I haven't had time to post in...aw who cares. You can look over to the dashboard and see what a slacker I am. What's the point in posting it twice?
I had a quick one I just had to get out. Nothing long and glamorous-but I did pee my pants a little laughing at the incident.
The kid has recently discovered games. Well...she thinks it's a discovery. We actually stuck games under her nose for Christmas and enrolled her in a wide world of game playing at pre-school and Awana. But we'll continue to let her think it's her discovery. After all-Columbus still gets props for America...
Anywho-back to the kid. She thinks that she is awesome at game playing. She thinks she understands all the rules to every game. She even thinks that Duck Duck Goose is a two player game (and insists that I play it with her on at least a weekly basis. I haven't told her yet that I've figured out who the Goose is going to be every time. Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise for her...)
Because she has these mad game playing skills, she thinks that she should get to create her own games. This is where the pants peeing laughter begins. You can imagine what kinds of rules come from the head of the master of two man Duck Duck Goose. This one is the top of the list. It's called Buggy
Kid enters room with plastic step stool.
"Come on, everybody! We're gonna play Buggy!"
"Ok." Mom and I drag ourselves-I mean, we skip merrily-to the living room. "You have to tell me how to play." I say.
"Well, Mommy. First you need a credit card." Waaaaaaaait a minute...Who introduced my child to video gambling?!
"But I don't have a credit card." I say.
"Well, I'm sorry Mommy. You need one to play. First, I sit down on this stool," kid continues her instructions and procedes to place her plastic stool in the middle of the living room with much purpose, taking a seat on it, because obviously she's "it".
"Wait wait wait," I interrupt, "I thought you had to have a credit card to play?"
"You do!" She insisted.
"But you don't have a credit card."
"Yes I do! I have a McDonald's credit card!" wow...
"That's not a credit card...it's a gift card. You have to be 18 to have a credit card." It's bad that I have to try this hard to win.
"I'm three." replied Captain Obvious (keeper of the "it" stool).
"I know." answered the Ultimate Argument Winner.
*Long pause from the kid as she rose from her chair to pace the floor and ponder an escape from the corner into which I had obviously backed her.
*Sudden realization: Her game, her rules.
"Well, then you have to be three to play." satisfied with her resolution, she pranced back to her stool. "Now Grammy, first I sit on my stool and say..."
*The Ultimate Argument Winner will not go down that easily.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIT a minute! I thought you had to be three to play?!" I clearly show my offense to being left out of the game. "How old do you think Grammy is?!" I'm pulling out a pawn with this question-because we know for a fact that she doesn't know the answer. The last time Mom revealed her upcoming age to the kid, it went like this:
Grammy: "Do you know how old Grammy will be on her birthday?"
Kid: "No Grammy, tell me."
Grammy: " " (right...like I'm actually going to post that on the internet.)
Kid, after a long solemn gaze that was colored with a hint of anxiety:
"Oh, Grammy...I don't know that number..."
Anyway, with this background information as my pawn-I knew I was coming in for the kill. The kid sat in her pondering mode for a full 15 seconds and then announced:
"But Grammy has a credit card."
So after a setup that is second in length only to Monopoly, we continue on to game play. Mind you, I only get to spectate because I'm not three and I don't have a credit card.
Play consisted of the following cycle:
1. Kid says "Don't fall off the..."
2. Grammy says (in a crazy low pitched voice slightly reminicent of "heeeeeere's Johnny!"): "Buuuuuuuuggy!"
3. Kid falls off stool on her face in hysterical fake laughter.
4. Kid collects herself and mounts stool.
5. Repeat Steps 1-4 endlessly until a player (usually the credit card holder) loses their sanity.
I suppose the remaining player is dubbed "winner". How intelligent. I think I'll create a game that only I can win. Maybe the kid is on to something after all...
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Friday, October 29, 2010
Favorite Story Friday: All Things "Bra"
For this week I chose two favorites, because the first is insanely short and they both involve an obsession with undergarments.
The first is from last fall, the second from Februaryish. Enjoy! (Sometime I may even get back to writing new posts...
All Thing Bra
We went to Arby's for lunch today, and the kid was in the process of a ham and cheese sandwich massacre when a long piece of stringy ham slid off her sandwich. She picked it up off the paper and examined it as it dangled in all of its stringiness. I was on the edge of "stop playing with your food and eat it" when she beat me to opening her mouth, and here is what tumbled out in the most quizzical manner:
"Is this a bra?"
What?! Mom and I both just stared at her, dumbfounded, waiting for the punchline. It never happened. She repeated the question, just to cement that she did indeed mean it. We just laughed our heads off. It was probably ten minutes before we could speak enough to give her an English answer (not to mention a complex). I don't know where she got this wild idea, because she knows what a bra is. She's obsessed with them.
More proof of this fact (but first some background):
My child only asked for one thing for Christmas this year, and she got it, so now I think she's starting to see her fault in the asking process. Somewhere along the way, her brain has decided "I get everything I want for Christmas...I should have asked for 50 million things instead of just one." Ever since the day after Christmas, we can't leave the house without her seeing at least 27 things she wants for Christmas next year.
