Author: Julie

I have very strong opinions – about pretty much everything. Even if I don’t always show it, inside I am always burning. You could say I’m passionate about things that make our planet better – recycling, supporting/teaching children, being kind to one another, and treating animals right. Giving a leg up to those in need. And I’m very passionate about making my sport – hunter jumpers – accessible to kids to whom it may not generally be affordable.

But, I also have strong opinions about raising my daughter. And she, in turn, has her own very strong opinions about how I’m doing that. For example:

When said daughter takes my Diet Coke and then spills it on the carpet in the office because she’s “working” and I take the rest of the drink away and move it into the kitchen where I put it out of reach on the counter – Baby Girl very strongly feels that “you can’t take things away from people!” While sitting, crying, in the kitchen I explain that well yes, yes I can. Because I’m the mommy. “No you can’t! It’s not right to take things away from people!” When people spill Diet Cokes on the carpet then it’s ok to take the drink away from the little person who did that I explain. Baby Girl does not appreciate the logic here. We compromise with finishing the drink in the kitchen.

Also, Baby Girl very strongly feels that as long as you put the apple in the trash can it shouldn’t matter how many bites you take out of it – four or five is acceptable. Whereas, I, the mommy, feels that the apple that was asked for fourteen times ought to be fully or at least three quarters eaten before it is thrown in the trash can. Likewise, if Baby Girl insists on me buying and then having a banana, and then refuses to eat it, Mommy is going to feel very strongly annoyed. Baby Girl thinks I am overreacting. I think she is just asking for food to be in control. Mommy eats the banana. Mommy needs the potassium anyway.

I have a strong opinion about bedtime as well. I think that the fact that we have the same routine and she goes to bed at the exact same time every night is a very good thing. I believe that a little five minute, sometimes ten minute, warning that bedtime is approaching is also a good thing. I swear Baby Girl uses that five or ten minutes as an opportunity to build up her impending screech and tantrum to the “Oh My Lord is it time for wine yet?” level. Of course, that level is fairly low for me, especially at bedtime. She strongly feels that bedtime is highly overrated and should be ignored every single night. And since she can’t change my mind, she’s certainly going to let me know how she feels about it. In case I was in any doubt.

My little girl is not meek. Or mild. Or even tempered. I’ve learned it’s important not to say things like “ARRRRRGGHH DAMMMMMIT” when you get frustrated because apparently three year olds have the ability to recognize that when THEY get frustrated they should get to express themselves the exact same way.

She is mostly potty trained now. You know why? Because she decided to. I had absolutely nothing to do with it. One day she decided to wear panties. Both day and night. And that was it. A few accidents, yes, but 90% of the time she’s good. I just shake my head. All those months of worrying and trying to figure out how to “fix” it and all along she just had to make that decision for herself. I hope I remember that in the years to come.

She and I are going to butt heads. A lot. But I’m glad she’s opinionated. I’m glad she’s passionate. I hope she learns to channel those things in a positive way. And in the meantime I’ll just become overly familiar with the Total Wine store.

When I was young I could have a headache, or pain of some kind, and I’d go ride and I’d forget all about it. Physically I did not feel whatever was bothering me if I was riding. It might come roaring back as soon as I was off the horse, but for the time I was in the saddle, it abated. A useful tool, I have often “gone riding” when all else around me was falling apart or I was just having a rotten day or just needed some sunshine and horses. As you get older though, and life and living gets in the way, you tend to forget those things that make you feel alive. There is always a reason why I can’t ride – I’ve got too much else to do being chief among them. Even though riding and training horses has long been part of my livelihood, riding just for fun, just for me, has almost become an obsolete pleasure.

Riding now does not offer the same obscurity from pain. I definitely feel it in my back, my neck, my lethargic muscles and usually, also my right hip. I can’t remember the last time I rode pain-free. I’m sure it’s been at least twenty years. Pain only occasionally stops me from riding. Pain is just a reminder that I’ve had some pretty good falls and injuries, and I am still ok.

