“When I’m on Project Runway, I’ll be able to tell them that my first fashion show was when I was 9,” Annabelle announced the other day.

Ah, youth. Although I’m not sure I was that confident at any age. For Annabelle it’s not “if,” it’s “when.” And I hope it always stays that way. If Saturday’s any indication, who knows — it could happen.

We piled in the car on a wickedly hot fall afternoon and headed for Grand Avenue — a sketchy stretch of Phoenix appropriated by some artsy types who were throwing a festival, which included a “trash fashion show.” Kids were encouraged to attend, so I told the girls about it.

Sophie wasn’t interested in designing, and Annabelle had no desire to be on the runway (neither did her friend Katie, who happened to be over for a playdate when this all came up) so it was decided that Sophie would model the older girls’ design. I paid the $10 fee and I think we were all a little nervous. (At one point, envisioning a Project Runway-like grilling, Annabelle almost chickened out, til I assured her there would be no judging.)

In the end, it was a magical (if hot) afternoon. The entry fee covered hair and makeup by “professionals,” there were dozens of other “models” (and only a couple other kids) milling around backstage, acting very model-y in their shredded newspaper dresses and some more bizarre get-ups, and everyone was super-nice to the girls. (Special thanks to Courtney, Super Sitter, who helped execute Annabelle’s trash bag design.)

Sophie, who had practiced several different runway walks, was quite the model. Like I said, magical.

The pictures say it better than I can.

It’s not easy, being a tourist in a city you once thought you’d call home. I should know. I’ve skulked around Manhattan on various trips over the years, wasting precious time feeling bitter over the fact that I don’t live there and likely never will.

But this time, that didn’t happen. Ray and I took the girls to NYC for a hunk of spring break — two days in the city, two days with his relatives in Queens — and this time, instead of being pissy, I geeked out.

It’s hard not to, with Sophie in tow. This is a kid who insists on not only thanking the pilot for flying the plane, but holding up the line of anxious fliers trying to get to the terminal (and the bathroom!) to give him a long hug. She helped the bellhop with the luggage, told the taxi driver where to go and marched right up to the clerk at Mood (the fabric store of Project Runway fame — Annabelle and I were in heaven there, and even Ray was impressed) to ask, “Where’s Heidi Klum?”

In short, Sophie knows how to enjoy herself. The only downside was bad weather, and when forced to walk in the rain, Sophie took to bleating out sadly, “Taxi! Taxi!” as she avoided puddles that even she found too cold for a good splash.

We ate teeny tiny chocolate mint chip ice cream cones at Sweetie Pie, quizzed the clerk at Mood about each season of our favorite show, fell asleep at the planetarium and gawked at the Empire State building out our hotel room window. All four of us gawked at a snout-to-tail pig meal served up at a nearby table at dinner one night.

My dear friend Amy lives in a building with a key to Gramercy Park, so we found a dry(ish) moment and some daffodils, then I thoroughly embarrassed Amy by insisting we walk into the lobby of the chi-chi Gramercy Park Hotel and snap some photos. And then I made her go to the Coffee Shop in Union Square (of Sex and the City fame, though, since Amy’s a true New Yorker, she didn’t know why we were there).

We did have a small scene in the hotel elevator when I caught Sophie staring at all the numbers and had to hold her hands to keep from repeating that scene in Elf where he presses every button to see them light up.

And really, how could it be that the huge but skanky ToysRUs at Times Square didn’t have a single Yo Gabba Gabba item in stock?

Still, overall, it was a pretty darn magical trip — and for once, I was happy to be there and even sort of happy to go home.

Up next, The Best Part: Meeting Leo.

Ray was suspicious.

“Who’s this party for, anyhow?” he asked, as I dragged in yet another bag of materials for Annabelle’s birthday party, launching them onto the already-overflowing dining room table.

I bristled, but of course he was right — the party wasn’t just for Annabelle.

She had a hell of a time, though. My vindication came about halfway through the event yesterday, when my mother pulled me into a corner to stage whisper that Annabelle had just announced, “This is the best birthday party ever!”

Even Ray had to admit it was pretty cool. Project Annabelle was a success.

True, there were some sad younger siblings. We only included kids Annabelle’s age (plus Sophie), a change from the free-for-all parties I usually favor. And by the end of the day I was calling it Project-What-The-Hell-Was-I-Thinking as I removed sequins from all sorts of places around the house. Still, all in all, a big thumbs up.

The concept was simple: Invite seven girls over, put them around the dining room table (safely protected with oilcloth, naturally) and let them create an outfit. Then, a fashion show for the parents, and cupcakes.

The execution was less simple. It involved multiple trips to SAS Fabrics, Michael’s, various dollar stores and Target, and even at that we had a last minute run to Walgreen’s for more accessories and hair gel. I piled a table with notions — everything from tiny ribbons to oversized rick rack, patches, fabric remnants, beaded trim, fabric markers, fake fur — then added glue, scissors, a Bedazzler and, as it turned out, eight adults.

The idea was to surprise the parents, so my friends (along with my mom and one of Sophie’s babysitters) graciously volunteered to help hot glue, cut, stitch, curl, lipstick and accessorize. (The girls all had their own ideas; but we didn’t want them handling sharp scissors and needles or hot glue and curling irons. Or mascara.) Three hour laters, we had a fabulous runway show, eight delighted girls and eight exhausted adults.

I wish my pictures were better. The assignment was to create a Back to School outfit using a white tee shirt. Sophie was precious in a Bedazzled tee  tied at the shoulders in silver sequins and finished with a purple polka dotted Snoopy “skirt”. One party guest trimmed and tucked her shirt into a two piece tube top and fringed mini. Another covered hers in fake roses. Kathleen (pictured above) manned the hot glue gun for hours.

