Picking Friends

"Mama? Which friends did I take to school yesterday?" Alice asked me as we were preparing to leave for school.

"I don't know. Alice. Please put your shoes on, I don't want to be late."

"MAAAMA I have to pick my friends."

This conversation, or a variation of, can be overheard in my house five days a week. There is great consideration put into the decision. "Friend" picking is an art form. I feel I must stop myself and clarify for those who have no idea what I'm talking about. To Alice, dolls, barbies, babies, and most importantly in her eyes, princesses of varying size are her friends. She refers to herself as their Mama, though from the way it sounds she's more like their dictator. Anyway, she is allowed to bring a friend or two in the car for the ride to school and can bring one into school for the day.

A lot goes into picking friends. Somedays it's a breeze, the favorite doll of the day accompanies her. Other mornings it's as stressful as picking a presidential running mate, or so I imagine.

"I DON'T KNOW WHO TO PICK," she whines at me when I'm rushing her along.

There are mornings when she stews and worries over which doll hasn't been fortunate enough to visit school yet or which Barbie can't possibly come because they've been too grumpy and need to take a nap while she's gone. And then there are the times when she's selected the lucky winner but can't find the obvious partner to join them. "How can Rapunzel possibly leave Flynn Ryder at home?" Or, "it wouldn't be fair to Cherry Jam if Strawberry Shortcake gets to come and she doesn't! We just have to find Cherry Jam." I've grown used to the morning selection process, but every now and again she shocks me. Seemingly without any rhyme or reason a blast from the past from the bottom of a basket will be the chosen one. Yesterday she took blinking Dora. Blinking Dora has seen better days. She was acquired during Alice's younger, artistic period. Dora has black sharpie eye shadow on her blinking eyelids and the whites of her eyes are now filled in black as well. Her underwear has also been decorated with said sharpie. Dora's hair, which used to be fastened neatly in two pig tails, now flows freely in one big tangled mess. Why Dora, who is never played with these days, was selected is beyond me.

Once we are safely fastened in our seats, there is often more discussion regarding the morning decision.

"Mama? Do you think Merida is jealous of Pocahontas because I didn't pick her?"

"I don't know Alice. Maybe," I tell her.

"She probably is. But Merida has gotten to go to school lots of times. This is Pocahontas's first time. You must be super excited to come into my school, Pocahontas. Just wait till you see my cubby!"

She really is the most adorable kid in the whole entire world.

 

 

Except your kid. I'm sure your kid is equally as adorable.

The D Word

I haven't written in a week. I haven't read a book in months. I haven't been to the gym in an equal number of months. I've cooked a handful of "real" dinners in many more months. I haven't finished any of the projects I've started in a very long time. Hearing all of this, I have a sister that would be whispering the dreaded D word, suggesting maybe I seek help.

depression

I don't know if she's right. Maybe she is. Maybe she's not. Personally, I don't even know if it matters. I know I have the power to fix all of this laziness. See, that's the thing, I see all of the above as a laziness rut. I was successfully blogging, reading, exercising, and laughing not so long ago. Things weren't great then and things aren't great now. The only difference, I stopped holding myself accountable. I stopped demanding more of myself. I allowed the holidays to be one great big excuse.

I thought 2013 would be a swift kick in the ass. I'm afraid I was wrong. Even though my actions haven't changed much, I have felt a mental shift trying to take hold. I've used my crockpot a few times recently. I've been baking. I've renewed my gym membership. And today I start reading again. I'm taking a class at Alice's school on promoting social emotional competence in children and my friends I'm required to read a book. Slowly but surely I'm taking control of my actions. I don't know if I'll be able to shed the D word from some people's perception of me. Like I said, maybe they are right. But, with every post I write, every mile I run, every chapter I read I feel better.

Way Up High

In my house there's a mythical place where toys go called Way Up High. The location often changes without notice, but the laws governing remain the same. In Way Up High land you never know who you may find. One day in my journeys, I stumbled upon quite a large group of inhabitants.

For one activity or another, the toys were banished to Way Up High never to be heard from again until that fateful day when they were given a second chance. I am not entirely sure what causes a toy to go haywire, is it peer pressure or are some toys just inherently misfits. Whatever the reason, the toys that don't conform to society find themselves in Way Up High. Most often they travel in packs, Iike the group above. But it's not unheard of to find a solitary.

On occasion I have even witnessed the natives of Way Up High so outraged at a toys actions, they are banished to the outskirts of the land. A place only whispered in the darkest of times, Way Way Up High. Here they are most usually forgotten about completely.

And sometimes there are repeat offenders. I will not mention any names, eh hem...lightsaber.

These toys are darker than most and stand no chance in normal society. Their forever home is Way Up High. The only hope they have at a new life is a place called Good Will.

 

Dazed and Confused

I am too tired to write.

I know I said I wasn't going to give any more excuses for not writing, but I swear, this time it's different. See...I'm writing. Even though I'm so tired my brain is jello, I'm still stringing together letters to make words. Promise kept.

Alice is killing me. Slowly but surely. Autocorrect suggested surly instead, which may be appropriate too.

She's been having bad dreams. I suppose I would have patience for them if they were truly bad dreams, but I kind of feel they are merely less than stellar dreams. Correct me if I'm wrong, but your pink and purple heart Vans being tagless does not constitute a bad dream. It doesn't warrant crying and yet she was. Scream crying in the middle of the night because her shoes didn't have a tag. What tag? I don't have a clue what she's talking about. Yet, I was awake to ponder the thought.

