Time travel, in real(ish) time

Ok. I'm ready to start talking about how my BABY is in Kindergarten. See also: holy.shit.

How did we go from that to this?

Here's what happened: we lived in the Northeast and because of the kid's birthday (end of September), she was in this weird purgatory where we could choose go to enroll her into Kindergarten for 2012 or 2013. The truth is: when we talked about it, we were always planning on a 2012 enrollment. Why? She's ready.  She's been ready.  More than being smart (and she's smart) she's (just about) the tallest kid it any circle she is in, she gravitates to the older kids, and always thrives with the oldest cats.Why would we hold her back? {insert argument for "redshirting" here. And then my favorite, nobody eeevvver regrets holding a child back.}

We moved to St. Louis and due to her birthday, the only choice was a 2013 enrollment.  We talked about sending her to private Kindergarten (spending money for cutting & the alphabet = crazy.town) because we knew we'd (eventually) be going back to the Northeast. Ultimately, all the reasons "nobody eeeever regrets holding a child back" are valid. She'd be the oldest, hopefully a bit more mature, and with more time - a bit ahead of the game when it comes to academics.

Who am I kidding? Forget the report card. I was thinking with more year, maybe she'd be less susceptible to peer pressures (pipe dream). I'm sure all the reasons that have to do with keeping a kid back, academically, have merit - but I wanted to hold her back to give her a year to grow (some confidence. Chutzpah. Balls. whatever).  She tends to be a people pleaser, more of a follower than a leader.  I know she's only four years old, but I believe her personality will have a red thread in it now - that will carry on throughout her life. Why not hold her back to give her more time? 

The bottom line: she's ready. I'm not ready. I can't hold her back because I'm nervous her 14 year old self will get sucked into an after school special with mean older girls and peer pressures that if only she was 1 year older she would have been able to handle {insert spiral of convoluted story that only I follow anyway}.

I was talking a friend about the move, before we left. She asked how I was doing, I said "fine, but freaking out..." and then explained the whole birthday cut off situation and how in addition to dealing with moving in 5 weeks, a few days after we arrive - the kid starts Kindergarten. I told her how I was freaking out, but I was getting better.  I laid out the whole birthday cut offs, St. Louis vs. Cleveland, etc, etc. I explained how I envisioned her preteen years and how I was being unreasonable and needed to relax. Her response?

"Oh.my.God. You're telling me her WHOLE life has changed, by this move? She's lost an entire year of her life! It's as if she had a personal day light savings time. Her life has been forever altered!"

To which I promptly had a silent panic attack. 

:: fast forward ::

A few days after we moved, I registered her for Kindergarten. The Friday before school began (Monday). Nothing says prepared like the day before school starts, signing your kid up for school. The thing of it was, while we were in Cleveland a few days prior to the day I registered, you have to make an appointment and needed specific paperwork to register. Friday was the soonest I could get in.

While I think the final count was 8 pieces of documentation, that ranged from proof of birth to proof of residency - I made sure I didn't waste any time. I brought every single piece of identifying paperwork I have. Passports, insurance, school loan paperwork, Baptism records, marriage certificate, car titles, warranties, etc - if I have it, it was with me.  Kindergarten registration was not going to get the best of me.

I walked in, fighting back tears (as you do), and got the job done.  Before the tears began though, as I walked in with my accordion folder, I was made.

"First child to go to Kindergarten, huh?"

I don't know what gave it away. The foot-wide folder of documentation, the fear in my heart, or the near tear eyes.

My first child is in Kindergarten. And not only is she ready, she's thriving. My little girl is blowing cutting and the alphabet out of the water. Me? I'm taking it one day at a time.

1 year.

Our littlest baby girl one years old. One year ago, you made us all feel slightly more whole. Surprisingly, when you love your child with your whole heart and another child comes into that heart? There is plenty of room. It's almost as if, there was something missing before - even if there wasn't. Confusing?  Maybe. But so are you. You are always a surprise. Your arrival was slightly surprising, your name surprising, your personality? SURPRISE. Come to think of it, even being knocked up was a surprise.

You are the best kind of surprise.

You (still) only have a few teeth - but that doesn't stop you from tearing through food. You have two bottom teeth and your two eye teeth are coming in. So basically, you are an adorable little vampire. We used to call you a vampire when you were little because you were always hungry - and let's just say it wasn't pretty.  Your favorite food seems to currently be mac & cheese, but you do love avocado, pasta (with sauce), and we haven't tested it - but we are fairly sure you would eat Chinese food everyday, all day - if it were up to you. Oh and pizza. Good lord, you love pizza. You love fruit - especially melons & peaches.

You are walking and it blows our mind, every day. Sometimes, it makes me cry. Not a bad cry or sad cry. I just can't believe how big you are. You are were my itty bitty baby. Fitting in newborn clothes, and even today - you are just getting to your "age" size. And even saying that, you still wear some 9 month clothing.

We are pretty sure you are a genius - answering yes or no questions or understanding 90% of what we say and reacting to it. Every time you learn something new or show us something different - we are surprised at how fast it is going. I have a feeling there will always be surprises in store for us, with you.

