Happily-Ever-After-Land

What's So Wrong With Peace and Love?

If you have kids, or if you've been around my kid for any length of time, then you are aware of the current state of cartoons for the youngest set. 

They're NICE.  Everybody's nice.  Even when someone does something wrong, like, say Goofy breaks something, Mickey just says, "That's alright!  Now let's fix it!  Oh, Toodles!!!"  No anger.  No blame.  Just acknowledgment and then moving on.

So maybe it's not riveting.  Miss Priss sure does like it!

But Daddy has a hankering for The Classics.  And by Classics, I mean specifically Tom and Jerry.

I know I had watched the cat and mouse chase as a younger child, but I don't remember much of it.  By the time I was school age, I didn't like them anymore.  Even my young brain didn't enjoy watching the characters mindless violence against each other.  I'd become much more interested in the likes of "Inch High Private Eye" and "Grape Ape" and "Jabber Jaws."  (Anyone who remembers those cartoons gets a new, special level of respect from yours truly.)

But, alas, what do I find on my Tivo the other day?

"Tom and Jerry."

"What's this?" I asked the Hubster.

"I thought I'd show it to Priss and see if she likes it.  You know how she likes cats."

And that's when I began to worry that she WOULD like it.  Because once or twice a week we'll hit You Tube, type in "funny cats" and watch lots of video of cats falling off things and running into walls.  And Priss thinks it's HILARIOUS.  Especially when they fall off of counters.  So there was a very real chance that this whole Tom and Jerry thing would be a winner for her.

But then what?  She watches them smack around each other for no reason whatsoever and that's NOT supposed to rub off on her?  She mimics the dance Mickey does to call for Toodles.  She exclaims "Double Drat," a favorite expression of her little friend on "Super Why."

Still, there it was, at 7:15 this morning, dog chasing cat, cat chasing mouse, and mouse hitting cat with a hammer.

Oh, brother.

"Sooo, how'd she like it?"  I asked the Hubs, who ate his breakfast in front of the TV with her.

"Well, she didn't seem to get it.  She doesn't understand that cats chase mice.  And the dog was in both of them, and he's usually not there."

Whew!  Experiment over.  Results - total failure.

But whatever you do, do NOT tell him that Priss saw those photos of Tom and Jerry in this post and told me she wanted to watch the Kitty Cat again.  That event NEVER HAPPENED!

Who Says She Doesn't Like It?

She said, and I quote, "Dressing up your kids like that is only a step up from dressing up your pets."

Mind you, she did not say that specifically to me.  It was a friend of a high school friend of mine, commenting on Facebook the fact that our mutual friend had forgotten to put her kid in green yesterday for St. Patrick's day.

But still, I'm hurt.  Wounded,in fact.

It had never occurred to me that anyone would think Miss Priss' cutesy dress-ups were anything but adorable. 

Her very first Valentine's Day found her in a red velour onsie topped off with red heart-shaped sunglasses. 

Does this make me a monster???  Should I be at some sort of self-help group for my psychosis?  Is there a test I need to take to definitively tell me that I am a danger to my child for once in a while placing her in "thematic dressing."

Or should I be expecting a visit from Child Protective Services because the tales of Priss being periodically beaten up and negligently kept in a crib she's too big for were not as disturbing or horrid as the fact that I had  the gall to put us in identical outfits for our *Fancy Mommy & Me Day*, and one of you finally called us in.

Obviously, I'm making up for something that went terribly wrong in my own childhood.  Did Mom not dress me up at all???  No, I specifically remember she'd dress up Sissy and me in matching outfits every so often, but not to the point of nausea.  She'd even sewed up a pair of matching red plaid dresses with black velvet vests when the two of us were performing in a piano recital.  But I LIKED those dresses.  They were a little tough to get in and out of, but I thought they looked very fancy and was proud to wear it!

AHA!  So Mom cultivated a LOVE of dressing up in me.  See, it is all HER fault.

