Witch Bitch

"I have a joke Mama. Wanna hear it?" Alice asked lying next to me in bed.

"Tell it fast, it's time to sleep," I told her.

"Witch bitch. Isn't that funny Mama? Cause witch rhymes with bitch."

I had no idea what to say. The only funny part of the joke was hearing my four year old say bitch.

"You know that buh word you said after witch?"

"Bitch?"

"We don't say that word, Alice."

"Why not?" she asked. With no reason up to this point, we hadn't ventured into curse word territory yet.

"You know how we don't say hate or stupid because they aren't nice words? The b word is like that. It's a mean word," I tried explaining.

"Well then, it's okay because the witch is mean. So witch bitch is fine."

She had a point. I was realizing the concept of curse words is very abstract.

"Alice, that word is so bad it hurts people's feelings when you say it. It makes people very sad if you call them that word."

"What if I had said witch bitch at school? I wouldn't have known it was bad and if I'd asked my teachers they might have thought I was calling them a witch bitch?"

Now I think she was on a mission to say bitch as many times as she could.

"Don't say that word at school, Alice. Not to your teachers or your friends. You don't want to hurt anyone's. feelings."

So that's that. Alice said bitch for the first time. Actually she said it for the first, second, third, fourth...it felt like she was never going to stop. I didn't laugh, I played it cool, but inside I was dying, listening to my innocent little sweet pea chanting bitch like she was....well, me. All in all, I think I passed this parenting moment with flying colors. I mean I'm not a pro, but I'm holding my own here in wonderland.

Creative Differences

In case you were sitting there thinking, "I wonder how dear, sweet, artistic Alice has been lately?"

So now you wanna see her handiwork, don't you? For your viewing pleasure...

When will this destructive, artistic phase end??? Please, someone tell me! I don't know if I can tolerate anymore, she's worse than a puppy! And, on a completely unrelated note, can someone please teach my husband about hashtags?

 

My True Love

It's Friday and I'm feeling über grateful to my bestest best friend in the whole wide world. I would like to dedicate today to...Amazon.

Two days ago my tub was clogged. I had been showering in two inches of my own filth, and the filth of every other member of my house. So freakin gross. There really is not much as gross as standing in soap and grime and hair and feeling it all swirl around you as you attempt to bathe. The solution was obvious, drain cleaner. But obvious and easy are not one in the same. Unless I'm intending to buy Alice a toy, I despise taking the kids to Target. It's a meltdown waiting to happen. I spend too much money, it takes too long, there's entirely too much whine (and not nearly enough wine) and in the end I'm exhausted and usually forgot the one item I drove to Target for in the first place. And then, standing in pubes (not my own, I have you know) I had an aha moment.

Amazon.com

I love amazon and buy an outlandish number of items from there every year. Birthday presents, applesauce, mason jars...you name it, I've likely bought it on Amazon. But sometimes it takes me a few days or weeks to remember the magical Mecca Amazon really is. Sometimes I get in my car and drive from store to store looking for a specific item before my moment of enlightenment....Amazon. Why waste gas and precious time when I can buy leather cleaner in my pajamas? Amazon delivers to me for free. FOR FREE PEOPLE. With gas at $3.50 a gallon, do you know how much it costs me to drive the forty minute round trip to target? And I have to get dressed and make children behave like they have a brain. Amazon loves me so much they will bring me my things for free. It's a no-brainer.

But, in case you aren't yet sold on the wonders of Amazon, there are the reviews. Hundreds and thousands of reviews. Why would I blindly buy a shower curtain liner from Target when I can read 503 people's opinion of one specific liner on Amazon? Literally 503 people took the time to post a review about a shower curtain liner. And let me tell you, they were right. So far the liner kind of kicks ass. Honestly, I'm addicted to reviews. I hardly buy a thing without reading a handful first. I want to know what I'm in for. If the thermos leaks after a month or so, I wanna know. No surprises.

I present to you my list of top ten life changing items I've purchased on Amazon. Without Amazon, I would have had to drive to actual brick and mortar stores to purchase these items. Some items I didn't even know I needed. Others I didn't know existed until I started reading reviews. In most cases I paid far less, and in all cases it was easy. One item may have even saved me from killing Hatta.

1. Ceiling fan light bulb
2. Drain cleaner
3. Glass straws
4. iPhone case
5. Nivea hand cream
6. Wireless router
7. Breville juicer
8. French press
9. Bona wood floor cleaner
10. Nivea kiss of smoothness lip care

My love for Amazon is growing by leaps and bounds. In fact, I'm expecting a date with the UPS man later this afternoon. Maybe tomorrow, too.