I was awake to listen to the coughing, too. The rediculous coughing. Fifteen minutes of coughing, twenty minutes of rest. Ten minutes of coughing, fifteen minutes of rest. Ten more minutes of coughing, hour of rest. All freaking night long like this. I might have been more sympathetic and motherly if I wasn't already sleep deprived from the previous nights. All she got from me was "Go to the bathroom and get a drink of water, Alice." I vaguely remember telling her to get up and go play even though it was only five o'clock in the morning. Not exactly a shining moment in mom history.

Tonight I will sleep, damn it. I'm making Hatta buy Vicks Vapo-Rub as we speak, hopefully that will calm the coughing from her cold. I'm going to bed early. No Monday night football for me. Hell, I may even drug myself for a restful eight hours of sleep. As I tell a childless friend of mine, if you like sleeping don't ever, ever, ever, ever have kids.

Strength in Numbers

In everyone's life there are usually a few moments when they feel they can not possibly make it, they can't go on, they just can't do it.

For me, the birth of my daughter comes to mind. By hour twenty I wanted to give up. I didn't think it was humanly possible for me to continue. I didn't know how I was going to endure any more pain, exert any more effort, push any longer. I wanted to quit. I was begging for help. I wanted the doctor to save me from my hell by insisting a caesarean was necessary. I didn't say it out loud, but I wanted to. I imagine many first time marathon runners experience a similar feeling at some point during the race. That point at which you don't think it's even possible to take one more step.

In every scenario it ultimately goes one way or another. Either you take one more step, push one more time or you don't. You either will you body, your mind to go on or you stop.

In my story, the birth of beautiful, stubborn baby Alice was made possible by a wonderful support system. Left to my own devises, I would have quit. I would have waved the white flag insisting someone else do the work I couldn't. Thankfully I had the most supportive and powerful coach in my OB doctor. I can still, four years later, hear her booming voice demanding "Hard as you can! Hard as you can!" She was not allowing me to quit. My doula was at my side just about every minute of the twenty one hours. She made me feel so brave and strong. She showed complete faith in my ability to birth my daughter. Hatta was there, scared and unsure, but in awe of my strength. Together they told me how wonderful I was doing and what an amazing woman I was. I didn't believe them, if I had been doing so wonderful wouldn't she be out by now? But it was still the encouragement I needed to keep pushing. The marathon runner, I imagine if he had to run the race entirely alone completion would be unlikely. Even those that aren't running with friends find strength in the comrades running around them. Together a lot more is possible.

You may remember a few posts ago when I stated I was swimming in heavy, heart crushing thoughts. I'm still there, barely staying afloat. I was informed last night that not everyone enjoys my analogies, and if this is true for you, I really am so sorry, but I'm afraid I'm sticking with the swimming one. For, I am anchored in this pool. All around me, as far as my eye can see is heartache. And I am stuck. I don't know where to go, or even which direction is shortest. I remain where I am, treading water. I know I must swim soon. But where to? I could always swim back to the shallow end, I'll still be stuck in the pool, but at least I know I won't drown. Or I could take a leap and swim toward the edge and hope I make it. Hope I have the strength to swim.

I wish someone else could save me. I want someone to dive in and pull me to safety. End the pain I feel. If only it worked that way. Even though I don't want to, I have to do this on my own as hard is it may be.

What I hope more than anything, is that I have a few people poolside cheering me on, shouting words of encouragement when I need it most. I'm afraid once I start swimming, I may find the journey too treacherous. I may find it easier to quit, allow my head to sink beneath the waterline or swim back to the shallows. I pray that if this happens I have a friend who recognizes the distress I'm in and throw's me a life ring, if even just to momentarily hang on to until I can swim again. I know I will not make it alone.

Not Torture, an Educated Parenting Decision

Monday night I wrote this post. And then I had this twitter conversation.

After that, I proceeded to spend hours lying in bed, not sleeping, second guessing my decision to take Alice to the butterfly conservatory. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was, in fact, torturing Alice.

Don't worry, even in my sleep deprived state I returned to my senses. I was making an educated parenting decision to follow through with my butterfly conservatory plan. I appreciated the opinions of well-meaning friends, but in this instance I had to go against them.

Let me be clear, when I tell my stories of life and parenting Alice, I do so with a humorous slant. The meat of the stories are true, but I find life easier to handle with a sense of humor. The humor, to some, may have been lost on my most recent post. Please know in everything I do, I absolultely have Alice's best interest at heart.

Case in point, the hours I spent lying awake contemplating why I was taking Alice into a situation I knew full well could have a bad outcome. It's very simple. Alice doesn't just fear butterflies, she fears all insects. This affects her daily life. It's debilitating. In case you hadn't noticed, bugs are everywhere. In the ballet room, in gymnastics, in her house, on the porch, in her playhouse, et cetera, et cetera. If I allowed Alice to succumb to the fear then I would be enabling her. Instead, Hatta and I (and the extended family) take the approach that insects are a part of our life and certainly nothing to be frightened about. And see, the thing is, Alice doesn't enjoy being afraid of bugs. It gets in her way of playing, she's wise enough to realize that. She wants to overcome her phobia. She wants to believe us when we tell her that the majority of the bugs are not looking to harm her. So, I provide Alice with opportunities to test out her insect threshold. In the garden, she's by my side, curious about the worms and the roly polies. Not interested in touching them, she keeps her distance to test the theory.