We were at the mall a couple of weeks ago, and we were getting ready to leave Old Navy, and I was having trouble keeping the offspring tethered. This was an unplanned trip, so we were lacking in the stroller department. Anyway, I was using the old "follow me or get left here by yourself" threat. It was working quite nicely...until I looked back and no longer had her in my sight. (I think kids play that game on purpose and they're watching you and laughing because they can somehow see that your stomach just fell out of your butt from the panic.)
It was only for a split second, mind you, because after that second, here she comes, running through the crowded store, waving a sports bra over her head.
"MOMMY MOMMY! I WANT THIS FOR CHRISTMAS TO PUT MY BOOBIES IN!" I quickly glanced around. Just as I suspected. Everyone in America was watching and snickering.
"Honey, let's put that back...you don't have any boobies to put in there yet." I thought this was a tactful enough answer, but of COURSE she just couldn't let it go.
"Well then I want BOOBIES for Christmas TOO!" Yes. The whole population of our lovely state is still watching, don't worry.
I pondered for a moment, and decided it wasn't fair for her to get all the laughs at my expense and loudly replied, "ME TOO!"
I bet neither of us will get our wish.
The first is from last fall, the second from Februaryish. Enjoy! (Sometime I may even get back to writing new posts...
All Thing Bra
We went to Arby's for lunch today, and the kid was in the process of a ham and cheese sandwich massacre when a long piece of stringy ham slid off her sandwich. She picked it up off the paper and examined it as it dangled in all of its stringiness. I was on the edge of "stop playing with your food and eat it" when she beat me to opening her mouth, and here is what tumbled out in the most quizzical manner:
"Is this a bra?"
What?! Mom and I both just stared at her, dumbfounded, waiting for the punchline. It never happened. She repeated the question, just to cement that she did indeed mean it. We just laughed our heads off. It was probably ten minutes before we could speak enough to give her an English answer (not to mention a complex). I don't know where she got this wild idea, because she knows what a bra is. She's obsessed with them.
More proof of this fact (but first some background):
My child only asked for one thing for Christmas this year, and she got it, so now I think she's starting to see her fault in the asking process. Somewhere along the way, her brain has decided "I get everything I want for Christmas...I should have asked for 50 million things instead of just one." Ever since the day after Christmas, we can't leave the house without her seeing at least 27 things she wants for Christmas next year.
We were at the mall a couple of weeks ago, and we were getting ready to leave Old Navy, and I was having trouble keeping the offspring tethered. This was an unplanned trip, so we were lacking in the stroller department. Anyway, I was using the old "follow me or get left here by yourself" threat. It was working quite nicely...until I looked back and no longer had her in my sight. (I think kids play that game on purpose and they're watching you and laughing because they can somehow see that your stomach just fell out of your butt from the panic.)
It was only for a split second, mind you, because after that second, here she comes, running through the crowded store, waving a sports bra over her head.
"MOMMY MOMMY! I WANT THIS FOR CHRISTMAS TO PUT MY BOOBIES IN!" I quickly glanced around. Just as I suspected. Everyone in America was watching and snickering.
"Honey, let's put that back...you don't have any boobies to put in there yet." I thought this was a tactful enough answer, but of COURSE she just couldn't let it go.
"Well then I want BOOBIES for Christmas TOO!" Yes. The whole population of our lovely state is still watching, don't worry.
I pondered for a moment, and decided it wasn't fair for her to get all the laughs at my expense and loudly replied, "ME TOO!"
I bet neither of us will get our wish.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Favorite Story Friday: Change in Her "Pocket"!
This story may never be outdone, and it may always remain at the top of my favorite list, so I felt it appropriate for it to be displayed during Favorite Story Friday!
September 2009 (The Kid is 2.5 at the time of this event)
I finally went to the store the other day for the big "stock the new kitchen" trip, and I explained to the kid "we're going to the store and it's going to take awhile, so you're going to have to be a big girl and help mommy, no whining" etc, etc. My child, who has odd favorites for her age(including her preference for Captain D's over McDonald's), became OVER exuberant with the idea of going to the grocery store and immediately began excited preparations for the big trip. She was running through the house almost as fast as her mouth was running as it spewed a list of contents she needed to find.
"Wait mommy! I will help you! Let me find my list. Where's my keys? I need my phone in case Connie calls me."
"I have all that stuff, let's just get your shoes on and go."
So she ran back to the living room and pulled open a drawer in the end table where Brandon has been stashing change and exclaims,
"Let me get some money case I need to buy something at the store, ok?"
"Ok, give it to me and I'll put it in my pocket for you to pick out something if you're good." I couldn't help one last bribe.
"No, that's ok, I'll put it in MY pocket." She's too smart for me. But wait! I realize I haven't been outsmarted yet:
"Honey, you don't have pockets in your skirt!" I was proud of myself.
"Yes I do!" She exclaimed, in a very frustrated voice. Then out came the waistband of her skirt and down went the handful of change. Right down into her underwear. Oh well. What's the worst that could happen?
On the way to the store I started musing over that idea: the worst thing that could happen... Well, let's see...money's pretty dirty. I suppose she could get some kind of infection in her little girl parts and then I would have to explain to the pediatrician that it's perfectly normal for little girls to go around with pennies in their privates and no one did anything in the least unusual to her! That wouldn't be a big deal, right? Riiiiiight...