In my defense, how can this be ALL bad?  Doesn't a nice theme kind of break up the monotony?  Back in college (OK, and well after college, I'm not ashamed to admit!) my girlfriends and I would have theme nights when we'd head out to the clubs.  70's Night saw me in white knee-high boots with white shorty short shorts, a lavendar top and a wide headband.  And we totally rocked it!

Some would point out that, according to my feeble reasoning, I am only teaching Miss Priss to be a better Party Girl. 

To those people, I say PARTY ON!!!...

 

Everybody's Doing It

For the last few days I've gone through more mood swings than a contestant on Project Runway and spent the bulk of my time barricaded in the kitchen.

No, the hubs and I are not fighting.  This is worse.  Much worse.

Two words that strike fear into the hearts of all parents, but especially first-timers like us.

Potty. 

Training.

OK, ok, that's enough screaming!  Pull yourself together, for crimeny sakes!!!

Our adorable Miss Priss, just a bit over two years old, has, for quite a while, been sitting on the big potty.  But only if we asked her if she had to go.  And only if she was paid in stickers.  It was like a mini-Disney World vacation to her - she had our undivided attention, story reading and STICKERS! 

But she wouldn't perform.  And after a couple months, I knew she was not going to make this easy for us.  Once she started telling us she "needed a new diaper" AFTER she'd peed or pooped, I knew it was time to get down to business.

We had to resort to guerrilla warfare. 

We were going commando (well, more like SHE was going commando).

And the gloves were coming off!  (Umm, strike that, the gloves definitely were going ON.)

Fortunately, this house has one of those big eat-in kitchens with a vast expanse of linoleum flooring. 

And a door.

Priss and I spent every waking moment in the kitchen - she sporting nothing but a shirt, underwear and socks, me still hanging in my jammies - just waiting.  Waiting for her to understand what it was to pee all over yourself versus peeing in the potty.

Thank goodness hubster had more faith in this process, because I was ready to give up by the first afternoon - despite the whole thing being MY idea. 

But she got it! 

Sort of.

Eventually.

After going through a stack of underwear, more knee-high socks than The Girls Next Door and enough towels to dry off the Olympic Swim Team.

I'm happy to report, Priss is VERY excited about her new Big Kid status and will enthusiastically yell out, "I did it!  I really did it!" each and every time she tinkles in the pot.

I, on the other hand, am in emotional shambles.  I have never been so manic in all my life!  My moods have oscillated between exuberant highs for each Successful Potty Sit!!! and the feeling of ultimate failure, doom and gloom for each puddle silently mocking me from the floor.

I will be heading off to therapy this afternoon.  I go to this really great facility called "Target," perhaps you've heard of them?

But more vital to my sanity, I will be going A-L-O-N-E.

Tales from the Shower

A Mommy.  A Toddler.  Separated by a wall known as The Shower Curtain.  Who will persevere in -- Tales From The Shower!!

Duh duh duuuuuuuuuuuh.

"Ok, Miss Priss, the baby gate is up and you've got PLENTY of toys and books to play with.  Mommy's going to take a SHOWER now."

Steps into hot shower.  What sort of adventure awaits?

"Mommy!  Mommy!"

"Mommy's in the shower, sweetie.  Go read your books."

Mommy doesn't even have to look, she already knows what that additional bathroom noise is.

"PRISS!  TURN OFF THAT WATER AND GET OFF THE TOILET NOW!!!!

Sound of almost-two-year-old feet running FROM bathroom. 

Sound of almost-two-year-old feet running INTO bathroom.

"Mommy?"

"Yeah, Baby?"

"A fraeihgllsignnvoeihgsl."

"Uh huh.  Go read your books, please."

Silence.

Silence.

More silence. 

"It's too quiet out there!  You better NOT have fallen out of a window or down the stairs!"

Without warning, an AIR RAID from about knee height.