I saw the butterfly conservatory as merely another step towards Alice's freedom. It was a controlled environment with beautiful, fascinating insects that do not bite. My job was to support Alice and reassure her she would not be harmed. The only way for the experience to be a success was to go. To stay home would be giving into the fear. That was something I was not okay with. I do not think living your life around fear is healthy.

I asked Alice, the morning of the adventure, if she wanted to go.

"Yes. But I might be afraid if they want to land on my head," she replied.

"Well, that's okay. I won't let them land on you."

"Even if they don't, I still might be a little bit scared," she told me.

She wanted to face her fear. And, my friends, it paid off. We entered the greenhouse with her in my arms and we just stood there. I allowed her a few moments to take it all in before we moved. She was hesitant when I knelt down to observe a nearby butterfly and to place her on the ground. But, just like that, her curiosity took over. She didn't want to be unhappy. She trusted me to keep her safe and that allowed her the freedom to check her fear at the door...well, mostly. There was one instance when a butterfly attempted to land on her head and sent her into freak out mode. I quickly handled the situation and she didn't let it ruin her experience.

All in all, the butterfly effect was a success. She's still afraid of bugs...this morning she wouldn't sit still on our front steps for first day of preschool pictures because bugs were flying about. But, I believe each positive insect experience helps her to be one step closer to overcoming her phobia for good.

Co-Sleeping

The time has come. You may recall a few posts ago where I couldn't decide what to write about. Today, I feel it's appropriate to tell the other story.

For a moment I would like to address the Judgey McJudgerson's. Hi. If you don't mind, today's post isn't for you. If you regard yourself as a perfect parent, a super mom perhaps, may I kindly ask you to visit my older posts or another blogger entirely. Just for today. I'm sure tomorrow's post will be much more appropriate. I will welcome you back with open arms. See, today's topic is a bit personal. You understand, right?

I've been hesitant to write this post. As a parent, teaching your child to sleep is one of your first tasks. And many would say I've failed. At this very moment, Alice is fast asleep in my bed. This morning she woke up in my bed. The night before, my bed. The night before the night before, my bed. Sensing the pattern? I will stand sorta-kinda proudly and say, "My four year old sleeps in my bed."

Now that that's over, let me start at the beginning. As a newborn, Alice couldn't sleep alone. I tried night after night, nap after nap. It just didn't happen. She would either wake as soon as you laid her down or within a short period of time. She'd sleep fine in your arms or snuggled next to you. Anything else was not acceptable to her and, sadly, I was not a proponent of the cry it out method. I tried and tried, at Hatta's persistence, to transition her to the co-sleeper every night after she woke for a middle of the night feeding. Until that one night when I didn't. Snuggled next to me in bed, I latched on a hungry Alice and my exhausted postpartum eyes closed and remained closed. When I woke up several hours later, it was a total hallelujah moment. Finally, her and I both slept peacefully. Out of sheer desperation, I was hooked. Hatta, not so much. I did research, forwarded pages for him to read, tried my best to convince him if we co-slept smartly it was going to be okay. And it was.

Fast forward four years. Up until now, Alice hasn't slept in my bed consistently since the newborn phase. She transitioned to her crib for a period of time, then into the toddler bed. However, sleep has always been a struggle for Alice. I've googled, read books, and followed fellow mom's advice. Nothing seemed to work. Try as I might, I've rarely been able to convince Alice to spend an entire night in her bed. She'd fall asleep in her bed and when she woke at 3 or 4am 5 or 6am she'd toddle into my bed. This worked for Hatta and I. It seemed the lesser of the evils.

Until the damn bug entered the picture. About six weeks ago, during nap time, a fly entered Alice's room. It's not hard, there's a skylight in her room and she still doesn't have a door. Flys can come and go as they please. But, see, Alice has a bug phobia (that I promise I will post about soon. Any day. It's coming.) A harmless house fly or fruit fly is anything but simple to her. It's devastating and all, "Mama! Mama! A bug in my room! Eeeeee!! Hurry! MAMA! OH...EEE...MAAAAMA!" Ever since, she won't sleep in her room. The fly is long gone. Died of natural causes by now and, yet, she's still terrified to be alone at bedtime in her room. She tells everyone about the bug. I've given up. I willingly let her start out in my bed every night now.

Ah, but there's an end in sight. School starts soon. Have I mentioned preschool starts soon and I'm really, super, uber excited? Oh. Right. I've mentioned that. Anyway, school starts soon and guess who goes to preschool. Big girls, that's who! And guess what big girls do. Sleep in big girl beds! You see where I'm going with this? Yep. I've had the talk with Alice about school and big girls and sleeping in their own mother effing beds...maybe not in those exact words. Now, not only is Alice petrified of bugs, but she's dreading school, too. I foresee a few rough nights coming up in my future. Can't wait!






The courage for this post where I out myself for allowing my four year to sleep in my bed has been brought to you by The Honest Toddler. I realize I'm not alone in the big bed saga. Thank you.

Time Out-Side

To be a good parent, my methods constantly have to evolve. As my darling daughter grows, I have to adapt to keep ahead of the madness. When I find myself shrieking obscenities, mostly in my head of course, it's time to reevaluate.