Living on this ranch, myself and my husband are the ones that take care of everything and anything. I have one employee, to help teach lessons, and two barn rats that help out occasionally. I also have a three and a half-year old who wants my attention nonstop. She eats, and plays, and sleeps (sort of) and eats some more and needs a bath, and needs this and that and I am forever trying to clean up the mess left by the little tornado. If I need to clean stalls, she of course wants to help. Or else she disappears. And then I am calling her name and making sure she’s ok. (She’s fine). Feeding the horses in very cold or very wet or very windy weather is always a fun task with a small child tagging along. But she has learned, I admit, to pretty much behave herself and stay out of the way while I feed. If the weather is nice I can have her outside playing while I do things. Still it’s not as easy as it once was, as obviously, her needs always have to come first. And then she climbs on the gate, or is squealing over an injured mouse she’s found, or covering herself and all her toys in the sand in the driveway and I’m terrified a car will not notice her when it drives up. My attention, at best, is divided.

And, I admit, I am now a fair weather rider. I am not the die-hard I used to be. I remember, once, as a teenager, I drove to the barn after school one day and got my horse ready and mounted, all the time wondering “where the heck is everyone?” My trainer finally drives up in her car about thirty minutes later and comes over to where I am walking around the arena and says “what on earth are you doing? It’s 25 degrees out here!” This was of course before cell phones, so I did not get the message she left at my house that lessons were canceled that day. It never occurred to me not to ride, just because it was cold.

These days, if it’s at all windy, it’s a no go for me. Wind is the arm pit of weather as far as I’m concerned. Wind makes me cold and I do not like to be cold. If it’s below 45 it’s probably not going to happen either. Or above 90. I can handle a fair bit of heat but I do draw the line depending on the humidity. Most days I have to force myself to go out and do the training rides that are required. Sitting at the computer, working (most of the time – I do like to surf through Amazon a lot), is so much easier while also watching / playing with / or attending to the needs of the kid. If husband is not at work or sleeping he usually also has some barn thing that needs doing. Especially if the weather is nice.

BUT. Today I rode. For me. And it was fun and I enjoyed it. A large pony my husband and I have broke and trained together, Hugo is fun for me. He’s smooth and he listens and he learns. He moves up under me and isn’t sluggish. He moves over when I press with my leg. He’ll jump anything and even though he’s young and still learning, I enjoy riding and teaching him. But the best part about him is, if I just want to ride, and not teach him a damn thing, he’s all for that too. And it was a beautiful 60 degree weather day with very little wind. And Baby Girl was at school. I was able to take my time grooming and playing and just breathing in horse. It was a Good Thing. Next time I tell myself that I don’t have time to just “go ride” I will come back and read this post and I will go do it. My uplifted spirits are so worth it.

This beautiful, tiny, sassy, wonderfully bright child of mine has the most amazing gift. She does not believe in the word No. She understands what it means, but her brain automatically shifts into “negotiation mode” when she hears it.

Baby Girl, what would you like for breakfast? I should learn not to ask her this type of open ended question but somehow first thing in the morning I am not thinking clearly, based on four or five hours of continually interrupted sleep. So I ask. And she says “chips!” And I say No. And so it begins. “You can have chips for lunch Baby.” “How about NOW?” she asks. “No Baby, chips are for lunch not breakfast.” “But I like chips. How about chips now?” “No.” “How about cookies?” “No.” “But I like cookies! How about chips?”

Once we’ve gotten through the ultra annoying litany of how much she likes chips and cookies things usually deteriorate into tears and tantrums. And then we’ll hit on a compromise. Like a tortilla with butter. I would offer her oatmeal, but she just eats the brown sugar off the top. Toast you say? Well if I cut the crusts off she might take two bites before she just licks the butter off the rest of it. Cereal? How about only eating the marshmallows in the Lucky Charms? Nix the Lucky Charms. Only buying Mini-wheats now. She’ll only eat the PINK mini-wheats. Not regular, chocolate or blueberry. How about waffles drowning in syrup? This is acceptable. But DO NOT miss a waffle piece when you are putting the butter on Mommy! She will point out “here and here, and here” directing my butter efforts.

During the day she will negotiate ANY TIME she hears the word “no” or “stop”. “Just one more!” She says with her finger up (in case I don’t know what one is) and an adorable pleading expression on her face. She’s jumping on my leg while I’m sitting on the floor. “Baby stop, you’re hurting me.” “But I will jump softer Mommy.” Discussing when we are going to visit Granny and PaPa – “on Christmas Day we will go see them.” “But how about now?” she implores.

We’re only reading ONE book tonight Lovie. “But how about TWO books Mommy? Just two! TWO Books.” And IF I give in, she quickly introduces book #3. And I roll my eyes. It’s time for a nap Lovie. Then we’ll watch Mouse and then we’ll go to the store. “How about we go to the store FIRST and then watch Mouse?” Conveniently forgetting about the nap. I’m going to make dinner and then I will play with you. “How about you play with me FIRST Mommy?! Just a few minutes! Please!”