Annabelle’s outfit was lovely, if I say so myself (and not because I helped her with it — I’m useless in the sewing department; that was all Trish), with a simple design nipped in at the sides, trimmed with beaded fringe, fake yellow fur and a big jeweled applique. She finished it with a sequined hat and purse (the Dollar Tree’s finest) and someone even straightened her hair.

I can’t figure out just what it is that’s so satisfying about the Do It Yourself, arts and crafts movement. I pore over Martha, shop on etsy.com, and when the documentary “Handmade Nation” came to town, it was a near-religious experience. Whatever it is, Annabelle gets it. (And she’s even good at it — far better already than I ever was.)

We’re not alone. Everyone’s favorite gift yesterday was created by 7-year-old Teadora, who embroidered a dog dreaming of a cupcake, painted it, then decorated it with sprinkles. Her mom Gilda framed it for her.

“NO WAY!” Annabelle screamed in delight. We’re looking for just the right place to hang it.

This morning, when I ran back to her room to grab some socks as we headed out the door, I noticed Annabelle had placed her tee shirt dress in a place of honor, draped over the chair where her American Girl dolls sit.

And the season’s not quite over. Since my sister and her family live out of town, they weren’t able to come yesterday. So it’s been decided we’ll have a Project Annabelle sequel on our beach trip later this summer. Luckily I  have plenty of materials left over.

On Saturday, Annabelle and I finally snuck away for our long-awaited trip to SAS Fabrics. The logistics were tough — this just isn’t a place for Sophie, not unless you want to give me some meth to snort first. Otherwise she’d be off like a flash, lost amidst piles of probably-not-too-clean remnants. Everything’s at Sophie height, at SAS, from buttons to patches to pokey stuff with pins on the back and sharp edges on the front (those rhinestones can be murder). I had visions of losing her in a heap of tulle.

So we waited til Sophie took a rare afternoon nap and called goodbye to Ray as we were out the door.

For $28, we had a wee of a time, as my mother would put it. I got some random stuff I’ll never use: silver lame-esque rick rack, pieces of fabric with vintage Snoopy designs, iron on patches shaped like those cute Russian dolls that were “in” last year. (What I’ll do with them I haven’t a clue, since I already know I can’t manage to get Annabelle’s Brownie patches to stick.)

But Annabelle’s purchases were the main event. She got a wad of fabric squares for 25 cents each, rhinestone appliques for $2.99, rolls of lace (65 cents) , tiny flowers (50 cents) and a hunk of the palest pink satin (99 cents a yard).

I chucked the blue plastic bag in the bigger bag we were hauling over to my mother in law’s yesterday, and figured eventually, something would come home. At first, Annabelle said she was planning to make a dress for a friend. But when I got home last night, she was wearing the creation herself: A satin floor-length gown, sleeveless, with lace trim and flowers. It went nicely with the Halloween tattoo on her bicep and her mouthful of missing, growing-in and wiggly teeth. And her enormous smile. (This morning I found her original pencil designs and some photos the fashion photographer — Grandpa — took on the back patio.)

“She designed it herself!” Ray announced, as Annabelle twirled and bowed.

A designer (with a wonderful assistant) is born.

I was glad we weren’t home, because Ray might have wanted the girls to watch, and I just can’t let them make Sarah Palin any sort of role model. Heck, I’d rather they watch Kenley, the bad whiny girl on Project Runway.

Literally.

OK, I am a horrible mom. I let Annabelle stay up til 10 on Wednesday, to see the end of Project Runway. Hey, it was down to four designers. It was a big week. Truth be told, if you’d made me pick one, I would have skipped the debate for the runway, no prob.

I love that Annabelle loves Project Runway, and not just because it gives me a reason to watch something other than childrens TV. (I actually don’t mind kiddie shows much; they drive Ray nuts but I think they make nice background noise.) But Annabelle, like (I’m guessing) millions of other little kids (and some big ones — Trish swears that 15 year old Zach is among them) are now planning careers as fashion designers.

And what’s wrong with that? I love that she wants to create. After the show ended Wednesday (I won’t spoil it for you if you haven’t seen this week’s yet) Annabelle announced that she was going to design her own evening dress. It will be sleeveless and orange with a big flower in the middle and it will go down to THERE, she said, pointing past her ankle. She intends to pair it with orange boots, which she also plans to design herself.

“You go girl,” I thought. “And thank goodness you’re gong to Grandma’s on Monday!”

I seriously have trouble sewing on a button, a lack of skill I inherited directly from my mother (GAGA). But my mother in law, now she can sew. She’ll laugh when she reads that, but I am in awe of her abilities — she can even operate a sewing machine. We met up for bagels last weekend (pic to follow) and the girls got silly with her, but I have a feeling that Monday Annabelle will arrive to spend the first day of Fall Break with Grandma, and she’s going to be carrying a bag of materials.

We’re planning a trip to SAS fabrics this weekend. I can’t wait. After the debate last night, no one quite knew what to say: Palin did just well enough to escape the full-on wrath of the crowd, which frankly pissed most of us off. So we talked about other things, like Project Runway. And trips to SAS. One friend with grown kids fondly remembered trips to SAS (it’s a dump of a small warehouse packed with fabric remnants and accoutrements — sequins, feather boas, patches, ribbons, I’m getting excited just writing this) as a young, poor mom. For five bucks, she recalls, you could occupy the kids for days.

Not bad advice in this economy. Google SAS fabric. There are several in the Phoenix area; I’m not sure how far the chain extends.

All I know is that Grandma better have her equipment out on Monday!