Last Friday was spent reevaluating. Alice was fresh off an I'm-sick-and-I-can-do-anything-I-want high. She walked around like she was queen of the castle and I was her lowly servant. Demanding tv at all times of the day. Eating when and what she felt like with no regard for the schedule. And the screaming. Ooh the screaming! Choice word being NO!! Not like a two year old who says it because it's novel and fun. Rather because I piss her off with my rules. How dare I try to control her and the things that go on in my house! Just who the hell do I think I am!

Traditional time outs weren't working. Removing privileges didn't bother her. I was forced to think outside the box on this one, outside the house maybe. In my head, I pondered the genius idea, my evil hands rubbing back and forth. I may have even cackled a time or two. My desperation had caused me to sink to a new low. I was going to use my knowledge of Alice's fear of bugs to my advantage. I don't think I've covered Alice's bug phobia yet, have I? She has an extremely grand, unwarranted, debilitating fear of bugs. It's so gargantuan it deserves it's own post. Soon, I promise. Anyway, I know that Alice hates being on the back porch by herself. You know, those man-eating flies. I've threatened before to stick her out back like I do with the dog when she's plucking my nerves. (I seem to compare my child to the dog a lot. Maybe I should reflect and get to the bottom of this.) The time had come to stop threatening and follow through. The next high pitch "NO!" she belted out and I was off. I took her by the arm, said nothing, put her on the back porch and shut the door. For a few glorious moments it was silent. When reality of her predicament settled in, the tears and the pleas to be let back inside started. She quickly waved the white flag, begging to be given a second chance, all the while looking back at the porch in fear of the imaginary bugs that were obviously coming to get her.

I had won. I wasn't proud of my below-the-belt tactics, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Eventually I hope she will want to be kind because it's the right thing to do, it's who we strive to be. Until that day comes, I'm okay with her choosing to be good to avoid consequences. And if I have to, I can ride the bug phobia for a very long time. Rest assured, dear Alice, juvenile detention center's are laden with insects.

You Can Lead a Horse to Water

You know the old saying, "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink the got damn pink medicine." So that's not exactly how it goes, close enough. That's been my life since Friday. Words do not do justice to what my sick life with sick Alice and sick Hatta has been. Let me share the ailments as they pertain to the individual, starting with Hatta: strep, bronchitis, and conjunctivitis, myself: strep, mild swimmer's ear (wtf?) severe inner ear infection, and sinus infection, and lastly, Alice: strep, stubborn, strong willed, defiant, bullheaded, relentless, persistent...shall I continue?

The list of ailments required medication: eye drops, ear drops, antibiotics, and perscription strength cough syrup. I shudder at the thought of how much, as a family, we've dropped at CVS in the past week. Alice was prescribed one simple antibiotic, Cephalexin, the pink medicine. In her previous years, my daughter worried me with her strong love for drugs, pink medicine included. She always wanted more. She'd fake an illness just to take more purple medicine. I thought surely we had a drug addict in the making. Suffice it to say, I'm not longer concerned.

I've struggled to get Alice to take her antibiotic, wait...I think that's a bit of an understatement. It's vastly greater than an understatement. Over the course of the weekend, I learned even though she is small I can no longer control what she does or does not do. To my novice, childless readers who are questioning my words right now, who think surely you can be the parent and make her...to you I say, if only it was that simple. Yes, I can force her to lie still. Yes, I can force her mouth open. Yes, I can force the medicine into her mouth. That's the point in which I no longer have control. What happens once the pink gooeyness hits her tongue is up to her. No matter how much I attempt to close her mouth, she still has the power to spit it out. All over my hands, all down her hair, all over the floor.

Plan B, hide that shit! First attempt, smoothie. Success. But, I can't make her drink two smoothies every day for ten days. Maybe I can reason with her. That was where I went wrong. Hatta warned me; I chose not to listen. I ruined the secret. I told her she had taken the pink stuff when she drank her smoothie. Alice was ecstatic! She was overcome with joy and wanted her morning medicine in a smoothie for sure. Seriously. I'm not being sarcastic. There was high-fiving all around. The next morning the warm and fuzzy feeling of the previous night was replaced with an air of gloominess as Alice began what would become a three day fast. No food. Little water. She was boycotting life. The mention of medicine would send her running to bed. From her mouth I heard, "No. I don't want to. I don't like it. I wanna go to bed." That's it, on repeat for three days. I offered her a chocolate milkshake. Wouldn't take a sip. Vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup and Reese's Pieces. Spoon didn't touch it. I found myself attempting to bribe her with the new Princess Tianna doll complete with carriage or a new Barbie is she just took the medicine. Nope. She was standing her ground, her coughy, achey, fevery, sick ground.

Plan C, finally the pediatrician has given the okay to switch antibiotic, since to date she has consumed merely one full dose and a couple partials. A new prescription has been called in, more money added to the shudder inducing total. The new drug is a capsule that when opened the tasteless powder can be sprinkled on anything. Thrilled to find out how tonight goes! Thrilled I tell ya!

Interlude

Ever have the kind of experience that makes your head spin in so many ways you can't distinguish which direction is up?