We arrived at the store and I shoved my fantasy aside, because regardless of how many times I've cleaned that area during the diaper season of her life and baths, I'm sure not fishing money out of it in the middle of the grocery store. That seems like a good way to entice a stranger to call child services.
Instead, I got busy with the shopping trip, went home, and unloaded in a hurry so that we could go on a previously promised bike adventure. I assembled the bike seat, strapped on helmets, whipped out our shades, and took off downtown to meet Mom. I didn't forget to mention removing the money from its cozy nest in my daughter's Dora panties. It didn't happen. I forgot about the change. Go ahead, judge if you want. I left pennies in my daughter's hoo-ha.
We reached Mom's office and the kid was thrilled to jump off the bike and run into the office to show off her helmet and sunglasses. It was only when mom questioned the sound did I remember.
"Gracie...why is your bum jingling?" Mom questioned.
"Oh, my Lord. Please tell me I didn't forget that change."
"I can't." He responded. "That would be a lie and I am not capable of lying."
When I returned from my silent prayer, this is the answer I heard from my child:
"My bum's jingly 'cause I got change in my pocket!!" She grinned real big and continued her run down the row of cubicles to Mom's office, jingling all the way.
"But you don't have any pockets in your skirt..." Mom started eyeballing me, probably judging me just like you are about now.
"Nope! Not in my skirt! In my PANTIES!!" She yelled down the hall for all the busy real estate agents anywhere in the building to hear. Awesome. We went on into Mom's office and closed the door. I proceeded to try to convince her to give up the loot, but she wasn't budging and I was already embarrassed, so I caved. I mean, heck, it's been there all day, what's it gonna hurt? The damage has already been done. So we went to lunch.
It was only after 30 minutes of her showing off for the ladies at the Sandwich Shop (or the "nice ladies' shop", as she refers to it) that real disaster struck. I asked her if she wanted to put some change from my wallet in the tip jar for the nice ladies that made our food. I thought it was a good teaching moment, but she proved me wrong again. She's awesome at that.
"No Mommy! I want to put MY money in!" she wailed. Everyone thought that was simply adorable. That's because they didn't know where she was storing it.
I tried to quietly insist otherwise, but I could see she wasn't going down without a real big fight. How quickly that teachable moment had changed. It also became clear while watching her try that she couldn't retrieve the coins herself. Seems every time she tried, her little arm was too short to reach the "pocket" in her sagging panties. Bending her knees, though try as she may, only drooped the pocket lower.
"Mommy! Please get it!" was her pitiful cry for help. I surrendered to my shame and very nonchalantly escorted her to the only corner in the small shop, which was made of a wall and the store front window. (Of course. Shops never have a private "retrieving pennies from your young daughter's privates" corner when you need one. I mean, I was lucky to find a nursing mother's room in public back in the breast feeding days.) As I reached down the front of my daughter's skirt and fished out all the money, I could only imagine what people walking down 9th Street must have thought as they looked in that window.
I was at least able to swap the money out for some of my own on our way to the tip jar, in case you were wondering.
Good times.
September 2009 (The Kid is 2.5 at the time of this event)
I finally went to the store the other day for the big "stock the new kitchen" trip, and I explained to the kid "we're going to the store and it's going to take awhile, so you're going to have to be a big girl and help mommy, no whining" etc, etc. My child, who has odd favorites for her age(including her preference for Captain D's over McDonald's), became OVER exuberant with the idea of going to the grocery store and immediately began excited preparations for the big trip. She was running through the house almost as fast as her mouth was running as it spewed a list of contents she needed to find.
"Wait mommy! I will help you! Let me find my list. Where's my keys? I need my phone in case Connie calls me."
"I have all that stuff, let's just get your shoes on and go."
So she ran back to the living room and pulled open a drawer in the end table where Brandon has been stashing change and exclaims,
"Let me get some money case I need to buy something at the store, ok?"
"Ok, give it to me and I'll put it in my pocket for you to pick out something if you're good." I couldn't help one last bribe.
"No, that's ok, I'll put it in MY pocket." She's too smart for me. But wait! I realize I haven't been outsmarted yet:
"Honey, you don't have pockets in your skirt!" I was proud of myself.
"Yes I do!" She exclaimed, in a very frustrated voice. Then out came the waistband of her skirt and down went the handful of change. Right down into her underwear. Oh well. What's the worst that could happen?
On the way to the store I started musing over that idea: the worst thing that could happen... Well, let's see...money's pretty dirty. I suppose she could get some kind of infection in her little girl parts and then I would have to explain to the pediatrician that it's perfectly normal for little girls to go around with pennies in their privates and no one did anything in the least unusual to her! That wouldn't be a big deal, right? Riiiiiight...
We arrived at the store and I shoved my fantasy aside, because regardless of how many times I've cleaned that area during the diaper season of her life and baths, I'm sure not fishing money out of it in the middle of the grocery store. That seems like a good way to entice a stranger to call child services.
Instead, I got busy with the shopping trip, went home, and unloaded in a hurry so that we could go on a previously promised bike adventure. I assembled the bike seat, strapped on helmets, whipped out our shades, and took off downtown to meet Mom. I didn't forget to mention removing the money from its cozy nest in my daughter's Dora panties. It didn't happen. I forgot about the change. Go ahead, judge if you want. I left pennies in my daughter's hoo-ha.
