The Thrill of the Fight

On the movie Girls Just Want to Have Fun, Colonel Glenn says, "A little competition is good for the soul!" I tend to disagree, at least when it comes to mother/daughter scrimmages at soccer practice.


Thursday was Darby’s last practice of the season, so we had a friendly little game between our beautiful, tiny daughters and their saggy, old mothers. During our warm-up, we were supposed to be kicking the ball back and forth with our daughters. That’s when one of the moms decided that she needed to shine. Apparently, this lady thinks she’s Mia Hamm. She wouldn’t kick the ball to her daughter; she was too busy doing fancy little soccer tricks which impressed us all, I’m sure. Finally, in exasperation, her 3 year old threw her arms to the side and said, “Mom, kick me the ball!” It was shaping up to be a very positive experience for our young breed. These psycho moms were out for blood.



So, the game began with the daughters at one end of the field and the mothers at the other. I was wearing a hat and looking down, Eye of the Tiger blasting in my mind. I was pumped.





Suddenly, my 80’s rock fantasy was shattered by a pink and tiny soccer ball which rolled up to my feet. The bill of my hat was blocking out everything else and instinct kicked in. I mean, I had just been mentally rocking out to the greatest pump-up song ever. I kicked the ball and looked up, only to see that my darling daughter was the one who kicked it in my direction. It was tragic and I spent the rest of the game holding Darby’s hand and dragging her to the ball. I even threatened another mom who kicked it away from her.


Darby did great; she scored a goal and everything. She got a trophy. She was cheered on by the crowd as I hoisted her onto my shoulders. None of that kept her from recanting the story to her daddy, saying that I “broke (her) heart” and that I “no love (her) no more.”


You guys, I can’t win for losing.


Have you ever crushed a small child’s dreams? It would make me feel so much better about myself.

I Am Freaking Awesome

But you already knew that, didn't you? These are pictures of the little side table we found for five bucks at a yard sale. It was ugly, but I saw the potential. Much the same line of thinking Frankie had when he met me. Darby and I painted it and added knobs from Hobby Lobby (my new obsession). I lined the inside of the drawers with scrapbook paper and Mod Podge.

Next, we found this flower and tin sign (which says "you are my sunshine") at Hobby Lobby (of course) and I just had to have them for Darby's room. They were both 50% off and I'm a cheapskate, so it was a match made in Hobby Lobby heaven.

And the crowning glory of Darby's room is her bed with the vinyl flowers my mom got at T.J. Maxx. Yeah, I could have made her bed, but that would have been a little pretentious, right?

So, not that you asked, but that is my little one's room. I try to make it beautiful for her and it is still a work in progress, but I'm liking it so far. Plus, her little garage sale table is so awesome!

What projects are on your plate?

The Darbinator

Darby gets such a kick out of the webcam. She is just so freaking cute, I thought I'd share our last photo shoot. She was recently doing something crazy and I said, "Okay, Baby. No more of that; it scares Mommy." Darby came over to me and I kneeled down so that we were at eachother's eye level. She put her hand on my shoulder and said, "Alright. Close your eyes." And that, my friends, is classic Darby.

Baby Burlesque

This is a picture taken by my friend Jamie of Darby, Jamie's son Varis, and their friend Lindy (Alisha's daughter). So, the other day Darby and her friend Varis were playing in her room. They were looking through books together and it was so sweet to see them being little pals. The doorbell rang and I left the room to let in Varis’ mom, Jamie. She and I talked and laughed for a minute in the living room and then went to check on our little sweethearts who were playing so nicely together.

The door was closed.

Upon opening the door, Varis, who was on Darby’s bed, scrambled to get under the covers. He was shirtless. Darby was hiding behind the door. When she emerged, I found that she was wearing nothing but her chonies and Varis’ shirt!

I turned to Jamie and said, “This better be the last time I ever walk in on your half-naked son on my daughter’s bed and my daughter wearing nothing but chonies and his shirt!”