That's the best description I can give for the past few days. We attempted a nice four day beach vacation to my hometown. It was absolutely, hands down, without a doubt anything but nice. So much not niceness happened I can not delve into it in this post. My head is still swimming, literally...from what the doctor described as a rip-roaring inner ear infection. I need to take a day or two, try to process the illnesses that proved insurmountable, the doctor and pharmacy visits, the insistent refusal to consume medicines, the power struggle between grandparent and parent, the hurt feelings, and mostly, the disappointment. If I were to write now, I would blubber on in a whiney, sobbing fashion surely telling the wrong story in entirely the wrong way.

I will take a deep breath, sleep on it and...in the word's of my husband, "revisit it when cooler heads prevail." Trust me, with all the fever up in here we could certainly use cooler heads.

She's 4, Don't Trust Her

If you have an early riser in your house, then you know how I feel. Alice has always woke with the sun. Regardless. Period. I have googled. Read sleep books. You name it, we've done it. Now that she's 4, I hardly ever get up when she does. I'm not far behind, for I know the trouble my little 35lbs of curiosity can manage in a very short amount of time.

Reasons Alice Shouldn't Be Trusted

1. She enjoys using her purple handle scissors immensely. Victims to date include, but are not limited to, Rapunzel, Blinking Dora, Sydney Barbie, countless mermaids, and herself.
2. She can move her kitchen stool to the sink, reach the soap, and turn on the water. Washing dishes and dolls is a favored pastime. Flooding the counter and floor is merely a ramification.
3. Her size allows her to reach almost anything on any shelf. What she can not reach on her own, standing on a chair can fix.
4. Independence can cause her to overestimate her ability. Much to her, and my, dismay she can not lift, carry and pour a cup of oj from a full gallon.
5. For research purposes alone, she could flush anything down the toilet at any moment.
6. She feels that glue and tape are one in the same.
7. Her sweet tooth and early morning hunger pangs turn her into a savage beast. A factory sealed bag of chocolate chips is no match for her teeth.
8. First and foremost, Alice is an artist. Young artist are a danger to themselves and their surroundings.

The Mid-Play Pee

"Alice? Do you have to go potty?" I asked. She wasn't holding herself, but she didn't seem right.

"I already did," she stated matter-of-factly. No emotion, no expression, just the words.

"What do you mean, 'you already did?' Pee didn't come out just now, did it?" I couldn't believe I was asking this question. We were at my friend's house and Alice was playing race cars with her son. There was no way my four year old peed in the living room of my friend's house.

"It came out." That was all she said. She was killing me with her lack of concern for peeing mid-play.

"Where did you pee, Alice?"

"Over, there. On the rug."

Oh. Em. Gee. My daughter peed on the rug. At someone else's house. Sigh.

"Alice!! You can't just pee on the rug! What were you thinking? Why didn't you stop playing and go use the potty?"

I contemplated rolling up a newspaper and swatting her on the nose. Or maybe I should have pushed her face down and rubbed her nose in it.

"I don't know. It just came out." That's all she had to say for herself. No shame. No embarrassment. She had peed on the rug in the living room of someone else's house and she didn't even seem phased.

"Alice. You get upstairs and wait for me in the bathroom. I am very upset with you. I can't believe you just peed on the rug! Like a dog!" That's right. I said it. I compared my daughter to a dog.

I can recall a time not too long ago, Alice was forced to poop in the grass near I-95, and she was devastated to be defecating like a dog. But this? Peeing on the carpet? This she's okay with? Just when I think I have a clue about little kids, she makes me realize I haven't the foggiest.

I Hope You Dance

I witnessed something today that left me without words, silently staring with a million emotions swarming my brain.

It happened at the gym. Thirty minutes into my work out I found myself near the one-way glass windows of the daycare room. Like always, I paused to look inside. This morning they were engrossed in parachute time. I smiled, seeing the excitement on the faces of the children. I looked from kid to kid around the parachute circle, all the while the colorful chute went up and down. I didn't see Alice anywhere. I looked towards the corner she usually plays dolls in, she wasn't there either. Thinking she must have been underneath the parachute, I scanned all the little bodies again until finally I found her. She stood a foot behind the parachute, just watching. A smile on her face, not touching the chute, merely watching the fun taking place.

I was so torn with emotion. My heart broke for her. I knew the fun she would have if she allowed herself to participate. I knew if I was by her side as her security, she could have joined in. And at the same time I was proud of her for knowing her limits, knowing how much she could handle and still feel comfortable and safe. Proud that she was not holed up in a little corner playing alone. She had gotten as close to the action as she could handle, I'm sure. I watched her face as the other kids took turns, obviously having fun, running onto the middle of the parachute as the group continued to raise and lower it. I saw the longing in her smile, though unable to conjure enough bravery to take her turn. One time the parachute brushed her hand, I thought for sure she would take it as a sign and hold on. She didn't, she simply took two steps backwards to ensure it wouldn't happen again.

No mother hopes her child will be the one standing on the sidelines watching life, and the excitement it brings, pass her by. I quote a popular lyric by Lee Ann Womack*, "And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance. I hope you dance."

I hope that for Alice. I watched her through the window having a good time, but not entirely. The rest of the children laughing and squealing with delight at the activity, I couldn't help but wish Alice could experience it the same as them. All chidren are different, though. And this was too far outside of Alice's comfort. I can only hope that I teach her to be brave and step outside her comfort zone every once in a while to experience something exhilarating. It's always worth it.

