Month: August 2017

In the car. “Mommy can you put the window down? Pweaaaassseeee?” “Baby it’s too hot outside for the window down.” “Mommy pwease!!!!!” “No Baby, it’s too hot.” “PWWWEEEASSSEEE MOMMY I NEED THE WIN-NOW DOWN PWEASE IT’S NOT TOO HOT PWEASE!”

“Baby, I can’t put the window down.” “MOMMY TWY!!! TWY!! YES YOU CAN! TWY!” And then the clincher – “Mommy I don’t feel good.” Which in effect means “put the window down before I throw up all over.” But she’s playing me – sometimes she really doesn’t feel good and other times it’s just a ploy to get me to put the window down. She’s no fool – she knows I won’t (usually) risk it. Cleaning up a screaming kid and a car seat full of chunk is ZERO FUN.

Persistence. It’s a good thing I love her so much. She has inherited this lovely trait from my Dear Old Dad – her beloved PaPa. Thanks ever so much Dad, for passing along this gene of NEVER GIVE UP. This is why Dad buys all the wine. He knows it’s his fault.

What? She’s just like ME? Surely not. I was never this demanding, this determined or this difficult. I was an angel child. I do not have a head of steel. I don’t push and prod and keep working until I get what I want. I do not put my head down like a battering ram until I’ve accomplished what I set out to do. You must have me mistaken for my Dad. That’s HIM. And his Fu-Fu.

Now, I’m not saying that persistence isn’t a Good Thing. It’s a great trait to have. When things get tough, or when you are damn sure going to finish this project or when something is, um, pissing you off – hard-headedness can see you through. Great and wonderful things can be accomplished with a little persistence and a lot of determination. When someone tells my Dad (and OK yes – me too) that something can’t be done you can visibly see our eyes narrow, our jaws set and that thing in our brains that screams “want to bet?”

However, when you are three years old and your Mommy is just wishing you would for Pete’s sake, LISTEN to her instead of doing it YOUR WAY, persistence is Hell. Especially when YOUR WAY is not working but you aren’t willing to admit you need help. Because you are three and because you are JUST LIKE YOUR PAPA. Just saying.

And I’m not putting the Damn Win-now down. Two can play this game and you can bet your fanny I’m going to win.

 

Baby Girl has certainly learned to be more expressive these days. She’s speaking more clearly, after her surgery, and she’s obviously hearing better as well. About a week ago or maybe two – it all runs together – my student Sloane came up to me in the barn and said “Baby Girl just told me that mommy pissed her off.” My head spun around – “What?! You didn’t hear that right – I don’t know what she said but it definitely wasn’t that!” Sloane says maybe not, but it certainly sounded like that’s what she said. So I go into the tack room and ask Baby Girl – what did you say to Sloane just now? CLEAR AS DAY she responded “Mommy pissed me off!” I sat down hard. I wanted to laugh but I knew better. So I told her “don’t say that Baby Girl!” That’s not a nice thing to say!” She looked at me and then… repeated it.

I admit, my family has its moments of profanity and bad language. I’m not above using a cuss word or two (or twelve) in a moment of passionate anger or frustration. I learned from the best (thanks Mom!!) and my brother and I wouldn’t blink twice if the F word was muttered when Mom dropped the jar of spaghetti sauce all over the kitchen floor. We would of course look at each other and bust out laughing, and then Mom would laugh too and we’d all help clean it up. Sometimes stuff like that is really just a moment in time that builds an awesome memory.

Anyway, stunned as I was, I was MORE stunned by that fact that she got the sentence completely right than I was that she actually used the phrase. She clearly did not understand what it really means, but she must have heard someone say this a lot in order to parrot it back so well. What, me? Me?! The MOMMY?! I’VE said it? Enough to have it as my epitaph?

Huh. Well I never. I suppose maybe… it could have been me….. Maybe.

Fast forward a few days. Baby Girl and Daddy and I are sitting in the living room. Out of the blue Baby Girl says to me “You pissed me off Mommy.” Now it’s Daddy’s turn to swivel around. “Um excuse me?! What did you say?!” Baby Girl calmly says “Mommy pissed me off.” I swear Daddy’s head is about to explode. I say to Baby Girl – “don’t say that Baby, that’s not nice.” And she looks at me kind of confused and repeats it, this time with a little whine in her voice. “DON’T SAY THAT!” says Daddy very strongly. Slightly taken aback she now really whines “but Mommy pissed me off!” Daddy gets mad and Baby starts to cry, continually saying the phrase.

Eventually Daddy threatens a time out and Baby Girl screams over the injustice of this and runs away. Problem solved.

I have no idea what Baby Girl thinks this phrase means but I guess I’d better start watching what I say. Problem is, you get so upset about something that you’re going to say it without even thinking about it. I even said it to HER one day, in total frustration. BABY GIRL YOU ARE PISSING ME OFF! So no wonder she’s confused – I said it to her – she should say it back to me, right? Ah, the joyous moments of stellar parenting. I was expecting a “shit” or you know – something else – but I was not expecting her to learn a complete phrase and parrot it back perfectly.