As always, and this should go without saying at this point - you are loved. Loved hard. And loved most by your big sister.

Happy birthday, JBird, JJ, JossyB, Pest, PleaseStopScreamingForTheLoveI'mGettingYouYourFoodAsFastAsPossible.

Love you much. Love you always. 
Mommy, Daddy & your adoring big sister.

Walking Lessons

Mark the date. June 23, 2012, JJ walked. Here's how the events went down:

1. It looked like she was going to take a step. I took out my phone to get video. I didn't want to shout for an audience, because it would have startled her. I thought I got it on video, she walked back (or maybe fell) a few steps. Then I called for the crew. Unfortunately, I didn't get it on tape, but I did get a GREAT example of why it was a good idea to not scream across the house. I sound like a crazy man.
   
   
   
   
2. JJ took 2 or 3 steps, depending on how you count them - but the amazing-ness of capturing such a moment was ruined because I am whispering in the background to get the ball & chain's attention. And it's weird. Apparently he saw the whole thing but didn't want to "say anything." So he just let me repeat my creepy whispering the whole time, great. Good news? Youtube let's me put music over the whole damn thing so at least you can see the moment.
   
   
   
   
3. Directly after those video fails, I kept my finger on the trigger. And just as they say, third time's a charm. L talks through this whole walking situation with her baby sister. Best.Lesson.(and reaction)Ever. 
   
   

My favorite moment, 100%, is how excited L gets when it's happening. The belly laugh. The amazement. The every thing. I also love how she 'models' walking. I tear up at her giggles every.time.  In other news, it has been reported that she is working on a British accent. Do you hear it? It's all I can hear, now.

In related news, even more startling than having a daughter with Madonna syndrome? OMFG. JJ IS WALKING. 

10 Months. WHAT?

Dearest JBird,

Girly, the fact that you are 10 months old BLOWS.MY.MIND (EXPLODE). Your big sister loves to have the countdown - where she is always reminding us on how old you are. It's the most adorable thing and the most anxious-ridden thing - at the same time - in the world. In just 2 weeks you be 11 months old. WHAT THE WHAT?

About 2 weeks ago, you stopped nursing. Cold turkey. You just stopped. There were a couple days I tried to keep on, keeping on - and it just felt weird. I wasn't tied to the whole thing with your sister. Strangely, I'm sad about it with you. You're my baby. It seemed to work well. I'm a "if it's not broken, don't fix it" type of gal - but obviously something was broken for you. So fine, away went nursing. Now this past weekend, you've decided you don't like baby mush food either. Here's the thing, kid - you two teeth. Two teeth, a baby who can chew things, does not make. As your big sister says, pretty much as frequently as your age? You. Are. Trouble. 

So now, I scour the kitchen for things to bake or steam to soften in - because again, like I said - you have two teeth, girl.  As if dinner time wasn't a pain in the ass, let's add to it - find things you want and can to eat.

And to add insult to injury, as I scour the kitchen I can't blink my eyes. If I blink my eyes, you have foreign objects in your mouth, you are scaling the walls or one leg scooting across the floor toward the stairs. Seriously, girl. What.THE.Hell.

With all of the gasps, heart stopping moments, and aggravation? We love you completely. Fully. And it's like you are every bit of the piece of the puzzle we need.  Girly, you are our everything. "You're a sweet little cherry. I just want to eat you up." Guess who that is? Your sister, she is good for the lines. And just when I think no one loves you more than me or your dad? There she is.

Love you much. Love you always, 

Mama & Daddy (and L, too!)

Liar Liar Pants on Fire

Earlier this week, a milestone was hit I was hoping never would. As a parent, you want your child to excel. You want you child to hit milestones, and if they are ahead of schedule - even better. Jackpot. Genius city. 

Well, my kid may be a genius - but a filthy liar of a genius. 

Here's how it went.

L wanted to go out after dinner, her usual spot - the front porch - or as she calls it the "french port." Truth be told, I really didn't want to - but "luckily" the ball & chain was traveling, dinner was running late and there was still bath ahead of us - there was no time. I explained the no time factor, we had to get JJ bathed and ready for bed. Then, because I do love the kid so - I thought out loud, "Oh, but maybe after she goes to bed we can go out for a few minutes." The kid beamed with excitement. 

Her, "YES!"
Me, "Wait, did you nap though?"
Her, "No. {she thinks...} UM - yes. Yes, I did!"

Me, "You did? Really?"

The rule is, if she takes a nap she can stay up later. If she doesn't nap, and only rests quietly in her room for an hour - she goes to bed early. Truth be told, it's a difference of 30 minutes, but to her? It's a lifetime. Now that summer is here, staying up late usually means a bit longer. She knows how to work the system, the longer she snugs with me, the longer she can stay up. Who wouldn't want to snug with a cutie? Not me, if she's a lying cutie. Also, for the purposes of the rest of the story? Our au pair's name is Sally. Not really - but it's what I'm going with.

Her, "I DID!"

Me, "Ok, let me call Sally."

Her, "Oh, no. Don't call Sally. She's probably busy, playing bollywall."