We reached Mom's office and the kid was thrilled to jump off the bike and run into the office to show off her helmet and sunglasses. It was only when mom questioned the sound did I remember.
"Gracie...why is your bum jingling?" Mom questioned.
"Oh, my Lord. Please tell me I didn't forget that change."
"I can't." He responded. "That would be a lie and I am not capable of lying."
When I returned from my silent prayer, this is the answer I heard from my child:
"My bum's jingly 'cause I got change in my pocket!!" She grinned real big and continued her run down the row of cubicles to Mom's office, jingling all the way.
"But you don't have any pockets in your skirt..." Mom started eyeballing me, probably judging me just like you are about now.
"Nope! Not in my skirt! In my PANTIES!!" She yelled down the hall for all the busy real estate agents anywhere in the building to hear. Awesome. We went on into Mom's office and closed the door. I proceeded to try to convince her to give up the loot, but she wasn't budging and I was already embarrassed, so I caved. I mean, heck, it's been there all day, what's it gonna hurt? The damage has already been done. So we went to lunch.
It was only after 30 minutes of her showing off for the ladies at the Sandwich Shop (or the "nice ladies' shop", as she refers to it) that real disaster struck. I asked her if she wanted to put some change from my wallet in the tip jar for the nice ladies that made our food. I thought it was a good teaching moment, but she proved me wrong again. She's awesome at that.
"No Mommy! I want to put MY money in!" she wailed. Everyone thought that was simply adorable. That's because they didn't know where she was storing it.
I tried to quietly insist otherwise, but I could see she wasn't going down without a real big fight. How quickly that teachable moment had changed. It also became clear while watching her try that she couldn't retrieve the coins herself. Seems every time she tried, her little arm was too short to reach the "pocket" in her sagging panties. Bending her knees, though try as she may, only drooped the pocket lower.
"Mommy! Please get it!" was her pitiful cry for help. I surrendered to my shame and very nonchalantly escorted her to the only corner in the small shop, which was made of a wall and the store front window. (Of course. Shops never have a private "retrieving pennies from your young daughter's privates" corner when you need one. I mean, I was lucky to find a nursing mother's room in public back in the breast feeding days.) As I reached down the front of my daughter's skirt and fished out all the money, I could only imagine what people walking down 9th Street must have thought as they looked in that window.
I was at least able to swap the money out for some of my own on our way to the tip jar, in case you were wondering.
Good times.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Favorite Story: My child thinks she owns WalMart
Ok. So I know it's not Friday yet (and also that I missed like three Fridays since I declared "Favorite Stories Friday"...) but I just read this note on facebook and literally laughed out loud at my own self. So either I'm really conceited or truly hilarious. I'll let you judge. (And if you pick conceited that's fine-I'll still think I'm hilarious anyway so it won't matter a bit.)
I intended to edit and rewrite stories that I've previously written for this occaison, but I'm lazy at getting this started so I pretty much copy-pasted this one. Judge that, too if you want. Won't hurt my feelings; I already know I'm lazy.
*Eh Hem* Here goes:
Don't you love it when your children act foolish in public? I mean, they wouldn't want to act that way in private. No strangers would be around to hold up a "9.5" scorecard for the "Your Mom's Failure Rating" system.
Shortly after moving back to my hometown last year (too bad no one I know witnessed this-that adds points to my Fail score), we were at WalMart buying some more things off the "I thought we owned this but can't seem to find it since we moved even though we're completely unpacked" list. (I like to give my lists very long titles. Saves me money since it takes up so much space on the paper, because there's barely room left for actual items.)
Anyway, I'm chatting with the super nice lady that checked us out last week (because it's my full time job to go to the store now. I can't just do it once a month anymore. Crap.) I had given Gracie a few things to throw on and was putting the last items on the belt, still chatting with the cashier. Grace began tell the elderly lady behind us what a big girl she was for helping mommy and continued to sweet talk her for a few more minutes (which of course the lady was eating with a spoon). But THEN...the lady inched up her buggy...didn't even REACH for the divider bar or THINK about placing items on the belt (which would have been acceptable, since I was already signing my check.) and my sweet little child went Jekyll and Hyde on the old lady.
"NO NO NO! STOP! It's not your TURN!" she wailed.
"Oh Lord," I prayed silently, "please tell me I bought dog food on this trip. I need an excuse for why I'm now ducked under the grocery cart."
The lady looked rather shocked. I can't say I blame her.
"GRACIE!" I hissed from my safe haven rack under the cart.
"Mommy! She's pushing her buggy and it's not her turn!" Really? The lady was like 70...I think it was her turn before either of us or WalMart even existed!
"Gracie! It IS her turn! Stop that!"
"Mom!" I think I forgot to mention that she stated to me the other day that she was too big to say Mommy. I told her if that was the case, then I was too little to fix her food, wash her clothes, etc.
Anyway, I made MUCH haste in finishing my transaction (the cashier turned her light off...I wonder, was it already break time, or did my child drive her to break time?) gave all appropriate looks of "gee I'm really embarrassed that my kid's being a turd. sorry about that!" and put the buggy in fifth gear.
Needless to say, the kid got the full name followed by many "unacceptables" on the way out the door.
I got all the groceries in the car and started to put her in the car seat when she reminded me that in our last aisle of shopping she had told me she needed to potty. I had forgotten during the fit. Now I'M the bad guy. She always wins.