"ACK!  Mommy doesn't want to play with your bath toys!!  Stop throwing them in the tub THIS INSTANT!!!"

A bizarre, rock-tumbler sound comes from just outside the shower.

"What is that rumbling noise?  What the heck is going on out there?"

Mommy tentatively peeks past the shower curtain, expecting a hail storm, or an unexpected tornado, or the contents of the bathroom cabinet being chucked against the window.

"Oh. (Phew!) You're stirring your little plates in your potty.  Well, alright.  Good thing you haven't broken that potty in yet!"

 

"Mommy?"

"Sweetie, stop opening the curtain."

"Hehehehe!"

"Priss, I said leave the curtain alone!"

Joyful screeching.

"DROP THAT CURTAIN NOW!!!  YOU'RE GETTING WATER ON THE FLOOR!"

Finally, water off.  Showering complete.

"NAY-kid mommy!"

"Yes, naked mommy.  Now go play with your toys."

And so ends our episode of Tales From The Shower.  Tune in next time when Mommy says,

"NO!  STOP!!  YOU'RE GETTING THAT ALL WET!!!"

on Tales From The Shower!

Duh, duh, duuuuuuuuh!

Cover Your Ears!!!

Have you ever heard the wild scream of the banshee, up close and personal?  The ear piercing pitch that can be heard for miles?  The shrill screech that can drown out ambulances and firetrucks?

I have.  And it came out as a four-letter word more horrible and disgusting then Rachel at Following in My Shoes could ever dare imagine.

It sounded something like this:

"MINE!  MIIIIINE!!  MMMMiiiiiIIIIIIIIINNNNE!!!!!!"

It started innocently enough, out in the backyard of Grandma's house, blowing bubbles.  "bUbbas," is how my once-innocent darling pronounces it.  Back when she was cute.

But she wasn't getting any bubbles out.  And she was rapidly becoming frustrated.  Granpop stepped in to help, taking the bubble wand from her tiny hands and waving it through the air, large, happy bubbles emerging from it.

That's when it happened.  The day the world changed forever.  Dark, ominous clouds blotted out the sun and lightning flashed in the distance.  The wind howled, pelting us with leaves and small chipmunks.  Miss Priss was lifted off the ground by some demonic force, eyes blazing, hair standing on end as if electrocuted, and from the depths of hell, through her small vocal chords, past her sweet bow of a mouth came a screech, a wail, the cry of the banshee....

"MMMMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNE!!!!!!!!"

We dropped to the ground and covered our ears, unsure of where such a fearsome sound had come from.  How could my angel, my Shirley Temple look-alike, produce such a horrific noise? 

And then she did it again. 

Our new household phrase is "you have to SHARE."  She has no idea what this means.  Everything is now "hers." 

"My bebe (that's what she named her paci)."

"My bear."

"My water."

"My book."   "That's mommy's book."  "MiiiIIIIIIIIINE!!"

And with the birth of the Banshee, goes extinct the Generous Mom.  The Mom that wanted to get her little angel anything and everything that she thought would make her happy.  Generous Mom can only produce Spoiled Brat Banshees.  From the ashes of Generous Mom, rises a new, more strict version of mom, the Stingy Mom.  The mom that's so mean, she won't get her Brat Banshee anything.  And is rumored to secretly enjoy it.

Oh well.  It was fun while it lasted.

Poor Baby!

My poor lil' baby girl was siiiiick!  She woke up Sunday morning with a low-grade fever, which continued through Monday.  Once again, it has been two weeks since her last vaccination.  Coincidence?  I'm starting to think, no.  But that's a conversation for a different day.  Today my poor baby is siiiick!  Last time she was ill, she was puking had stomach-flu like symptoms, so this time around, I was more then a little nervous that we'd be reduced to pedialyte and crackers for another week.  And if you don't know this already, let me warn you, NOBODY is willing to babysit a puke-y baby!  But I need have no fear, she had the fever and was sluggish and tired, but that was it.  Not even a runny nose in sight!  Last night I was eating dinner on the couch and she was hanging out on her little pink princesses couch that Sissy had given her last Christmas.