Bollywall being volleyball, which Sally was in fact playing. There was some more back and forth, but the long and short of it was I gave her at least 10 chances to come clean. Did the whole, "I won't be mad, if you tell me the truth - but if you let the lie go, it will be a bigger problem."

I apologized to her in the end, saying that I was sorry and I was sad, but I felt like she was lying. We weren't going outside tonight. If I'm wrong, we'd go out even longer the next night but I felt confident that she wasn't telling me the truth. I'll apologize if I'm wrong, but I think I'm right. "Am I right, kid? Are you lying?"

"I'm not lying, Mama!"

She let the lie go. Sally didn't get back to me until after L went to bed, and maybe you didn't put it together - but home girl didn't sleep. She didn't nap. She did lie. She did break my heart.

The next morning when the kid woke up, the first thing I asked was, "When Sally got back to me, what do you think she said?"

And then she did something she's never done before. Other than lie.

She laughed. Hard. Like a sociopath.

I calmly explain, it's not cool. It's not funny. It's serious. She lied and I'm disappointed, and there are consequences. For the next two nights, she eats dinner - no dessert and straight to bed.

She didn't cry, she took it in. And when it was time to pay the piper? She took it like a man. I guess my little lying sociopath believes in rehabilitation, so that's a good thing. Right?

{laughs like a crazy person slash sociopath}

Coughing Up Flame

L is getting her first ear infection. I should consider us lucky. It's her first one in all four years of her little life. I have a hard time seeing that silver lining when she's hogging the blankets in bed and spending the wee hours of the morning coughing on me or (bad breath) breathing on me until I finally give up and get out of bed at 5:30 am. That said, even tired and fearing what germs are making a home in me - she is hilarious.

In preparation for our doctor's office I started asking questions. What hurts? ETC.

Me: "When you cough does anything come up?" 

L: "Yup. The flame. I have it." 

Me: {thinking} "OH you mean phlegm."
L: "Yup. Flame. In my thought mouth."

Just when I thought it couldn't get weirder up in here, I have a fire eater. P.s. she meant phlegm. Naturally. And no, she isn't feeling a burning sensation, she just thinks phlegm is flame.

Good Talk Bad Talk

My baby grew up. When did that happen? Our oldest, turning four in a mere hours by the time this is posted is growing up faster than I might like. It's happening everywhere in every way and when I least expect it. Example: I brought her to a birthday party - her first in the area.  It was another first for her: I was to leave. 

I think there was one other parent there, might have been a neighbor? But all the other parents? Left. Gone. 

I was frantic.  At first the kid was clingy and shy but within seconds she had found a friend from her class and while confused that I would leave (because I had never left her at a friends before let alone a party) she was fine with it.  Me? I was not. I was totally freaked but I left anyway, because I'm not going to that parent hovering over her, when everyone else left.

What's a girl to do? I called my mom.

My fear was this: sometimes L gets upset - for what would seem like 'no reason.'  Example - kids accidentally bonk into each other. She accidentally hurts someone... the other kid- who ACTUALLY got hurt - cries.  L then cries because she feels bad that she hurt the other kid and/or she is so embarrassed and/or overwhelmed and she cries.  I don't know where she gets that from {looks around innocently}...

I was so afraid, she was going to get overwhelmed, cry, and since the other kids so much more mature? I don't know - I thought it would carry over in school or something (mean girls exist and they start at 3. FYI) and she is so jammed right now about making friends - I was nervous for her. Yes I realize these are all messed up sentence structures, ongoing and don't make sense - but I think they paint the picture of my insanity thought process. 

So back to the story at hand:

I call my mom... to just be like, "Can you believe it? She's 4! They have drop off parties already? I had no idea!"  

Her response?
First thing she says?

"Have you had the good touch, bad touch conversation yet??"

Awesome.

Here I am, worried she might cry or just have a weird social moment ... and now that's escalated to possible molestation.

What's a girl to do? I had a beer at 2pm. 

That night, C & I decided to attack the "good touch bad touch" conversation - completely unprepared. I have 2-3 reference books to choose from that likely touch upon this subject (ba-dum-cha) or I don't know the world wide web?  There has to be an about.com page on how to talk to kids about this? Perhaps a youtube.com video? Nah - we go at it - totally unprepared and frankly I'll be surprised if we didn't scar her. In related news: this whole parenting gig is difficult. How the hell are we not required to have some kind of operating license to do it?

Flashbacks & Blessings

Monday night I noticed the baby’s finger was red – at closer examination it was swollen.  Her middle finger was almost hot and the red discoloration went from her first finger pad all the way down and around to the palm of her right hand. On the top of her finger, there was a puffy could be pussy little pocket of infection. I know, gross – and totally out of nowhere.  For the first time, as a parent, in almost 4 years we called the doctor “after hours.”  I think that’s a pretty good run, if I do say so myself.  We just never had the need before. And while I was sure it wasn’t life threatening, her little finger was hot and clearly infected.  The other thing that concerned me was how quickly it happened because to my recollection when I was bathing her an hour earlier, I don’t remember seeing her finger like this. 