.
I intended to edit and rewrite stories that I've previously written for this occaison, but I'm lazy at getting this started so I pretty much copy-pasted this one. Judge that, too if you want. Won't hurt my feelings; I already know I'm lazy.
*Eh Hem* Here goes:
Don't you love it when your children act foolish in public? I mean, they wouldn't want to act that way in private. No strangers would be around to hold up a "9.5" scorecard for the "Your Mom's Failure Rating" system.
Shortly after moving back to my hometown last year (too bad no one I know witnessed this-that adds points to my Fail score), we were at WalMart buying some more things off the "I thought we owned this but can't seem to find it since we moved even though we're completely unpacked" list. (I like to give my lists very long titles. Saves me money since it takes up so much space on the paper, because there's barely room left for actual items.)
Anyway, I'm chatting with the super nice lady that checked us out last week (because it's my full time job to go to the store now. I can't just do it once a month anymore. Crap.) I had given Gracie a few things to throw on and was putting the last items on the belt, still chatting with the cashier. Grace began tell the elderly lady behind us what a big girl she was for helping mommy and continued to sweet talk her for a few more minutes (which of course the lady was eating with a spoon). But THEN...the lady inched up her buggy...didn't even REACH for the divider bar or THINK about placing items on the belt (which would have been acceptable, since I was already signing my check.) and my sweet little child went Jekyll and Hyde on the old lady.
"NO NO NO! STOP! It's not your TURN!" she wailed.
"Oh Lord," I prayed silently, "please tell me I bought dog food on this trip. I need an excuse for why I'm now ducked under the grocery cart."
The lady looked rather shocked. I can't say I blame her.
"GRACIE!" I hissed from my safe haven rack under the cart.
"Mommy! She's pushing her buggy and it's not her turn!" Really? The lady was like 70...I think it was her turn before either of us or WalMart even existed!
"Gracie! It IS her turn! Stop that!"
"Mom!" I think I forgot to mention that she stated to me the other day that she was too big to say Mommy. I told her if that was the case, then I was too little to fix her food, wash her clothes, etc.
Anyway, I made MUCH haste in finishing my transaction (the cashier turned her light off...I wonder, was it already break time, or did my child drive her to break time?) gave all appropriate looks of "gee I'm really embarrassed that my kid's being a turd. sorry about that!" and put the buggy in fifth gear.
Needless to say, the kid got the full name followed by many "unacceptables" on the way out the door.
I got all the groceries in the car and started to put her in the car seat when she reminded me that in our last aisle of shopping she had told me she needed to potty. I had forgotten during the fit. Now I'M the bad guy. She always wins.
.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
First Day of School
I'm officially old. The kid went to school. She started off the day like a typical school aged child. (Half slung out of her bed, drool covered pillow, lots of mumbling when I woke her up-obviously too early.) Baby was our (obvious) first topic of conversation.
"Good morning Pumkin! Do you know what today is?"
*rubbing eyes* "What?"
"Where do you go today?"
"School." *yawn*
"Are you excited?"
*flatline* "Yeah."
I could barely hold the giggles. She sounded like she'd done this a million times. I asked her if she was sure she was excited and she very flatly insisted. Then came a final attempt at saving her relationship with her best friend.
"Can I take baby?"
"Honey, we already talked about that. Where does baby have to stay?"
"In my backpack. Why does School not let us have our babies?"
And so it begins. I wanted to tell her that school was The Man and to get used to it.
We went on downstairs to eat oats and watch part of a Veggie Tale. I was very unsure about how we were going to get ready in time, because she is slower than a sleeping turtle. She also still needed a bath because she insisted on waiting till morning to take one so we could fix her hair. Teenhood is going to kill me. I rushed some oats down her face, bathed her so quickly that I almost drowned her without even noticing and stuffed her into her dress. We ran downstairs to fix her hair and of course I got the brush stuck in it while we were working on that. "Oh gee!" I thought. "PERFECT! I hope we're late the very first day!" We can just barely afford the school she's going to, and I'm already worried about stupid things that don't matter. (Like her walmart backpack hanging in a row with everyone's LL Bean personalized backpacks...) I don't need to look dumb running in late also.
We made it (fixed hair, pictures, and all) to the parking lot with ten minutes to spare. (Woot!) I parked, sighed, and relaxed into my seat. Then I started feeling kind of closed in. I looked to my left. Navigator. I looked to my right. Escalade. That's funny, I pulled in between the two biggest cars here and my car is so tiny. I looked out the windshield at the row in front of me. Honda minivan. Yukon. Town and Country. Escalade. Honda Minivan. Honda minivan. Navigator. Oh! A car! Oh...BMW. Town and Country. BMW. Oh well. At least my car is from Germany. Sucks for Brandon when he has to drop her off in his $700 station wagon that has a primer gray hood.
I grabbed the kid and stuffed her into her WalMart backpack and headed for the door. On the way across the parking lot, I noticed that everyone had taken the day off from doctoring and lawyering and brought the whole family to the first day of school in their sunday clothes. Crap. I needed a memo for that. Here I am in my running clothes without my husband in a VW. Unexpected failure.
Despite all my worries, she had a fantastic first day. (Apparently kids that young aren't ashamed of WalMart backpacks yet.) She didn't stop talking about it all night and or all day Thursday. She was very dissapointed when she didn't get to go on Thursday. Friday morning I woke her up and this is what I got:
"It's time to go to school again!"