* Let it be known, this will likely be the only time I quote country music. Growing up on a farm, I was surrounded by country, but proudly my iPod is practically void of it today.

Love Hate Relationship

There are two sides to everything. Take for example, the sun. If you're thinking to yourself, the sun is the sun, no two sides about it...then, my friend, you are wrong.

All in one day I was reminded that the sun can be a relaxing, pleasure inducing star or a bright, blinding, headache inducing, bitchass ball of plasma.

This past weekend, we took a trip to the beach town where Hatta and I grew up. I spent hours and hours in the sun, relaxing carefree. Riding on the bow of the boat, basking in the warm glow, surrounded by delightful memories. The moment was perfect. The sunny sun made it perfect. The sun glistened on my skin, tricking me into thinking all my physical flaws were gone. Wonder sun. With family around doting on Alice, I was able to step back fom my full time job and chill. I laid on the tube in the bay, drink in hand, eyes closed, listening to my daughter's sounds of delight, sun shining it's happy rays down upon me. Life was good, courtesy of the brightness in the sky.

Alas, as I said, everything has two sides.

Tonight, car packed with kid, dog, and far too many bags of shit that I would have to unpack upon our arrival, I drove three hours, with traffic, home. In the sun. The mothafokking sun was the bane of my existence for three straight hours, no relief. I drove, Alice and Hatta slept. And by drove I mean did my best to try and block the sun glare without ramming into the car in front of us. Let me break the annoying ass shit down for you (please excuse my language, I'm still a little high-strung from the stressful drive.) Put visor down, flip it to the side, push back to the front, sun still blinding my vision, pull out visor extender, push visor to the side, extender in the way knocking my rearview mirror, pull visor back to the font, flip visor up thinking the sun is finally behind the trees, realize it was a cruel trick, flip visor back down, pull out extender again, push to the side. It carried on like this for hours, three to be exact. Mostly, I enjoy driving. I find it peaceful and cathartic. Tonight, because of the punk ass sun, I hated it. The sun tortured me this evening and seemed to find pleasure in it. It laughed at me as I tried to hide from it. Mocking me as it retreated behind the trees just long enough for me to breath, then bursting back out, snickering as I scrambled to try and block it from my sight so I didn't sideswipe the neighboring car. Tonight, as I drove, the sun sucked. Period.

Every now and again, in this life, you are reminded of life lessons. Some days it's crap about a body at rest staying at rest unless a force acts upon it. Today, the life lesson is there are two sides to every story and one of them is usually sunshine and daydreams while the other side is full of a nasty power hungry star that wants to see you total your car creating a five mile back up leaving you stranded on the side of the road while passerby's rubberneck to see what idiotic, moron was done in by sun glare.

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The Tragic Tale of Ariel's Disappearance

Something tragic happened today. Someone took Alice's Ariel book.

**gasp**

This is how it went down. After canceling our zoo plans on account of the rain, we decided to go to Storyville. For those of you not in the know, Storyville is this amazing play space, complete with 8 different themed rooms, inside of the public library. And it's free. It's really great, except on rainy days when school is not in session. Which, coincidentally, today turned out to be. When you don't have a school aged child you forget about things like summer break. Since they only allow a certain amount of people in at a time, we had to wait. They even give you the light up buzzer thing to notify you when it's your turn.

While we waited we visited the libary, which was also ridiculously crowded. Note to self: Get your shit together and get out of the house earlier if you don't like waiting with swarms of loud screaming crying children or stay home and just listen to one loud screaming crying child. Even though I wasn't looking to check out any books, Alice's friends were allowed to and I'm not ready to be horrible mean mommy out in public yet, so I let Alice pick out a few. Her picks were a children's baking cookbook, Tinkerbell, Fancy Nancy, Strega Nona Takes a Vacation, The Story of Darth Vader, Snow Dog Marley, and The Little Mermaid.

When our light up vibrating thingamajig went off, we checked out the books and headed into Storyville. I put our books in the coat and bag room. Knowing that princess books are a high commodity, I put Ariel to the bottom of the stack and put boring Marley on the top. This was my best effort at deterring theft.

Apparently I shouldn't be left to guard prized jewels, because my theft deterrence system failed. When it was time to leave Storyville, we went to gather our things when I noticed the Marley book was no longer on top. It didn't take Alice long to realize Ariel was no longer in the stack.

Commence full hysterics.

"Someone took ARIEEELLL!! Mama, someone took my book. Who took my book? Mama, I WANT ARIEL!"

"I know, Alice. I'm sorry someone took the book you picked. I'm sure they didn't know you had already picked that book. Come on. We already checked it out, we need to go let the libarian know what happened."

"Then we'll get my book back, right Mama? Cause I picked Ariel first. It's mine, Mama. Are you going to tell them it's mine?"

Ignoring Alice, I needed to deal with a bigger matter. I didn't want to be responsible for a book I didn't have. After settling the issue with the librarian, I held Alice's hand and walked her to the door. That's when it hit her. He mother, the person she trusted the most, was going to walk out of the library without locating the book in question. She stopped in her tracks and started sobbing. Scream sobbing.

"But Mama! WE CAN'T LEAVE WITHOUT ARIEL!! No Mama! Go get her! GO GET HER MAMA! I picked Ariel! She's mine. Tell them to give the book back to me MAMA!"