We called the doctors office, spoke with the message center and got a call back from the pediatric nurse on call at the hospital.  I anticipated a homeopathic suggestion like epson salt or warm compress. Instead I got something to the effect of: “Run do not walk to the ER.”

Dear health professionals,

For the love of G-O-D, please refrain from using such words as: critical, imperative, complications or immediately when speaking to a parent as it relates to the seriousness of their child’s condition.

Thank you,

Parent who shat herself

I googled complications that the nurse mentioned on the phone; I fell down a google wormhole on the way to the hospital (I wasn’t driving – relax) of panic.  I did all I could to remain calm, mostly just cursing underneath my breath.  It’s scary.  They were worried how the infection and coloration was spreading (quickly) and without reason.  It wasn't started through a cut fingernail or cut on her finger.

We arrived to the ER and as promised, our name was “left at the front” so that we could quickly pass through to the Pediatric ER.  Any emergency situation is scary, but might I be so bold to say that a Pediatric specific ER top 5 scariest places on Earth?  Are we agreed? Super. Probably as scary as a… I don’t know? Let’s say a NICU?

I’m trying to keep it together. As we waited to be admitted C realized he forgot his cell phone in the car – so he left me. Our history should have told us this was a bad idea; what you may not know is whenever he leaves me (even if for a minute) in a hospital something goes awry. As I breathed through the stress of bringing my baby girl to the ER in the middle of the night, albeit 8:30 pm, I thought I was doing okay.  It’s an infection. It’s just her finger. Everything will be fine. Breathe.  As I'm thinking this I look down at my baby girl. She was sleeping soundly, if anything was wrong we'd know, she'll be fine. We'll be fine.  

Ah, how peaceful it is (before the storm). 

It's right about now we get called in. Me & my baby girl - walk through the automatic doors into the waiting room for the Pediatric ER. As we walk into the room, I notice a gorgeous aquarium wall. Breathing in the moment, I realize I can't breathe out. My breath is quite literally taken away. I can not exhale and instead I'm immediately (hysterically) crying.


By the beauty of the fish? Not quite. 




I'm having what I can only imagine is a mini panic attack.  I'm panicking and all I can see is this fish tank. The picture you see? It's not what I saw that night. It was the aquarium at Mass General Hospital. In the NICU unit L spent a month in. Sheer. Panic.

My dear husband came back.  He returned to find his previously (somewhat) sane wife now in a corner (not facing the aquarium, because well - obviously) in a pile of tears.  In the minutes he was gone, all I could do was struggle to breathe through flashbacks as I would imagine someone with PTSD would do. 

God damn f'ing fish... I thought they were supposed to be calming?

Fast forward: I pull it together and don't face the damn tank.  In terms of our "emergency"? JJ is fine. I'll spare you the details - but there was some minor blood shed, major tears lost, (another) small piece of my sanity taken and $100 for the visit.  At the end of the day? Basically homegirl had a (very aggrevated & infected) ingrown nail.

An ingrown nail.  An emotionally taxing ingrown nail.

Baby's first ER run and we were home within a few hours; nothing serious (thank God) to come of the situation - but perhaps just a quick moment and reminder of how lucky we are. A slap in the face - a reminder - what not to take for granted.

March to the Beat: Homegirl's First Parade

You know when you see things on television and you think, "Does this just happen in a sitcom or a movie?"

That's what I think about when I hear about neighborhood parades. Truly. It's not the ONLY thing I see and say that ... but it's one of those things I didn't know really existed.  They do and as curious as they are, I love them.

Who.Am.I?

We participated in a neighborhood parade on July 4th - where people wore plaid, it was B.Y.O.I. (bring your own instrument) and we marched IN the parade behind a man and a slide whistle.

A.Slide.Whistle.

I freaking LOVE this place.  It was amazing. I wore black; of course so one might say I'm fitting RIGHT in over here.

A Child's Loss

Note: This post has been in the making - during my wee bit sabbatical as we tried to get things worked out - but it's a scar on my heart.

My baby is 3 and while she claims I can't call her "baby" any more, I do and I will. Try stopping me. My baby had her first loss and it breaks my heart tissue by tissue, muscle by muscle. 

We moved, we've been talking about moving for as long as we've known. Now, to be fair, we haven't known long - but we wanted to prepare her as much as we could. We knew the transition would be tough and we knew taking her from the only home, environment and schedule she's ever known would be hard. But can I tell you the truth? You say that - I say that and I MEAN it but when I really really think about it? How can you really tell what it will feel like? I knew it might be hard, but I didn't know it would be as hard as it was.  I didn't know her little memories, mind & feelings would come in the way they would and I didn't know I'd be able to see her pain in her face.

After leaving her house, her school & her friends I anticipated she would miss everything, but I don't know that I thought about how it would come about. Everyday, in any way - someone would come up.

I'd be making lunch - a salad and would add avocados... "You know who loves avocados? Patrick LOVES avocados!"
We'd be sitting on the hammock outside... "What color eyes to do you have? I have blue. You know who else has blue eyes, Elle has blue eyes like me."
We'd be eating dinner... "I miss my friends."