Rolls over and sighs "That's ok, Mommy. I don't really feel like going. I'll just stay here today."
Excuse me?! Are you a senior in College?! "Um...well baby, that's not really a choice. Besides, I thought you liked school?"
"I did. It was fun. But I don't need to go anymore." Riiiiiight...
I think we exhausted every spectrum of feelings toward school in a 48 hour period. I hope she sticks close to the "love it" end!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Baby's Bath
Have I mentioned that my kid is hilarious? Ok, not lately, so here's a long awaited bout of hilarity.
My kid carries around this "baby" that's really a bear head with a blanket for a body. You know, the kind of thing that you're always supposed to own a second one? Of course, we have one. Anyway, she calls it Bear Baby. The only problem she's going to have next week when she starts preschool is that Bear Baby must stay in her backpack. Good thing she loves her backpack. I still feel sorry for her teacher.
I used to be able to get her to put Bear Baby in the front loading washing machine for a bath. It was working fine as long as I planned baths far enough away from nap or bedtime. However, suddenly she has decided that she can no longer be away from Baby for that hour, so Baby hasn't had a bath in, let's say...a month?
Baby has been to church, the pool, many public restrooms, restaurants, Camden Park (probably 6 times), and a large variety of other places in the last month. Baby smells like a butt. And every night when my darling sleeps she sucks her thumb and rubs her fingers through the germs from church, the pool, many public restrooms, restaurants, Camden Park, and a large variety of other places. And it doesn't seem to phase her that Baby smells like a butt.
I realize this is disgusting. But you should really see the enormous drawn out Scarlett O'Hara monologue that ensues every time I try to inch Baby toward the washer. It should win and Emmy. I tried stealing it from her in her sleep but she caught me. So I let the kid win one...hey...it doesn't happen often.
Well, today I got a whiff and had quite enough. I decided I was winning and it didn't matter how much I had to use my huge powers as a big mean parent to do it-Baby was getting a bath. Period. I began making announcements concerning the event upon the departure from Grammy's house. I rode all the way across town with Scarlett.
When we arrive at our house I tried giving her the option of putting it in herself.
"Don't you want to be a Mommy and give your Baby a bath?"
"NO! I CAN'T Mommy! I just CAN'T give her UP! I CAN'T give up my BABY!" Of course with this notion (which I'm thinking she might have acquired from accidentally overhearing a lifetime movie) she threw herself on the floor and began to literally wail.
"Well, pumpkin, she has to go in and get clean. Either you put her or Mommy's going to."
Of course she only clutched her tighter and rolled over on her and continued her routine. This forced me to use physical force to pry it away. (Didn't I feel totally tough for being able to overpower a 25 pound preschooler.) I carried baby off to the laundry room and the kid followed close behind crawling and sobbing. I tried to stay cheerful so I wouldn't be painted as an ogre when she tells it. I told her to tell her Baby to have a good bath and she actually said these words:
"I didn't want to give you up. She made me do it! Mommy MADE you get a bath. I hope you feel clean when you're done. I don't want to be without you."
Drama. Queen.
I finally just left her sobbing at the washer door with her face pressed to the plastic. I came back to the living room and a few minutes later she came shuffling in, shoulders hunched, head down, feet scuffing, and nose sniffling so hard I think some brain damage went on.
"What's wrong pumpkin?"
"I...can't...see...my...*sniiiiiiiiiff*...Baby any...more...*sniff sniff sniff*...She got covered up by the...blaaaaaaankies..."
"Honey...it's really going to be ok. She'll be out before you know it, and she won't STINK. I've got another blanky you can hold until then."
"Is it soft?"
"Yes! and it's CLEAN!"
"Is it pink?"
"It has some pink on it."
"Does it have a Bear for a head?"
"Um...no. But it has all those other things!"
"I guess I can hold it."
I already know this isn't going to work, but I thought it might at least hold her off for twenty minutes and she could have a visitation on Baby's way to the dryer. I gave her the insufficient Baby replacement. She held it quietly for 37 seconds.
"Mommy?"
"Yes, pumpkin?"
"Can you draw me a picture of my Bear Baby?"
"What for, honey?"
"So I can cuddle the paper you draw her on. I need to be with her."
She meant it. God be with her Preschool teachers.
My kid carries around this "baby" that's really a bear head with a blanket for a body. You know, the kind of thing that you're always supposed to own a second one? Of course, we have one. Anyway, she calls it Bear Baby. The only problem she's going to have next week when she starts preschool is that Bear Baby must stay in her backpack. Good thing she loves her backpack. I still feel sorry for her teacher.
I used to be able to get her to put Bear Baby in the front loading washing machine for a bath. It was working fine as long as I planned baths far enough away from nap or bedtime. However, suddenly she has decided that she can no longer be away from Baby for that hour, so Baby hasn't had a bath in, let's say...a month?
Baby has been to church, the pool, many public restrooms, restaurants, Camden Park (probably 6 times), and a large variety of other places in the last month. Baby smells like a butt. And every night when my darling sleeps she sucks her thumb and rubs her fingers through the germs from church, the pool, many public restrooms, restaurants, Camden Park, and a large variety of other places. And it doesn't seem to phase her that Baby smells like a butt.