And she was quiet.

Way too quiet.

I finally peeked over the coffee table to see what was going on, and this is what I found...
                                       
I swear, she does make it into bed BEFORE going to sleep every once in a while!  Poor thing.  So here's how the rest of the night went.

She woke up screaming at about 10pm, and when I got to her, half her body was damp.  She had been sweating and it was the side she was sleeping on.  But initially, I was panicked, thinking, "please don't be throw-up, please don't be throw-up!"  So I gave her some Tylenol to get her fever back down and put her back in bed.

At some horrific-my-eyes-aren't-open-enough-to-see-the-clock time of the morning she woke up again.  This time she was soaked.  Her whole body, like she'd just come out of the shower.  Even with the Tylenol, she was still overheating.  She wasn't suffering from an emergency-room-grade fever, half the problem was that she has no air conditioning in her room, so the little temp she had was exacerbated by her room being stuffy and humid.  I put her in a new diaper and t-shirt and brought her to my room, where the window A/C unit had been running all day, so it was cooler. 

From there we both slept horribly the rest of the night, each one waking up the other.  Finally we managed to get some sleep, but I had to turn on the A/C in my room cause it was HOT!  We slept like that, off and on. 

At a more agreeable time (I don't know when, but there was daylight outside), Priss woke up for the day, but just laid there and then started playing with a bra (cause you know when hubby is away, his side is taken up with discarded clothes, and I think she's been wondering what the heck that thing is for!) and she let me sleep.  Eventually, I was feeling awake for the day, too, and looked at the clock.  9:00!!!  Woah Baby!!!  Girlfriend rarely ever sleeps past 7:30! 

We got up and she's acting like her normal perky self and there doesn't seem to be a fever in sight.  Yipee!  Only two days and we're already out of the woods!

At least, I think.....

The Peace Process

I think we now have peace in the land once more!  After posting about Miss Priss' snub of her grandmother, I received a post from Rachel over at Following In My Shoes suggesting that Grandma is being "punished" for leaving her.  My Aunt Lori had come to that same conclusion after hearing what had happened.  It seems Priss, having no sense of space or time or distance, was under the impression that Grandma had left us!  That, of course, was not the case.  We were the ones that drove off into the sunrise (we were headed East after all!), leaving Grandma to cry until we got back.  So last night, Priss, MIL and I went over to Grandma's for dinner.  When Grandma had Priss alone, sitting on the stairs, she explained that Priss was the one that left her and how much Grandma missed her while she was gone.  And it worked!  Priss had lots of fun last night with BOTH her grandmas and even gave kisses when we had to go.  So all is right in the world again!

In other news, I have been "tagged!"  Annette at Under the Loupe was the culprit!  So now I am to list six of my quirks and then send the tag on.  Here they are!

1. My VW Passat is named Polly.

2. I get irritated when Priss bends the pages of her books.  I tell her not to do that and smooth them out again!

3. I have a yard service do the grass while hubby is gone.  I consider it "his job" and refuse to touch it.

4. I don't buy myself a lot of clothes, under the probably improbable idea that I'm going to lose weight.  But my shopping habit has to be funneled somewhere.  Consequently, Miss Priss has quite an extensive wardrobe.

5. If there's a new flashy workout video and/or gadget, I've probably got it. 

6. As much as I love everything crafty, I really don't like scrapbooking.

Here are the rules:

1. link the person(s) who tagged you
2. Mention the rules on your blog
3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours
4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.

And here are my tags:

1. Katherine - Katherine Unabridged

2. Ali - Home of the Lazy Dog

3. Jen - Beyond Mom

4. Rachel - Following in my Shoes

5. Mama Les - Mama's Family

6. Clare - From Diapers to Designs

Whew!  Those quirks were harder to come up with then I'd thought!  Until next time...