We'd be going food shopping... "Mama, I miss Noah's Ark. My friends. My teachers."

And sometimes in the middle of silence...  "Mama, what do you think the class is learning about today?"

{heart breaks}

We're doing what we can to help her cope with her loss. She wrote her class a letter the other day, we talk about how she'll make new friends, signed up her for camp and swim class and are looking into a new preschool in the fall. While she doesn't go to daycare, she still needs to be cared for during the workday, as we both work (full time).   We have an au pair again who is working out well.  She is working with the kid weekly to get involved in new activities, reading different books, scheduling play dates, and even worksheets to practice her writing, drawing and other educational games. The kid is 3, she will do just fine, but it doesn't hurt her (and by extension me or the baby's daddy) any less.

I hear it just gets worse, so that's awesome. Damn, this parenting thing is serious business.  How do you deal with heartbreaks - small and large, big kids and small? I don't know that I'm cut out for this... good thing we've already signed up for number 2! 

First Hair Cut

September 2010

The night before her first (scheduled) haircut!

I'd been toying around with getting the kid's hair cut for a few months now. The end of September, I was getting a hair cut and L wanted one too. While I love her curls and her hair, it is a pain in the ass. Most importantly, she was bringing it up - she wanted a hair cut.  I try not to let the kid run the house, but she does have (some) choices and cutting her hair and style is one of them.  The ball & chain is down with this, for now, though I sense I change of heart when she wants to shave her head or dye it blue.   We might be a house divided if he does.  I'll try not to fast forward and focus on the issue at hand; a simple hair cut.

Scene of my first hair cut.
Photo credit, Disney's Tangled.

While my father still talks about my first hair cut where all my curls fell out and the color changed (impossible), I didn't want to be like that. (Side note: I now invision a scene in Disney's Tangled.   The one when Rapunzel's hair gets cut it turns brown.) It was severely traumatic (for him) and he has the hair from that dreaded day like a serial killer keeps a trophy of a kill.  He'll show you if you want.  I was not going to creep out like that. (Don't worry - the irony is it's about to get creepy.)  The night before the scheduled cut, her hair was PERFECT. Adorable. Amazing. Of course. Sure, she has ice pop face - but I had to take pictures to prove it.  To make matters worse I put it on the Facebook and got slammed for the possibility of a hair cut.

We got to the hair salon and after my hair cut she was NOT interested, so crisis averted. I didn't force the issue because like I said, it's her choice.  5 months later, as snow blankets the ground, there is proof that summer existed in her hair. The ends of her hair, mostly this little tail of curl remains in the back of head (that curl up there in picture one, taken in September).  5 months later, it is the blondest, tightest, knottiest piece of hair that has ever lived on a 3 year old's head. It is the curliest piece, it is the blondest piece and for all of these things, I am fairly certain Nana Lu is still mourning her loss. Every morning I expect to find it forming a dread.  While I dig that; dreads do seem a bit unconventional for a 3 year old. Randomly one night, I asked her if we could cut a little of her hair, it was still up to her. I explained her rat tail was kind a pain and would she mind if we cut it off? When I included the idea of "beauty parlor" she was in.  SURE, she'd be delighted - next can she have a manicure?? We had her take a bath, we combed out her hair and with a random scissor I cut the way back rat tail that was plaguing us daily.  For the grandparents reading:  yes we discussed that no she could never take a scissor to her head, no she was not to do this on her own, etc etc - will this come back to bite us? Perhaps.  I'd like to believe there are kids out there that have taken a scissor to their hair before ever receiving a hair cut.  It is what it is. I cut ONE piece.  It was only one part of her hair, though combed straight about an inch and half to two inches. I took a picture - mostly for fun and perhaps ceremoniously.

If I planned this (post) better I would have gotten a Tangled doll to use for scale! I suggested the hair cut, but she agreed. The clipped hair, which of course I mean to only save a lock for her baby book still sits on our book case. Full clip.  Serial killer like.  Also, her hair looks SO short now and I swear to God, it looks darker.

Creepy apple, not fallen far from the tree, Mama signing off.

Dreamy Christmas - Introduction(ish)

Oh happiness. Christmas miracles of Christmas miracles. Let me set the scene. This post started, to date of my completion and re-read the 26^th of December. Keep that in mind, based on the publish date; whenever that might end up being.  As I go through, I realize this bad boy has to be in two parts (Hooray, two posts taken care of! CHECK!) That’s how busy we’ve been or been busy relaxing in-between the next ‘course’ of family visits.  OK, now back the 26^th… this feels like virtual time travel.

We are gleefully sitting on our couch.  Snugged up, candles burning & kid napping.  Christmas amazing. I am typing from my wireless keyboard to my iPad. Oh yes.

Wireless. iPad  Maybe it’s just me, but those two words feel like porn might to those that well, like the porn.  You get the picture (though now I’m not sure what kind of picture you are getting).