You cannot ask the child an open ended question. Are you ready to go to school Baby Girl? “No. Not yet. I’m still playing.” Closed choice questions are my best friend. “Baby Girl do you want to wear the blue shirt or the pink shirt?” instead of asking if she’s ready to get dressed. This usually works out for me, but even so she will somehow sneak some negotiation in there anyway. “How about the skirt Mommy? I want to be a princess.” NO baby, it’s FREEZING outside. No skirts! “But Mommy please! I want to be a princess! I need to be a princess!” That’s not really negotiation but you can see that I (the Mommy) NEVER get a “Sure Mommy, that’d be great.” Never. Ever. Ever.

So my Christmas Eve wish is that the smallest Negotiator I know eases up on her Mama a little bit and says “Yes, thank you” to a single solitary question or statement that I make tomorrow.

Just one.

Please Baby Jesus.

Happy Birthday by the way.

Baby Girl tells me from the back seat – “you be Miss Stormy!” As I drive, I think fast – who the hell? Do you mean Miss Toni? From school? “NO! MISS STORMY!” OK, um, do you mean Mystery? Miss Martha? Miss Janet? In the back seat she’s getting frustrated and she starts to cry “noooo MISS STORMY MISS STORMY.” OK baby I’m not sure who or what you mean so we’re going to have to let this go for now.

Over the next few days we repeat this conversation multiple times, never with a positive ending. Then, one day, we are dancing to Disney Princess music and in the Beauty in the Beast song, she sings, “true he’s no Prince Charming….” and Baby Girl says “See?!?!? You be Miss Stormy!” Lightning flashes and I stop dead. PRINCE CHARMING?! You want me to be Prince Charming? “YES!” she screams in delight. Ok sure, Baby, how did I not get this sooner? Because Miss Stormy sounds exactly like Prince Charming.

Another day – I have forgotten now what she was responding to – but she rolls her eyes at me and says “I KNOW Mom.” Because clearly I am the stupidest person on the planet. So I say, “I know you know, Baby, you know everything!” She responds “yes I do!” totally delighted with herself. And Daddy says “hey Baby Girl, where’s Dallas?” She doesn’t miss a beat, just looks at him like why are you asking me this? and says… “It’s outside.” The kid doesn’t even know she’s already showing signs of being a smart-ass.

The day before yesterday I was talking to her about why she should wear panties and be done with the diapers. (Actually pull-ups but she calls them Bi-pers. And she might as well, because she certainly doesn’t pull them down or up.) I said, “Baby if you wear panties you can use the potty instead of your diaper. Using the potty is what you’re supposed to do, it’s better if you use the potty.” She looks very seriously at me and says “Why?” She is so serious about this that I respond with “um, well, um because it’s better that’s why.” That obviously should have convinced her, right? I am certainly convinced there is nothing on God’s green earth that is harder than getting this child to use a potty. I don’t say “potty training” anymore because God knows the kid knows how to use it. She just won’t. She simply doesn’t see the point.

And as for Santa Claus? Let’s not rely on him. Please. She sees a My Little Pony play castle/house/one more piece of plastic in my house thingie on a TV advertisement and she exclaims “Look Mommy! I don’t have that! We should go to the store and get it!” And I say, well maybe Santa Claus will bring something like that. And she says, perfectly seriously, “or we could just go to the store and get it.” Who needs Santa Claus?

Baby Girl has a bad ear infection. Both ears, dripping gunk and causing pain. Last night for a few minutes she starts to eat and play on her own. I’m excited, thinking she’s turned a corner and I say “hey Baby Girl are you feeling a little better?” She considers my question and responds with “No. I’m still sick.” She is just so sure about everything. There are no grey areas for her. She is confident about everything she says. My conversations with her about school go something like this:

“How was school today? What did you do?”

“Cora wouldn’t play with me but I was a puppy in the gym and Arden got a boo boo and he cried and he was driving the cars and I … and I … and I … and Cora played with Rose and Colt wasn’t there he was sick and so and so got a time out and he cried but I didn’t.”

Oooookay, sure Baby. You didn’t get a time out? “No.” Did you eat your lunch? “No I didn’t.” Why not? A repeat of the above run-on, mostly indecipherable litany of the day. No direct answer. Now you have as much information as I do about what goes on in her school day. I listen to her ramble on and on, full of confidence that I am understanding every word.