She's a GIANT!

I knew she had gotten big, I guess I didn't realize how much!  Miss Priss had her check-up at the doctor's.  She is 90th percentile for height and 95th percentile for weight.  She is 20 months old right now, but the doc said she is the size of an average 26 month old!  And she said Priss is a genius.

OK, maybe she didn't say it in quite so many words. 

But I could tell she was thinking it!

In all honesty, she is a pretty smart cookie.  She knows her letters.  Not the alphabet song (yet), but if you point to any letter of the alphabet, she'll tell you which one it is. 

No, I'm not one of those crazy women who's trying to get her into the best preschool.  She fell in love with a cartoon called "Super Why" on PBS.  It's real cute, with letters that fly around and sentences that highlight the words.  I credit the cartoon with getting her interested, and the rest is just a game to her.  A way to keep her from getting too fussy when we're at a restaurant. 

"Priss, what letter is this?"  "H-ch!"

"And this?"  "AAAAaaaaa!"

"And this?"  "Pe."

"This?"  "Pe."

"And this?"  "Whyyyyyy!"

"And what does that spell?"

"Bird."

Well I never said she could read!  I suppose, technically speaking, she's just got a really good memory.  But memory is the start of smartness, right?  I've been trying to get her to recognize the word "happy" so when we play this little game in front of an acquaintance, I'll say "what does this spell?" and she'll say "happy!" and she'll look like a total genius.  Did I mention I'm not crazy?

But ask my little genius what the colors are of objects in the room and she'll say "geen!"

Every.  Single.  Time.

1....2.....2 1/2......2 3/4.......

I have hit the terrible two's.  I know she's only 20 months, but if she's big for her age, and smart for her age, then she can be a smart-alec for her age, too, right? 

This morning, she wanted to play with her puzzle book.  I wanted her to brush her teeth.  "Get over here and brush your teeth!"  Nothing.  "Don't you want milk?  Don't want to go downstairs?"  Believe it or not, reasoning with her works a lot of the time.  Just not THIS time.  "You're going to go back to bed if you don't get over here!  ONE!"  Still looking at her back.  "TWO!"  She turns around and tries to tell me something about the seahorse she's holding.  "THREE!!!"  I scoop her up, throw her back in her crib and shut the door.  She cries for about a minute before I come back in to get her.  "Are you going to brush your teeth now?"  She nods.  That one little manuever should last me a few weeks.  Hopefully, when I say, "Do you want to go to bed RIGHT NOW?" in that 'mom' tone of voice that we all know and love, she'll straighten up and fly right.  Hopefully.  I've learned, thus-far, in the business of child rearing, that whatever you THINK will happen is NOT what will ACTUALLY happen.  I think it's the universe's way of keeping me humble.  And a little fearful.

Last night, Grandma suggested that Miss Priss has too much power.  I totally agree.  It's the by-product of the TSSAHM (that's Temporarily Single Stay at Home Mom, for those not keeping up!) lifestyle.  It's just us, alone, together, most of the days, weeks, months.  As Grandma put it, we're more like partners.  And I have this crazily unnatural need to always be polite and ASK her if she wants to do things!  Even when I KNOW that's what we're going to do!  For example, "Priss, do you want to go upstairs?"  Now, I know full well we are GOING up those stairs, why am I asking?  "No." She shakes her Shirley Temple curls.  "Come on, let's go upstairs," I say more firmly this time.  "No," with the impish smile that always makes me want to smile back.  Stay strong.  "We're going up stairs right now."  Grab her, pick her up, off we go.  See how much faster that would have been if I started with the last command?  Moral of the story -- even though the end result is still happening, the fact that I'm asking her and giving her the opportunity to say no is making Miss Priss feel in control of the situation.  My momma raised me too well.  I gotta check those manner at the door!