I'm sipping an ice cold drink from A Christmas Story glass and we are snowed in.  Oh yes we are. This is truly the best Christmas eva. We've had a house full of love, celebration, relaxation and Christmas magic for days.  It wouldn't be a family gathering with out a little yelling (it's how we communicate) a touch of cussing and a few minutes of aggravation.  If it was missing any of these components we would have been at someone else’s house - likely other people all together. Despite the plan to stay home and not travel, we got (mostly) that.  Traditions began and our home was the meeting place for the holidays, for the first time ever. Though I think we hosted an Easter a bit back, when we were in Boston. This was very different.

Nana Lu & Uncle Ricky arrived Christmas Eve, quickly followed by MyUncleChris. The first tradition we introduced was having a relaxing and stress free dinner. I highly suggest it.  Basically, you don't make dinner at all. Who doesn't like appetizers? We noshed through the night, watched Christmas movies and set up for Santa. Milk & cookies (that L helped to make & decorate) for the big man and carrots for his ride. Magically wonderful.

Christmas morning the kid woke up at the reasonable time of 7am.  Not bad. She ran to the living room to see that Nana Lu wasn't there, as she expected. She was out walking the dog, to prepare for the reveal. I asked her, "Where do you think Nana Lu is?"

 
Quite seriously she responded, "Maybe she's with Santa or somethin?"

Santa delivered many a present to our good little girl. Some might say he went overboard, but I would maintain that he found some serious deals. The good news?  He also got the wrapping done early.  The bad news? Only a few presents turned up with out a label. What's the worst that could happen? They must all be for the kid of the house? Right?

L's first present she opened knowing Santa Claus had picked them just for her was.... (drum roll please):

A pair of oven mitts. Perhaps meant for her father... maybe, maybe not.

 

About three presents deep, she was done.  Not done as in, no more presents to open.  Done as in, she was all set with the whole thing.  I can't be sure, but after prodding and (honestly) bribery, she finally got through her goodies from Santa. Including endless coloring books, play dough and other random tchotchke Santa had been saving since he went to BlogHer.  A paint set, additions to her dollhouse, markers and crayons, oh my. Barbie & her horse and some alternative clothes to change her up in.  Side note: Barbie dresses pretty loose if you ask me. Since Santa figured Barbie might need a Ken, the right thing to do would be to make sure Barbie got the right kind of Ken... like an Edward instead. Oh yes I he did.

Picture compliments of MyUncleChris who promptly posted this pic and the following caption on Facebook: "Ken is not allowed in my sister's house so Belle gets Edward for a date this christmas."

With the opening of a bike helmet, we thought it would be clear that a bike was "somewhere" under the pile... like the largest present front and center of the fireplace, under a bike sized bag. Oh boy - she doesn't have the finding gene of her father.  Did you know he once found a contact in a swimming pool? True. Story.

Also a true story? It took her about a half hour to figure out that the giant bike sized bag contained a bike.  I didn’t get too many pictures from the morning, but I did get this one – this is the exact moment she screamed, “I FOUND MY BIKE-A-KLE!”

I leave you with the look of Christmas magic .. to be continued...

Hoarding Habits

There comes a time in a hoarder's life where you realize your habits have paid off in spades. Last night was one of those times.  I may or may not have a slight issue with keeping things I will never need again. It's in my DNA, I save things.

I remember when I was a teenager, my mom and I were cleaning out the kitchen and I came across a drawer filled with cookie cutters.  I went to go through them out. My logic was simple, I had never seen my mother bake a cookie that needed cutting for my entire life up until that point, I think I was 16 or 17.  The chances of her becoming a baker or cookie cutting machine was slim to none.  You would have thought I was throwing out bags of gold coins based on her reaction.  We did not throw out said cookie cutters, I have yet to see a cookie baked or anything made that needs a cookie cutter.  Ah the symptoms of a hoarder. It's genetic. I don't have a drawer of cookie cutters I'll never use but I do save other stuff.  Now, I keep my disease under control by using my OCD-like powers for good.  I may or may not love organization.

In my professional life, there is a misnomer that I love color coding.  It's not that I hate it, it's just that I'm not as obsessed as I am believed to be. I do like things in an order though.  When I find myself holding on to things that seem ridiculous I organize it (see here: over organize at times) to avoid clutter and the appearance of a hoarding household.  I may or may not label everything, even L's drawers. Sure she can't read, but I like it to be clear where things go.  I like things to have a place.  For example, manuals, directions and those warranties that I never read. I have a magazine holder full of them and a 6 inch binder full of them.  We're talking years worth.  We get another one, I pull down the binder from a shelf that basically touches my ceiling in my office and add it to my collection. Note to self: another symptom of too much stuff in your house is when you have shelves that touch your ceiling.

Any who. We've been putting off taking L out of her cage crib.  She's 3,  it's time.  She's now successfully all over the potty training situation she should have free reign to get out and do her business. How ever will I figure out to transform the crib into it's second phase form of a toddler bed? How?

I'll tell you how- hooray for hoarding tendencies. The manual and extra parts are where they are supposed to be. Holl.Er.

My baby girl is out of her cage and loves her big girl bed.  She read the manual to me, as I put together her new bed. I asked her what it said and she read it out loud to me.