The Other Ones

Up until this moment, there has been an aspect of my life with Alice I have intentionally left out. This little space in the sky was meant to be my reflections on Alice and the life we live together. In doing so, I have left out two little boys, we will call them Owen and Crosby. Owen is three and Crosby, just a baby, at nine months. They are our best friend's children. When Owen was an itty bitty baby, they couldn't get him into daycare for a few months. And being the person I am, unable to say no when they asked, I agreed to watch Owen until he was old enough for daycare. Fast forward a few years, add another baby, and that's my story. I am part time Mama to two very sweet and crazy boys and I love them dearly. They are basically an extension of our family and Alice loves them to pieces. She refers to herself as a big sister and in every way that matters she is. And she's amazing.

"So, why today to tell us this fact?" you ask. "Why tell us at all? And why didn't you tell us from the start?" you wonder.

Certainly not to deceive you. My thought was this, Alice sacrifices a lot in her daily life so Owen and Crosby can be in it. She has to share everything, her toys, her Mama, and our time together. This little space in the sky was going to be the one place free of the boys. Our space based just around our little family. But I feel it would be remiss of me to not share this side of Alice. If one day I never complete the baby books, Alice will always have these stories. I want her to know what a kind big sister she was.

Her relationship with Owen is entirely love hate sibling rivalry. They play hard and they fight just as hard. One second it's peaceful dollhouse play, the next someone's screaming and hitting the other. All day, every day. They are each others best friends and worst enemies all in one.

The dynamics between her and baby Crosby are what has prompted me to write this post. They are so sweet together. Alice has all the patience in the world for Crosby. And he absolutely adores her. He lights up when she enters the room. Alice makes it her place to be the little mama for Crosby. She wants to feed him and supervise his play. She's worked very hard to learn how to safely pick him up and she practices it every chance she gets. She loves being big sister to Crosby and most of the time she is truly very helpful. I love seeing her softer side come out when she interacts with the baby. And in those moments I am so very proud of my baby.

Pretty Pretty Princess

It's finally happened. I've given in. You can't see it because, well you're there and I'm here, but I'm waving the white flag. I bought Alice this booster seat. Did you click? No? Well, I'll wait, go look. That's right. Pretty, pretty princess, shoot me in the eye, hot pink. I agreed to strap that thing in my sleek, sophisticated vehicle.

I'm waving the flag in acceptance of who my daughter truly is...a makeup wearing, pink lovely, purse toting girly girl princess. That's Alice. As hard as I tried to convince her she loved trains as much as dolls, the pirate costume as much as Rapunzel's dress, and Darth Maul as much as Flynn Ryder...wait, that one may be true, but not so on all the rest. She will play trains and cars, but Barbies and dollhouse will always be her first choice.

Let the record show, I'm not against pink and plastic Cinderella high heels, it's just all so foreign to me. I am not a girly girl. I grew up on a horse farm wearing muck boots and ponytails. I spent my days outside in the barn. I shoveled horse shit. Alice is afraid of flys. She wouldn't have made it. In middle school I begged my father to paint my room black, and when he wouldn't I had to settle for black bedding instead. You couldn't have paid me to wear pink. In high school the extent of my morning primping was brushing my teeth. The first time I purchased makeup was when I was 26 years old. Seriously. Up until then, if I wore makeup at all, I used the free Clinique samples my sisters would pass along to me. As you can see, I'm at a disadvantage raising Alice.

Parenting is a juggling act, try to balance the world for your child. I try to show Alice that there is more to life than just princesses. I don't want her to grow up thinking beauty is only on the outside and her worth comes from her physical appearance. I want her to know she's beautiful with or without the pink frilly dress, with or without lip gloss, and my favorite part of her body will always be her round tummy. I let her see girls can do anything boys can. She sees me with a screwdriver in my hand far more than her father. And I'm proud to say I'm learning from her. She's taught me that it's fun to be a little fancy and that a dash of pink here and there is A-okay. She enjoys watching me get dressed up to go out for a girls night or a date. She's making me appreciate shoes, pretty shoes. So, if this is who Alice is, I'm on board. I will support her and her girlyness as long as she ventures to the dirty tomboy side every now and again, she can even do it wearing five necklaces, two rings, high heels and a tutu if she wants.

Punked

Dear Mother Nature,

Clap..............clap..............clap.