I am not sure why I ever worried about her talking. I waited a very long time for her to say Mommy consistently and with confidence. She now speaks in full sentences, using words that I didn’t even know she knew. On a daily basis I look at her while she talks and think “where did you learn that?!” It’s amazing. This age she is at is amazing, and extremely frustrating. She knows everything. She can do things on my iPad that I don’t even know how to do. She speaks like a little literary genius. She can do latches on gates and buckles on saddles. Yet she won’t use a toilet consistently and still spills her milk at dinner. Every day she astounds me, and then reminds me that she’s still only three. Don’t grow up too fast Baby Girl. This world, your world, is still safe and fun. Stay in it as long as you can, and I’ll stay in it with you.

It appears that the better Baby Girl sleeps, the better I sleep. The better I sleep, the better mood I’m in. And the better Baby Girl sleeps the better mood she’s in. A win win. Except I can’t get her to sleep well.

We have progressed to this:

Baby Girl goes to bed in her OWN bed in her OWN room about 7:30 every night. It was 9:00 every night but I finally decided that her naps were just screwing everything up and she’s better off without them. I had to acknowledge that I would also be better off without her naps (I was typically napping with her) because staying up until 9:00 pm with her was driving me nuts. It took me months to acknowledge this and then to actually change the routine. I hate change. It’s scary and uncomfortable. Let’s just continue on the way we are indefinitely because it is working – sort  of.  Sure, it could be better but it could also be worse! Glass half full, right?

So about three to four hours after she goes to sleep she’s awake, crying briefly, and coming into my room to sleep on the toddler mattress by my bed. I ALWAYS wake up during this process. Not least because I am expected to go get her blankie, snuggie and paccy and bring them to her, and then cover her up. With the fuzzy side of the blankie on the outside. Of course. Oh and get my water while you’re at it Mommy. So then she snoozes fitfully, on and off the mattress until about 6 am. As soon as the cat thinks that she is even a teensy bit conscious, he starts meowing. Loudly. Consistently. If he has been working, my husband arrives about 2:30 am. I am aware of every one of these activities. So despite having gone to bed at a reasonable hour, and getting up about 6:15 am (I would prefer 7:15)  – I am always exhausted.

These confessions lead to more confessions, and more future battles. She still has her paccy. Yes. They’re messing up her mouth, I know this. Not terribly, but some. She thinks she can’t live without them. I think she can. I have yet to test this theory. She cannot be convinced she doesn’t need them – I’ve tried that. So the only thing is, do I make a huge deal about taking them away, or do they simply all disappear? I cannot decide how to handle this, thus she still has her paccy’s and I am still beating myself up over it. (Advice on this dilemma is welcomed – maybe someone’s advice will piss me off enough that I take action.)

Toddler mattress in my bedroom. I could move it, I suppose. But I truly think she would simply sleep on the floor. The bigger issue is keeping her in her bed in the first place. I have a baby gate that I could attach to her doorway so she cannot get out. And how many nights will she scream bloody murder and cry like she’s been abandoned to the wolves before she understands that if she sleeps the whole night through she won’t even notice there’s a gate there? Also, what furniture or toys will she move so that she can climb over and out? And what about those paccy’s? Do I do take them away before or after I install the baby gate?

And finally – water at night. I am fully aware that if she drinks water at night she will need to pee. She is not potty trained yet, because she simply refuses. She does not care if she’s wet. She barely cares if she’s poopy. She is absolutely able to use the potty and will do it if the mood strikes – usually when she’s in the bathtub. We even tried a potty chart, with prizes and M&M’s which she loves. This worked for two weeks and I really thought we were on the right path towards panties. Then, inexplicably, she simply stopped. I am flummoxed. I try not to make a huge deal of it, because I think that if I insist and get all flared up, she will dig her toes in even more. She is my child, after all.

So battle lines NEED to be drawn here. I know it, my husband knows it and Baby Girl knows it. Husband and Baby Girl are both waiting on me to take a stand. Frankly, I’m waiting on me to take a stand. Like I said earlier, if you have advice on any of this feel free to lay it on me. Can’t guarantee that yours is the advice I’ll take (or any of it, frankly) but I am desperate enough to entertain someone else’s ideas!

It’s time to grow up a little Baby Girl. Mommy’s working on it.

I wake up into a black hole, a tornado – blackness swirling in my head. Anger, irritation, a fierce desire to crawl into my bed and stay silent. Please don’t talk to me, please don’t ask me to do anything. It’s too much, I can’t… I can’t.