Of course it was nothing but innocent and we laughed so hard, but it was a little disconcerting, I’m not going to lie, because you know it was Darby’s idea.

What questionable things have you happened upon?

Tell Them Large Marge Sent You!

On this very night, ten years ago, along this very stretch of road in a dense fog just like this, I saw the worst accident I ever seen (please tell me you’ve seen Pee Wee’s Big Adventure. I can’t bear for you to think my grammar is this remedial). There was this sound, like a garbage truck dropped off the Empire State Building...

Well, I guess that is not exactly accurate. There was no fog at all; it was a bright and sunny day. Yesterday, actually. Alisha and I had just finished our visiting teaching and we were hanging out in her kitchen catching up. I dismounted from the stool I was sitting on and bent down to grab something off the floor. Then I tried to sit back down. That’s when it happened. The stool wasn’t where it ought to have been and I went backwards, falling, falling, until I slammed down on her hardwood floor. I took down a plate of scrambled eggs along with me. It was like a garbage truck dropped off the Empire State Building. And when they pulled my body from the twisted, burning wreck, it looked like this...


Alisha is so considerate that she miraculously restrained her laughter until she made sure I was alright. Once my survival was assured (but my dignity destroyed), she laughed so hard that she had to lean on her counter to bear up the hilarity of it all. Alisha is a dancer, so it was just suiting that my moment of dire clumsiness was witnessed by my most graceful friend.

After my supreme acrobatic performance, Darby and I set off for home. We didn’t have the car that day, so I set off on foot, pushing Darby in the stroller (I can’t let her walk alongside busy roads, you know this). We passed a tiny, ancient man in a motorized chair as we crossed on the cross-walk. As we set off down the sidewalk, I heard an ominous humming coming up behind us. It got closer and closer and I quickened my pace. Finally, I decided that if I was going to be able to protect Darby, I had to find out what we were up against. I looked back only to see said ancient man drive his chair off the sidewalk and into the road, ultimately blowing past us like a bat out of hell! Apparently I walk too slowly for mechanized chairs. Apparently, those chairs are fitted with hemi engines.

It was not a good day for self-esteem in the Parmenter household.

What is one of your most embarrassing moments?

True Story

We all know that public bathrooms are a trial for me. I am able to avoid them almost always, but my 3 year old is a different story. Darby loves public bathrooms. And she pees a lot. This is why I keep a potty-chair in the car at all times. I know it sounds crazy, but it is actually brilliant. However, I am not willing to take Darby out of Sacrament meeting to have her pee in the car. We Mormons are notorious stragglers and I don’t want the reputation which is sure to ensue after one fashionably late person sees my baby peeing in the car in the parking lot.

So, Sunday was our Easter program at church. It was really beautiful with gorgeous music and my gorgeous gal Alisha giving a powerful talk. After the talk, Darby had to go potty, so I reluctantly took her to the bathroom. I know the bathrooms are cleaned every Saturday, but I’ve been one of the volunteers to clean the bathroom on a Saturday and so I know first-hand that our methods leave something to be desired.

I have a strict Darby-in-a-Public-Bathroom Policy. It is this: DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING. So, ever obedient Darby (ha ha) held my hands with both of her hands as she scooted herself back on the massive toilet. She looked down to make sure her stream was making it in the bowl. I looked down at her because she took one of her hands from mine and was rubbing her head, as though it was hurting. I leaned down and kissed her forehead.

It was wet.

“Lick my head.” Those where her real words. I replied with a question; “Why?” She replied with the worst words she could have uttered in that particular situation. “Because potty got on it.”

That’s right, people. Potty splashed up out of a public toilet and onto my daughter’s head, which head I then kissed. With my lips. Potty.

I think that in the future, I’ll opt for the reputation of the weirdo at church who makes her kid pee in the car. It is better than the alternative.

So, what’s up with you?