I tried to explain that I didn't know who took the book, therefore I had no way of getting it back. She wasn't listening, she couldn't hear me over the sounds of her overly dramatic crying. Holding her hand we left the library sans Ariel. On the ride home, Alice continued to grumble under her breath. At one point I heard her say she should have picked Snow White instead of Ariel. I suppose in the preschooler crowd dimwitted Snow White is not as desirable as flirty Ariel, ergo less likely to be stolen. I'm glad she picked Ariel. One less princess book I have to read over the next three weeks.

The moral of the story, eh, there's no moral. Theft happens. Move on. That's what I did when someone stole my jogging stroller 373 days ago. I certainly haven't thought about it every day since then. I've moved on. I'm sure Alice will, too.

Wit and Wisdom - Stop Sign Edition

I present to you the wit and wisdom of my 4 year old darling. That's right...she's now 4. Insane. Birthday post coming when I can stop saying "My baby! Where did my baby go?!" for long enough to write it.

Alice and I were in the car (of course) driving home from a super duper fun visit to our local FiveBelow. Party favors were purchased.

Her: Mama?

Me: Yes.

Her: Wasn't that a stop sign?

Me: Yes.

Her: Then why didn't you stop?

I chose to ignore her smart ass, back seat driving self. I suppose, only being 4 and not 14 like she thinks she is, she's never heard of a California stop.

Moss Is Cool, Right?

I'm a bit odd, quirky even. I'm the first to admit. I'll never be one of those people, convinced she's normal when everyone around her thinks otherwise.

Take, for example, my newest oddity, I'm giddy about moss. Right. Moss. Just simple moss. I'm like, smile ear to ear, do a little dance excited about moss. I don't even know why. I'm really so very weird. Normal people are delighted when they see puppies or roses, but moss is what gets me off.

Proudly, I have passed the love to my daughter. She takes great pleasure in pointing moss out on our dog walks. She's got the eye, that one. She can spot it a block away, hidden in a crack on the sidewalk. She'll stop whatever she's doing to talk about it. Alice was skipping enthusiastically when I took her and Hatta on a mission to steal moss from a nearby hiking trail.

I know, who steals moss? Who even wants moss? Aren't most people trying to kill it? All very normal questions, but I've already admitted I'm not completely normal.

Living in a city rowhome, my front yard is small and flanked by insanely large ginkgo trees. It's shaded, very shaded. Grass barely grows. For two years I have tried growing a lush lawn that would make the neighbors jealous to no avail. This year, I'm embracing my individualism and going against the grain. I'm growing a moss lawn.

I flirted with the idea after a three day rain spell this spring when moss began growing in a low spot in the middle of the yard and in between nearby sidewalk cracks. I wondered what the kind neighbor, who mows everyone's lawn, would think when he got to mine. Would he be stumped or incredibly thankful to have one less yard to mow? I fantasized what passersby would think when they saw moss in place of grass, "Wow! She's a genius to think out of the box. Look at them finding such an easy solution to an unsightly lawn. And so green and plush!" In my head, it's all accolades.


Reality...

Not nearly as impressive as in my mind.

I'm pretty sure I know what people think when they walk past my house, "What in the world is this plot of dirt supposed to be? Why does that silly girl keep watering the dirt?" I'm not concerned. I'm sure by next year my little plot of dirt moss will be the talk of the neighborhood. I will be a point of reference. "Go pass the house with the moss lawn..." People will be jealous of my no water, no mow, soft, vibrant yard.

I'll still be quirky, and my lawn will be impressive.

Breaking Point

breaking point: noun

1: the point at which a person gives way under stress

2: the point at which a situation becomes critical

************

Today, I hit my breaking point. Maybe, quite possibly, I had previously thought the same. I stand corrected. The early "Alice incidents," however destructive they were, did not cause me to give way under stress. In other words, lose my mind. Screwdriver in hand, today, I lost my mind...momentarily.

Anyone know what that is? And if you say, merely a hinge with a bad paint job then you are wrong my friend. That's a glorious photograph of my breaking point.

Alice is a door slammer. Place her in her room for time out and she slams the door repeatedly. Pissed off and stewing, over and over again..slam, slam, slam. It's maddening to listen to. MADDENING!! I try to ignore it. Negative attention is still attention...they say. I've tried confronting her, appealing to her voice of reason. "Alice, if you keep slamming your door, the angel hanging above it is going to fall on your head and break your skull and blood's going to gush out. And I'm not taking you to the doctor if that happens." No matter what I say, it doesn't matter. She keeps slamming the damn door.

I had threatened before. Several times actually. Finally, either I had enough balls to do it or I had gone mad, but I had had enough! The door was coming down. In time out for some reason or another, maybe she yelled at me or hit me. Maybe she kicked me. I don't even remember. All I remember is the sound of the door as she, pissed off, slammed it shut over and over again.

As I was unscrewing screws that had been permanent fixtures for more years than I know, I heard Alice's tear filled lament.

"Mama, NO! You can't take my door. No, Mama! That's my door! What am I going to do without my door. I NEED my door, Mama! Papa's going to be so mad at you."