I realize this is disgusting. But you should really see the enormous drawn out Scarlett O'Hara monologue that ensues every time I try to inch Baby toward the washer. It should win and Emmy. I tried stealing it from her in her sleep but she caught me. So I let the kid win one...hey...it doesn't happen often.
Well, today I got a whiff and had quite enough. I decided I was winning and it didn't matter how much I had to use my huge powers as a big mean parent to do it-Baby was getting a bath. Period. I began making announcements concerning the event upon the departure from Grammy's house. I rode all the way across town with Scarlett.
When we arrive at our house I tried giving her the option of putting it in herself.
"Don't you want to be a Mommy and give your Baby a bath?"
"NO! I CAN'T Mommy! I just CAN'T give her UP! I CAN'T give up my BABY!" Of course with this notion (which I'm thinking she might have acquired from accidentally overhearing a lifetime movie) she threw herself on the floor and began to literally wail.
"Well, pumpkin, she has to go in and get clean. Either you put her or Mommy's going to."
Of course she only clutched her tighter and rolled over on her and continued her routine. This forced me to use physical force to pry it away. (Didn't I feel totally tough for being able to overpower a 25 pound preschooler.) I carried baby off to the laundry room and the kid followed close behind crawling and sobbing. I tried to stay cheerful so I wouldn't be painted as an ogre when she tells it. I told her to tell her Baby to have a good bath and she actually said these words:
"I didn't want to give you up. She made me do it! Mommy MADE you get a bath. I hope you feel clean when you're done. I don't want to be without you."
Drama. Queen.
I finally just left her sobbing at the washer door with her face pressed to the plastic. I came back to the living room and a few minutes later she came shuffling in, shoulders hunched, head down, feet scuffing, and nose sniffling so hard I think some brain damage went on.
"What's wrong pumpkin?"
"I...can't...see...my...*sniiiiiiiiiff*...Baby any...more...*sniff sniff sniff*...She got covered up by the...blaaaaaaankies..."
"Honey...it's really going to be ok. She'll be out before you know it, and she won't STINK. I've got another blanky you can hold until then."
"Is it soft?"
"Yes! and it's CLEAN!"
"Is it pink?"
"It has some pink on it."
"Does it have a Bear for a head?"
"Um...no. But it has all those other things!"
"I guess I can hold it."
I already know this isn't going to work, but I thought it might at least hold her off for twenty minutes and she could have a visitation on Baby's way to the dryer. I gave her the insufficient Baby replacement. She held it quietly for 37 seconds.
"Mommy?"
"Yes, pumpkin?"
"Can you draw me a picture of my Bear Baby?"
"What for, honey?"
"So I can cuddle the paper you draw her on. I need to be with her."
She meant it. God be with her Preschool teachers.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Crispie Treats and Cousin Time
My Uncle John makes the world's best rice crispie treats. Hands down. Once I even requested a pan of them in lieu of a cake for my 14th birthday. This was just an extra perk when our cousins visited last week.
My cousin lives in Arkansas and has a mini-her that's about a year older than my mini-me. Needless to say, we don't see them often, so this was the girls' first meeting. Boy was it a hoot. We started with a cookout at Uncle Eric's house.
Mine is the one that looks like a drowned rat. She suddenly decided it's awesome to run around barefoot (even if her feet get dirty) and play in the rain (even though she hates the shower). Don't get me wrong...I'm TOTALLY fine (maybe "overjoyed" would be a better description) with her willingness to do these things. I'm just confused at the sudden change. Anyway, they used the piece of plastic in Gracie's hand as a dog leash and took each other for walks around the yard. I love preschoolers hard at play. They're ridiculous.
On Tuesday we took our lovely offspring over to West Virginia's one and only amusement park. Close your eyes for a moment (after you read the description, of course) and try to smell a combination of dirty grease, hot asphalt, and corndogs. Now spin around in a thousand circles until you are about to throw up a corndog that you didn't even eat. Ok, open your eyes. You either just flashed back twenty years and were flooded with memories from childhood or maybe that was your first trip to Camden Park. Either way, I just saved you $20.99.
The girls had a blast. They don't know each other at all (in fact, Gracie kept asking what her cousin's name was) but they sure were holding hands and running all over the park like they were lifelong BFFs. (Three words: Move. Back. Home.) My favorite part of the evening was that Ainsley wanted to do everything. Twice. No hands. This was me as a kid. I think they got switched somehow. I hope that if they hang out a few more times before they have their own kids then maybe some of that will rub off on Grace. That would be great.
On Friday we went over and went swimming with Ainsley at her Grandparents' house. My kid loves the water as long as it's nowhere near her face. I cannot comprehend this, because I think I stared swimming then I was three days old. (That's right folks, and I was a December baby, too! And I walked to school uphill both ways in the snow and once in wind that surely would have blown piglet away.) Ainsley is a year older and ten times braver, so of course she was everywhere in the pool. I kept pointing this out to Gracie and saying things like "See? Ainsley puts her whole head in and it's not melting her face off!" She would reply something like "That's ok, I'm fine," and continue her delicate water play.