But I have to. I have to be the Mom, that’s the main thing. I can’t let my darkness envelop her too. I have to put that brave face on, as much as I can, and be the Mom. But if it’s a school day then I only have to do it for a little while before I can drop her off with a fake smile to the teaching staff, have a great day Baby Girl, and I can let it all drop away again with my car door closing. On those days it’s back home immediately, I can’t handle the traffic, the people, the noise. If you call me I won’t answer. If you text me I will ignore it. I will troll Facebook without seeing, I will smile vaguely at Instagram. I will not watch the news, or read the stories about the evil in the world. I will not communicate with anyone who might give me unwelcome news. I will not send any emails or do any work. I can’t. I can’t meet you for lunch my friend, please understand. I can only survive – push through the day with as little drama as possible and pray that the darkness is short lived.

If it’s not a school day, then it’s waiting, waiting, waiting for Daddy to wake up (he works nights) so he can take over and I can give in to the darkness. It’s play with me Mommy and help me do play-doh and I’m hungry and please please please wake up soon Daddy because Mommy is drowning. If I can give in, just for a little while, maybe it’ll be ok again. Maybe it’ll push back, fade away enough for me to be the Mom later in the day and be the Instructor and Barn Owner and horse person. Maybe the exhaustion will lift just a little. Just enough. Maybe I can even be the Friend, or the Wife. But to be Me? That’s too much effort. That gets left behind until I am feeling better, until the darkness recedes and the light comes in.

The light is always there, I tell myself, it’s there – behind the darkness. It’s there waiting to be seen. Like the scene at the end of the movie Twister where the tornado breaks up and the sun comes out. That’s how it feels, that’s what I need to happen. Sometimes it’s only one day, sometimes it’s weeks or even months. But the light is always there and it always comes back. I have to remember that, hold onto it, because the darkness is so complete, so strong that it’s easy to despair. Hold on to me Baby Girl, hold on to me – just be happy Mommy she says, I want us all to be happy. Oh me too, baby, me too.

It’s the little things – as Robert Earl Keen would say. It’s the way Baby Girl thumps her feet on the mattress next to my head when she’s awake at 5:00 in the morning. It’s the way she can destroy a room five minutes after I’ve cleaned it, or the way I find 12 different socks she’s discarded in every room of the house. It’s the way she chooses a bag of chips and then proceeds to pick out every other one as not being worthy enough to eat. Or the way she spits grapes into my hand because she doesn’t want it after she’s chewed it up – same with pancakes, chicken, or whatever …

It’s the way she can and will dump out her pockets of sand into the middle of her otherwise clean bed. It’s how she acts like a puppy 12 hours a day. Puppies are hard to feed and clothe by the way. In case you don’t own one. They don’t listen well and they pant a lot. In your face. It’s the way strawberry frosted mini wheats get ground into every floor in the house, or finding random goldfish under the couch or in her shoes.

It’s the way she can run beside me on the lawn mower while sporting a 100.8 degree fever. It’s the way she falls down and gets right back up saying “it’s ok!” when she feels good and bursting into tears when she doesn’t. It’s the way she climbs up on the tractor and snuggles into me while I drive it back to the barn – tired after running all the way to the end of the aisle. It’s her jumping in the water trough just because she wants to, and then running all over the property stark naked because she’s three. The way she wants me to give her a “shower” in the wash rack with cold water so she can pretend to be a horse (or a puppy). It’s using horse shampoo on her crazy hair, because hey, why not?

It’s the way she always wants to “help” me even when I could do it faster and better myself. And the way that I usually let her – even though I’m dying inside. The way she always want to help feed the horses, especially Muffin, because Muffin’s bucket is pink, and Corkie, because it’s “her” Corkie. It’s the way she takes it upon herself to create a stall in her wagon for her Breyer horses by using shavings that were already in an actual horse stall. It’s the way she genuinely loves all the horses, all the time.

It’s the way she mimics me and tries to wipe her feet when we enter the house. It’s the way we practice saying “hhhhhoooorrse” instead of “force” and giggle our heads off. It’s the way she tells me she can read her own name (she probably can) and that she wants to play with her friend Cora at school. It’s the crazy, undecipherable tales she tells me when she gets home complete with silly faces and re-enactments. It’s the way she takes my face in her hands and tells me she’s little and I’m big.

It’s the little things that are the most annoying, endearing, cringe inducing, loving, silly, best things of all.

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.