I have to admit, momentarily, I did have that thought...is Hatta going to be pissed at me for potentially causing us more work down line. You never quite know with these old homes, maybe when we try to reattach the door, the screw holes will be striped...but just as quickly as I thought it, I dismissed it. She's a defiant terror and drastic measures need to be taken. Down it came. I was in charge, oh how the tides had changed. Quickly I realized what a privilege it had been for her to have a door. Maybe, just maybe, I stand a chance to win this battle against my 3 year old. Here's to hoping.

Yesterday Was My Day

I know what the problem was, yesterday was the best day I'd had in awhile. Not sure what it was, maybe the stars were aligned properly and the cosmos was working in my favor. It set the bar entirely too high for today. Silly me, woke with brilliant optimism, thinking today could be another yesterday. Ha!

I should have known better, right from the start, when Alice broke her 8 night record and woke me up at 6am with pee soaked sheets and pajamas. Hind sight. Instead, I got out of bed with a spring in my step. Opening the windows, breathing the crisp, morning air, the day held the promise of possibilities.

I'm not sure when it started to deteriorate. Maybe when Hatta called and told me he had been pulled over on his way to work for the very same expired tags he received a ticket for a week ago. Or possibly when I knocked a snack cup of Goldfish on the floor. Perhaps when I over watered 2 house plants and the water poured over the radiator down to the floor. Maybe it was when I, yet again, spilled water all over the floor in an attempt to water the front garden. Perchance it happened when Alice, jumping on the dog bed, smacked her head into the wall leaving a lump. On her head, not the wall.

No. It wasn't that. At that point I was still naively thinking today could be a close second to yesterday. I hadn't given up, as my tweet said, "I'm trying really hard." I had every intention of rocking it at the mom job. I wasnt defeated. I took Alice to a playground near the airport. We usually have a picnic and watch the planes fly in to land.

Nice pic, huh? Except, I didn't take that today. No. See, today, the planes were not landing for our viewing pleasure. Instead, they were departing, over top of our heads, at the rate of 1 plane every 15 minutes. Not nearly the impressive impact on a 3 year old as the usual, 1 plane landing every, I dunno, 3 minutes. My outing was a bust. Alice was bored and tired. I was finally defeated.

Ready to concede, I told Alice it was time to go home. She burst out sceaming "NO!" repeatedly and as loudly as possible. Everyone was watching, I'm sure. Whatever. I was so done, I wasn't even embarrassed as I climbed the playground to drag her naughty behind out of there, crying the whole way. You know what? She cried the entire 25 minutes home, too. Icing on the cake.

Today, Friday, May 18th, you win. Today was not my day. I was its bitch. And sadly, I still have many hours left before I can pull the covers over my head and wishfully hope tomorrow is better.

A Day at the Flower Shop

Mother's Day is on Sunday. For me, the day is very bittersweet. I can not fully embrace it with my mother no longer living. However, I am a mother. The day was created for me, too. So, I do my best to think of positive memories of my mom and let the sadness go and be happy.

This morning, while showering, I was thinking. My best thinking happens in the shower, it has to be said. Anyway, I was thinking of childhood memories involving my mom. I found myself lost in a scene in my mother's flower shop. I was about 7 years old, I'm guessing. It was summer time, and not being old enough to stay home alone, I would accompany my mother to her shop. I loved it. My mom would come armed with craft projects galore. Paint by numbers, friendship bracelets, wooden boxes to paint. I can't even imagine how many loop n loom pot holders I made that summer! She would give me odd jobs around the shop, my favorite being pre-filling the floral water tubes. Living in a beach town, I would walk up to the boardwalk and bring us back the most delicious french fries drenched in vinegar. My mom would stop working and share them with me. We would sit on our tall, wooden stools together and talk. It made me feel important. Special.

Now as an adult, a mother myself, I think about that memory a little different. I see the other side. I believe you truly appreciate your mother when you become one yourself, when you've walked in similar shoes. I'm sure my mother loved the time we spent together during those summer days at her shop. I'm also sure, given the choice, she would have rather sent me to summer camp so she could work more productively.

I believe my mother was juggling it all at that exact moment. Divorced from my father, she was primarily raising me and my oldest sister alone, while working full time running her own business. Occasionally I remember seeing my mother stressed, like, for example, during the second biggest flower gifting holiday, Mother's Day. But mostly, I just remember how damn happy she was. Sunshiney happy. She never let on to the feelings she must have been feeling as she embarked upon a day at the shop, daugher in tow...how am I going to keep Nelly occupied for 8 hours straight so I can work. I don't recall her flipping out trying to rush us both out the door early in the morning, screaming "hurry up! We're going to be late!" When I distracted her with a million questions, like I was known to do, she never showed she was loosing patience. When I grew bored of one activity, she had an infinite supply of ideas to entertain me and they all sounded, well, fun. My mother made me feel like she wanted me in the shop with her. Like we were best friends.

I treasure the memories we made in her flower shop. They absolutely hold a dear place in my heart. More importantly, maybe the memories have taught me something about how to be a better, happier mother. Maybe the next time I'm finding myself frazzled with Alice and her antics and I'm about to go to that place I'm not particularly proud of, I should think of my mom. Think of how she handled it. With patience and a smile. With the right attitude, even the simplest most mundane tasks can be thrilling to a child. I should embrace this knowledge, because one day, many years from now, Alice will reflectively look back on her memories of me. What will she see? A stressed out, impatient mother? Or one who embraces fun at every opportunity? I will strive to make sure her memories are all of the loop n loom and water tube filling caliber.