Ainsley finally had enough of this pansiness and said "See, I'll show you" and with her much bigger size and all of her cousinly love she grabbed the top of Gracie's head and pushed her under. She let go after the bubbles stopped...ok, ok...it wasn't that long, probably like a millisecond. But when your pansy child gets an unexpected baptism, it seems like a lot longer! Anyway, Gracie came sputtering up and looked at Ainsley as if to say "What. was the POINT. of that!?" It didn't help her psyche that my mom, her two cousins, and I were rolling on the grass laughing at her. (That's how our family rolls. "What? You ran a tent stake through your hand? Take an aspirin and put a slab of bacon on it. And don't forget to quit whining about it. It's fine. Man up.") In case you're still on edge-she survived.
She also forgave her cousin. We went back in the house when the kids started turning purple and they played awhile longer. When I started thinking that the Drama Queen might off someone's head if she didn't get some rest soon I started warning her. She began to insist that we didn't need to leave because she wanted to stay and snuggle with Ainsley in her bed. I went to retrieve them from this cuteness a few minutes later and they were hiding. (Seriously kid? I invented that move.) When they returned to the living room the begging began.
"But Mommy! I wanna stay here with Ainsley!"
"Well honey, I would like that, but we have to go."
"But AINSLEY said I could STAY!"
*enter Ainsley, stage left. Delivers sharp elbow jab to Gracie's ribs. Hisses through clenched teeth.* "You weren't supposed to tell them!"
We all died from laughter again. This time at Ainsley's expense. Sorry kiddo-Gracie just has too much to learn about these kinds of things and no cousins around to teach her! Ha! But when you move here, you can teach her. Good plan. See you soon!
My cousin lives in Arkansas and has a mini-her that's about a year older than my mini-me. Needless to say, we don't see them often, so this was the girls' first meeting. Boy was it a hoot. We started with a cookout at Uncle Eric's house.
Mine is the one that looks like a drowned rat. She suddenly decided it's awesome to run around barefoot (even if her feet get dirty) and play in the rain (even though she hates the shower). Don't get me wrong...I'm TOTALLY fine (maybe "overjoyed" would be a better description) with her willingness to do these things. I'm just confused at the sudden change. Anyway, they used the piece of plastic in Gracie's hand as a dog leash and took each other for walks around the yard. I love preschoolers hard at play. They're ridiculous.
On Tuesday we took our lovely offspring over to West Virginia's one and only amusement park. Close your eyes for a moment (after you read the description, of course) and try to smell a combination of dirty grease, hot asphalt, and corndogs. Now spin around in a thousand circles until you are about to throw up a corndog that you didn't even eat. Ok, open your eyes. You either just flashed back twenty years and were flooded with memories from childhood or maybe that was your first trip to Camden Park. Either way, I just saved you $20.99.
The girls had a blast. They don't know each other at all (in fact, Gracie kept asking what her cousin's name was) but they sure were holding hands and running all over the park like they were lifelong BFFs. (Three words: Move. Back. Home.) My favorite part of the evening was that Ainsley wanted to do everything. Twice. No hands. This was me as a kid. I think they got switched somehow. I hope that if they hang out a few more times before they have their own kids then maybe some of that will rub off on Grace. That would be great.
On Friday we went over and went swimming with Ainsley at her Grandparents' house. My kid loves the water as long as it's nowhere near her face. I cannot comprehend this, because I think I stared swimming then I was three days old. (That's right folks, and I was a December baby, too! And I walked to school uphill both ways in the snow and once in wind that surely would have blown piglet away.) Ainsley is a year older and ten times braver, so of course she was everywhere in the pool. I kept pointing this out to Gracie and saying things like "See? Ainsley puts her whole head in and it's not melting her face off!" She would reply something like "That's ok, I'm fine," and continue her delicate water play.
Ainsley finally had enough of this pansiness and said "See, I'll show you" and with her much bigger size and all of her cousinly love she grabbed the top of Gracie's head and pushed her under. She let go after the bubbles stopped...ok, ok...it wasn't that long, probably like a millisecond. But when your pansy child gets an unexpected baptism, it seems like a lot longer! Anyway, Gracie came sputtering up and looked at Ainsley as if to say "What. was the POINT. of that!?" It didn't help her psyche that my mom, her two cousins, and I were rolling on the grass laughing at her. (That's how our family rolls. "What? You ran a tent stake through your hand? Take an aspirin and put a slab of bacon on it. And don't forget to quit whining about it. It's fine. Man up.") In case you're still on edge-she survived.
She also forgave her cousin. We went back in the house when the kids started turning purple and they played awhile longer. When I started thinking that the Drama Queen might off someone's head if she didn't get some rest soon I started warning her. She began to insist that we didn't need to leave because she wanted to stay and snuggle with Ainsley in her bed. I went to retrieve them from this cuteness a few minutes later and they were hiding. (Seriously kid? I invented that move.) When they returned to the living room the begging began.
"But Mommy! I wanna stay here with Ainsley!"
"Well honey, I would like that, but we have to go."
"But AINSLEY said I could STAY!"
*enter Ainsley, stage left. Delivers sharp elbow jab to Gracie's ribs. Hisses through clenched teeth.* "You weren't supposed to tell them!"
We all died from laughter again. This time at Ainsley's expense. Sorry kiddo-Gracie just has too much to learn about these kinds of things and no cousins around to teach her! Ha! But when you move here, you can teach her. Good plan. See you soon!
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