Indian Princess Damn Cute

When My Eldest was younger, I'd hoist her toddler body to my shoulders.  Her legs would hang in front of me as she'd clutch my hair, laughing uncontrollably.  I would stomp like and Indian through the apartment chanting like an Indian (well, maybe?  kinda?  sorta?):

Hoya Hoya Hoyyyaaa.  Indian Princess Daaaamn Cute!  Hoyahoyahoya HOW!

I did this until she got too heavy to put on my shoulders, and until she knew that "damn" was an On The Bad Word List.

Earlier tonight, My Eldest represented the Cherokee Nation as a part of her school's multicultural night.  She asked me to make her an Native American dress, so months ago, we picked out a pattern and material.  I worked over the holidays up until the night before multicultural night to sew the dress.  I would not have completed it without the tenderness, patience and expertise of My Mother-In-Law. 

My Little One felt neglected.  The best way I could assuage her sadness in a hurry was to make her her very own head band. 



Not bad, huh?

*Passing you the peace pipe*