Like I said, her hearing is a lot better now.

 

Shopping with a toddler is hell. No holds barred, that’s what it is. Hell. You can not take your child successfully out in public until they are at least 10. Okay maybe that’s a stretch – I met my stepdaughter when she was 8 and she was pretty good. No tantrums. So, we’ll say 8 then.

Walmart a few months ago (she was still two) – Baby Girl has been pretty low key on this trip. Not phenomenal but no kicking, crying, laying on the floor, or otherwise making me cringe. Of course, we’ve only dropped in quickly to grab a few things on our way to Baby Girl’s first ever movie theater experience. We are at the checkout and Baby Girl spies the tiny Disney princess figurines they keep there just to MAKE DAMN SURE you don’t leave Walmart with all of your sanity and without an extra bottle of wine. She is playing with them while I check out. Fine, no problem. Then… Baby Girl, we need to go. Put those back please. “Mommy!!! I want one! I need one! Pweaseeeee!!” No, Baby, put them back. Slowly and grudgingly she puts them all back. Except one. That one too, Baby, put it down. “NOOOOOOO I NEED IT I WANT IT MOMMY I NEED IT SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEE” Sighing and ignoring the people around me, I go to pick her up at which point she instantly becomes a limp, but still screeching, spaghetti noodle. I have no idea how she does it, but somehow her limbs all become double jointed and she can slip out of my grasp any which way she wants to. The kid needs to be the next Houdini, the way she can just manipulate her limbs like this. She’s still hysterically screeching, I’m still trying to get a hold of her, and I finally get the princess out of her mechanically strong grasp and lob it to the cashier while simultaneously pushing the cart with my foot to get the Hell out of Dodge. While gasping over my shoulder at all the onlookers, saying I SWEAR SHE’S MINE – I’M NOT A KIDNAPPER.

Have you ever tried to put a mini-Houdini and/or limp spaghetti noodle that sometimes goes rigid just for the fun of it in a car seat? Fun times. Once, I just stood there in the parking lot while it was 800 degrees (car door open of course) waiting for her to decide to cut the shit out. A lady walked by and looked at me, and I said “oh I’m just waiting for the tantrum to be over.” She actually laughed and said “I’ve been there.” Thank God for you lady.

So anyways, tantrum finally subsides and we move on to the movie theater. We’re going to see Sing at the Dollar Theater. Just in case she doesn’t make it through the movie I won’t have wasted a shit ton of money. Seriously a good call on my part. Baby Girl is totally happy munching on her popcorn for about thirty minutes. Then she gets restless. “Mommy can we leave?” What? I say – you want to go home? “Yes.” I try to wait her out but she’s about to start crawling on her hands and knees under the seats so I give in and we leave. In the lobby there is this car game where you put money in and then pretend you are driving a car really fast until you crash. Baby Girl spends about twenty minutes playing on this thing (without the quarters) until I am thoroughly bored. Hey Baby, let’s go ok? “NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!” How is this more entertaining than the movie that I actually paid for? I finally convince her to leave with minimal fuss and we are sauntering down the mall halls (or what the hell ever you call them) and we are about to turn left to leave through the food court when Baby Girl spies……. THE PLAY AREA.

OH SHIT. In my head I’m screaming “NO NO NO NO!!!!” But she’s already heading towards it. “Mommy I want to play!!” CRAP CRAP CRAP. How did I get myself into this?! I wildly search for an escape – anything, ANYTHING but the play area! She’s there already kicking her shoes off and climbing up everything that every other kid and their snot has already been on. Seeing as how I have two choices – either give in or pick her up and insist we leave immediately – I decide to give in. Sure, Baby Girl, you can play for a few minutes. But we have to leave soon, ok? I might as well have been speaking Mandarin Chinese for all Baby Girl cared. So I sit down and scroll through my phone while keeping one eye on Baby Girl and the germs she’s accumulating. She makes sure she doesn’t miss any by crawling on her hands and knees and practically licking everything in sight.

She’s having a blast and I snap a few pictures. Finally I break it to her gently – it’s time to go Baby Girl. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I WANT TO PLAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

I finally pick her up and we have a repeat of the above scenario only this time she is over my shoulder while the other arm has her shoes and socks. Repeat on the car seat thing too.

As we FINALLY drive away I vow to myself to never come to the mall again. No more movies, no more Mommy wants to entertain the child and be a nice, fun Mommy. Mommy is going to buy extra wine and the kid is going to play in the house until she’s nine.

Baby Girl will not remember any of this when she’s older of course, and I’ll get to torture her with all the fun memories. Hopefully in front of a boy or two. Cuz I’m cool like that.