The Rules (and Ryan says my blog needs more pictures)

Did I ever tell you I have control issues? I wouldn't say I'm controlling, but I do like to control what I can in life. Turns out, that's very little.
When I feel myself losing control of my children, I often go into a little tizzy, laying down "new rules" like nobody's business. A few come to mind:

No more eating in the living room.
No food in the car.
Cereal is not acceptable for 3 meals a day.
Don't use the word "fart."

While I find these rules perfectly reasonable, I can assure you they never last. I mean, really, I have to have mercy on my children and concede that they are probably genetically predisposed to use the word "fart." (their father's gene pool, of course) But is it too much to ask them to have some tact about using it in public? I guess it is.
Anyway, Kylie seems to have picked up my propensity for making rules as she sees the need for them. I have to admit, I think it's nearly as endearing as all the potty talk. And lest you be disappointed, there is more of that to come.
This morning Kylie said her stomach hurt. It made me nervous because I was pretty sick yesterday with the "2-for-1" special, as my mom put it (if you need clarification here, let's just say I was unpleasantly productive from two major orifices simultaneously), so I sent her straight to the bathroom. I promised more potty talk, right? So, while on the toilet, she says to me, "Mom, I'm making a new rule. Any time your tummy hurts, you have to go take a potty break." "Good rule, Kylie." But this kind of validation will not suffice. No; to her, these rules are more serious than that. "Mom?" "Yeah?" "I wish the president could make that a rule." Now, as tempted as I am to school my daughter at this point as to why the government, let alone the president, is not supposed to be allowed to make rules that extend so far as our bathroom habits, but probably will anyway, I don't. Not today. For now I just nod and smile and think back to her last set of rules.

A little background, perhaps . . .

This is Crystal:
A few weeks ago she married my little brother, Chris. This is Chris:

They're totally uptight, as you can see.
Crystal asked Kylie to be the flower girl at their wedding, and I was assured that it had nothing to do with the gazillion hints Kylie laid on her about having been a flower girl before, already having a flower girl dress (too small, wrong colors), already knowing what to do, etc . . .
By the time the wedding rolled around, Kylie was all geared up. Before we left town I took her shopping. She tried on every ivory dress in Dillard's before settling on the one we bought. The day before the wedding she got to attend the bridal brunch, where she was given a basket full of treasures. Later that day Ryan took her to a salon for a quick trim. The day of the wedding he also took her shoe shopping for overpriced, but also very pretty, ivory sandals. (Yep, he's that kind of husband/dad. And he'll even buy tampons without wincing over it. Beat that.) In her mind, this wedding business was pretty much about her. And who can blame her for thinking that way? What with the new dress, new shoes, haircut, goodies, sweet little basket she gets to keep (a considerable fringe benefit for her), people fussing over her hair and taking pictures of her, feeling pretty important while hanging out with grown-ups . . . I can see where it would go to her little 6 year old head. Still, when I was sitting in the bathroom nursing the baby, I had no thoughts of restraining Kylie as one single wedding attendee burst in to announce to another that Crystal was about to throw the bouquet. And Ryan was most definitely not outside helping Alex do this in the botanical garden pond:
Please note, these are Alex's cousins fishing with stryofoam cups, not Alex. And I certainly did not know what he was doing because I'm sure that he couldn't have come into the reception with a minnow in a cup earlier in the evening to show me what kind of fun he was having.
So, what I'm saying here is that we were both indisposed and unconcerned at the time of the bouquet toss, though as Ryan reads over my shoulder, he informs me that my denial is uncalled-for because he was actually eating cake at that time. After all, we had nothing to do with that part of the evening. No reason to be bothered. Oh, but that single girl in the bathroom? The one who hurried out when she was informed of the big moment? She had everything to do with it. As it turns out, this was her second wedding to attend that day, and I'm thinking she was hoping to drive the point home to her date by catching both bouquets. Yep, she'd already caught one. In this picture I can imagine the girl looking back at the others and saying, "Ya'll back off! I got this!" Notice Kylie and her cousin Julia innocently lurking:

I'm sure she didn't imagine those unassuming children would prove troublesome:

She should have thought again:

When I got the baby fed and myself all put back together, I emerged from the bathroom to the tale of the bouquet toss. As I was told, the battle was hard-fought, but I'm guessing you've guessed the outcome.
Seriously, it never entered my mind to explain bouquettiquette to her before this. I quickly explained that the bouquet toss was for older girls and made her concede defeat. She was nearly broken as she walked over to the rightful victor (though, really, the reviews were mixed), apologized, and offered up the hopefully-engagement-inducing prize. The girl did what I assumed she would do and let Kylie keep it. I walked over, we had a good laugh about it, and all was well.

On the way to the car I explained to Kylie what the bouquet toss was all about and exactly why a 6 year old had no bidness trying to catch it. I told her I was proud of her for being a big girl and handing the bouquet over to the older girl. She in turn must have mulled over the new information all the way back to Grandma's house. As I was helping her out of the car, she offered up some new rules:
"Mom?"
"Yeah?"
"If I ever get to be the president, I would make three laws. The first would be that I get to be president forever, and no paying money."
"What do you mean? You don't want to get paid? You know when you're the president, that's your job."
"Oh, no, mom. I want to get paid. What I mean is I don't want to pay anybody any money."
"Hm. I'm not sure what you mean, but okay."
"Okay, the second law would be, No Smoking!"
"Sounds good. What else?"
"The third law would be that anyone can catch the bouquet. You don't have to be older, and it doesn't mean you have to get married next."
"I see."

So, to recap, in case I lost my point a long time ago:

Kylie = not the biggest fan of democracy.
Smoking = there will be none of it.
Bouquet catching = should be a free-for-all, but I wouldn't get in her way if I were you.
Potty Breaks = better safe than sorry.

That wasn't really much of a point. Forgive the indulgence. You can't control everything.