"And then you will have a big girl bed. No cryin. No sleeping in Mommy and Daddy's bed. No cryin'. You get a Dora blankets cause you have a big girl bed. You are a big girl."

Last night we put her to bed, this time she could get in herself. I took pictures. I may or may not have teared up a bit and then I promptly put the directions away because soon enough that toddler bed will need to transform into its final phase (full size bed) or maybe, just maybe, back its original form - a crib.  When that time comes, this hoarder is going to be prepared.

Poop Palace & Party Parades

Maybe you heard, we are in the middle of Poop Gate 2010.  L has been in the process of potty training, regularly, since early summer.  She has been sitting on the damn potty for well before that.  I don't know what is worse, the fact that she's been at forever or that it felt that it was never going to end.  About two weeks ago we got the good word that L could come to school with underwear on, despite the rules they have on coming in with no safety net with out consistant action on the toliet.

Yesterday before the ball & chain left to pick the kid up from daycare he said they would go to the store after pick up.  This worked for me, I had a few more things to get done and it's easiest if I don't have to shove my adoring child out of my office wielding lies of just 'one more minute.'  I thought I blacked out in productivity when they were home for what seemed like 5 minutes later. 


L ran into my office with the biggest smile I have ever seen on her face, while my baby daddy screamed from the living room, "Mom, L has something to tell you!"  

Side note: I hate when people I didn't birth call me Mom or Mommy. The exception is when those that do (you know who you are) call me Mamma. You get that because that's my name to you - not a name you call me for lack of knowing what my name is or you're referring to me with out addressing me, directly. It might not make sense but I hate when a doctor, for example, walks into an examining room and says "How is Mom doing?" OR "Mom, how is L?" It might PTSD.


I digress, I forgive him though, despite my preference that he would have been screaming, "L go tell YOUR Mom what you have to tell her!" Though I am 99% sure that he was screaming to avoid the said pushing my child out of my office.


She ran into my office with the LARGEST smile I have ever seen. Pausing for a moment and then screaming as loud as she could, "I have a surprise for you!" 

I honestly had no idea what the hell she was going to tell me - she always has surprises.  She ate her lunch, she went outside on the playground, or just an I love you. Not such a surprise but I love it every time, so it could have been that she was going to drop the L word.  

And then one of the most beautiful sentences I have ever heard....

"I WENT POOPY ON THE POTTY! AND I WENT THREE TIMES! NOW, PAY UP!!!!!!!!"

Now to be far, my dear husband coached her (and not for the first time) on the "Now, pay up!" piece to her announcement but pay up I will. She's had her eye on a castle at the toy store next to the gym she goes swimming at - so we were off. They didn't go to the store before coming home because she was so excited.  Who wouldn't be? Poop on the potty, stickers at school every single time (seriously she will do anything for a damn sticker) and now a castle? 

First, we had to call Nana Lu to tell her the big news.  We dialed L did her whole "I WENT POOPY ON THE POTTY! AND I WENT THREE TIMES! NOW, PAY UP!!!!!!!!" bit and the man on the other line informed us we called the wrong number. (TRUE. STORY.)

We went to get the castle, smile on our faces and pride in my heart. All of that came to a crashing halt when I got a look at the castle. It was SUPER affordable - dare I say cheap and super crappy. The Prince has a receding hairline and his face is melted. I went through the store searching and trying to convince her on other toys, I even contemplated trying to talk her into walking into the fab toy store up the street where we could easily end up dropping hundreds of dollars. I pulled myself together and proudly paid for the crappy castle my baby girl was getting for getting shit done. 
Oh yeah I did. 

Potty Training: Taking the Next Step

When did I become the person who needed to update her Facebook status to talk underwear?  I don't know when it happened but the second the ball & chain came home from picking L up and provided me with some excellent news all I wanted to do was figure out a way to put it out there.  The update to give it justice is too long to status update so here we are.

At L's school there are some strict rules about potty training.  We can't send the kid in with out diapers until she goes 100% at home all things, all the time, for three long days. 

Back story: L has been going number 1 no problemo since July.  An accident here or there, but not for awhile now.  The next step in this potty training business? That my friend is another story.  It's a shit show. Yes, I just went there and NO not literally, which is the problem.

Yesterday, however, we learned we might be throwing caution to the wind at school and getting shit done.  Yes, I just went there and YES I mean literally. 

L's teacher informed us that "they had a meeting and all talked" and think, despite the school's rules about not coming in with diaper until she does all deeds consistently for 3 days straight that actually BREAKING that rule is what she needs to get this potty training bologna over with.  They think it's the push she needs.  Hell, I say push away.  Apparently the ball & chain didn't believe the teacher as she was pitching this idea.  The teacher took this disbelief as a sign that we wouldn't be on board with this idea. Honestly, it's quite the contrary.  We think this is a great idea but know how the rules work at school.  I love the school for the rules and structure they have, but this bending of the rules is another thing I love about the school.  Apparently L and her three teachers "met" and talked about the whole thing - and it looks like they are all in agreement. Underwear all day everyday on Monday.   It's usually just the weekends that we go wild with no diapers.  Another reason I love the teachers? They know she needs this to get over the whole fear of pooping thing (yup, just went there) and they KNOW that accidents will in fact happen.  They know all of these things and BOOM for the good of the kid they are going to let the shit hit the fan or the pants, as it were.

Hallelujah. L is going to daycare on Monday with no diaper and approximately 48957 changes of clothes. 

The Binky Fairy Came and All She Left Me Was Debt

Last Night as a Two Year Old

Last night with a binky!

We decided the Binky Fairy would come on L's third birthday and take her binkies.  That's been the plan for at least a year, after we bagged the whole at two she would give them up. This year, we've talked about it daily, reminding her. In retrospect, it is kind of cold of us.

Writing a Letter to the Binky Fairy

Happy Birthday Girl! NOW. A crazy lady is going to come to our house and take something you love dearly. Happy Birthday! Go to bed in a tantrum!

After school, we came home and ran around the house collecting all of her binkies... there were a LOT. We made an envelope together, she wrote her a note, we stuffed all her binkies in the envelope and put it in the mailbox. I don't know where I heard someone saying their kid was scared of some strange woman coming into his room, fair enough. I decided to bypass that all together. Plus I am not graceful so why even attempt to sneak in and get the envelope if I didn't need to.

"Mama. This is FUN!"

L thinking this is all a GREAT idea, at this point!

Friends told me the binky fairy left a 'big boy/girl' present and the kid was psyched.  Unfortunately I didn't think of that in time nor did I have time to make that happen. Plus, it's her birthday, and we are having a birthday party for her on Saturday so I just kind of figured more 'crap' could wait. Also, she won't know any different - she isn't on Facebook, she doesn't know what the 'other kids' got.  I decided we'd just celebrate on the porch when we discovered the fairy came. Friends said to leave 'fairy dust' which was another thing I forgot. Someone suggested to use baby powder - but since that kid knows her baby powder I decided to scrap the whole thing and pretend the gold sparkley paint on the inside of the mailbox would do.


Fast forward through a slight tantrum at night and sound sleep through out - she wakes up and is ready to go check out the mailbox to see if her binkies are gone. I lifted her up (my mailbox is high) and pointed out the sparkly fairy dust.  She was so excited. She was amazed to see the envelope was gone.  She literally had her jaw drop and whispered, "ooh mee gaaad."  She reached around the mailbox to confirm that the bulky envelope was in fact gone.

Much to my surprise she pulled something OUT of the mailbox. Apparently I forgot to take out all the mail yesterday and there was a lone Citibank statement in the mailbox. 

She squealed "MAMA, LOOK!"  I put her down on the ground and quickly tried to come up with a story.  Before I could say anything (and this is NOT an exaggeration) she hugged the statement and said, "Mama. It's SOOO beautiful."

Ah the simple things. I quickly decided that the statement was in fact a letter from the Binky Fairy and since we were running late for school (which was another lie, because for the first time in forever we were going to be EARLY), we had to go now and couldn't read the letter. We'd read the letter after school! It turns out the letter will send L on a scavenger hunt for her big girl present since I am a sucker and she is too cute.

Vamped Up Sundays

True Blood is a ritual I care to never deviate from.  This past weekend, after a ridiculously hectic (and wonderful) weekend Mama needed to get her veg vamp on.  Each week, the story and gory True Blood surprises me, excites me, and gets me amped (or vamped) for next week. 

It's hott. 

You know what else is hott? 

Yeah I did.*

Last week it was vamp time and simultaneously a milestone happened. I jumped up as soon as I heard her cry, I'd been gone all weekend and there was no where (for the most part) I'd rather be than to console her.  I wanted to run to her, I missed her much.  L was able for the first time to verbalize that she had a nightmare and what it was about. That's huge. Sometimes she wakes up, is freaking out and can't really talk about what is wrong, what the dream was, if there was one or what happened. 

Proud Mama moment: It has been wonderful to be able to watch and listen through her development ... and listen even more because she just won't shut up.  It's remarkable.  

Embarrassed but honest Mama moment: This time, it posed as a little inconvenient. While my gut had me jump at the sound of her calling out and she was in fact and as usual adorable it wasn't the kind of timing I was looking for. My kid's nightmare and cue to console her was JUST as Eric was taking his shirt off. Thank GOD for DVR.  Priorities here. Would I have jumped up if not for DVR? Of course.**

As L was telling me about this bumblebee that was trying to get her, where it was, where it landed, where she pushed it - there was a lot to learn about said pain in the ass bumblebee - all I could say was,   "Girl, pull it together. Ok? Mama's trying to watch her stories."***

*The picture I really wanted to put up? Better. And by better I mean filthy wonderful.

**I hope. I'm sure, I mean, I'd like to hope that I'd be sure, of course. 

***Disclaimer: that is NOT what I really said... but that's what I wanted to say.  In my heart of heart it's true. Reality was, I listened to the dream sequence... while thinking of my own and gave her coping skills the next time the bee came around. Yeah. I thought my kid to fight back. What of it?