Bravo. Well played. Point Mother Nature. I see what you did today, your humor is not lost on me. I can appreciate a good prank. But, it kinda feels like you've won on a technicality. To be fair, I did only request for you to change the weather, which you did. At present there is zero snow accumulation outside my front door. Don't get me wrong, I am very grateful for this. I was dreading the shoveling and the wet snowboots cluttering the entrance to my home. But it feels like I was played. You changed the weather like it was one giant mood swing. Are you pmsing? Because if you are, just say so and I'll completely understand. You caused a lot of inconviences today constantly making it appear as it was going to snow any minute. Have a look at just one tiny example, three emails I received today.

Just think about all those poor moms who were waiting and praying swim lessons were canceled, all for naught. They still had to deal with the cold wet weather you provided. As a mother yourself, you should be ashamed. I lost my lunch bunch day, never to be gotten back. It's just gone. Dust in the wind. And to top it off, I didn't even get to Instagram adorable pictures of my child frolicking in the inches of snow you promised.

You may have won this time, but you can bet your ass I'll be bitching in the August heat.

Sincerely,

Nelly

 

P.S. If you skip spring and go straight to summer, there will be hell to pay.

Dear Mother Nature

Dear Mother Nature,

I am writing to you today with a request, a favor if you will. You have been such a kind mother the past few months, it's probably not proper for me to even be asking, but if you can find it in your heart to honor my request this one time, I will not ask for anything else.

This is what is predicted, but I know you have it within you to change the future. If you felt it was right, you could spare us from the snow. See, oh wise goddess, tomorrow is lunch bunch for Alice at school. Which translates into an extra two and a half hours of "me" time every Wednesday. If you decide to continue on with your winter weather plan, I will not only lose the extra two and a half hours, but with Alice home from school, I will lose productivity for the entire day. You, being a mother, must know what a snow day does to one's house.

In addition, you have blessed us with a few warm days recently. I know it's only early March and those lucky days were just a tease of the future. However, it does seem wrong to regress so severely. After all, you sent the signal to nature. You told them spring was on its way. It doesn't seem fair to the tulips and daffodils to force them to suffer through snow. Surely their beautiful blooms will be affected. Everywhere you look are signs of spring. People's attitudes have been lifted with the hope of warmer days filled with time outdoors, enjoying your beautiful handiwork. You don't want to be responsible for bouts of depression, do you?

Mother Nature, if look down deep within your heart I'm sure you will see a simple weather change really would be in our best interest. If you do this for me tonight, I will not gripe about the heat and humidity in August. I promise. But, if for some reason you do not choose to honor my request, I will do my best to enjoy the beauty you bestow upon us, with minimal complaints. I will watch my girl make snow angel after snow angel. I will listen to the delight in her laughter as she throws snow balls for Marley to catch. I will savor four year old Alice playing in the snow because before I know it she will no longer be little.

Thank you in advance for your graciousness,

Nelly

 

Color Virgin

I did it. Finally. I highlighted my hair blue. I know what you're thinking, midlife crisis. I'll have you know this is not a midlife crisis. A third-life crisis, maybe. If it was a midlife crisis I would have highlighted my dreadlocks blue. Mark my word, I'm going all out when I reach "midlife."

I alluded to my desire for color back in July, and even though it was only a dream there was truth to it. I have toyed with the idea of purple or blue for several years now, knowing that the "socially acceptable" window was getting smaller by the day. So, the morning I found a brand new grey hair on the left side of my head, I knew it was time for color.

Being a color virgin, I knew I needed subtle. As much as Fifty Shades of Grey would like you to believe a virgin can handle kinky fuckery, I'm not a believer. A virgin needs to start out slow, test the waters before diving in head first.

Well. That doesn't look very impressive. I swear, it's blue. I did say I wanted subtle and understated, but honest, it's blue. Let me try again to highlight the highlights.

There. It's blue. Vibrant cobalt blue. I've been deflowered. Maybe next time I'll look into the kinky fuckery side of color and highlights.

 

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.

 

When I Grow Up

"When I grow up and get big, I don't wanna be a mama," she told me.

"That's fine. You don't have to be a mama."

"I don't want to have babies in my tummy."

"Well, then, you don't have to," I told her.

"But what if a baby gets in my tummy anyway?"

"It won't. Don't worry. If you don't want to be a mom you don't have to be. You can be whatever you want. But, you might change your mind. I loved having you in my tummy. You would kick my belly every night when I sat down to eat dinner."

"And what'd you do to me?" she asked, perfectly well knowing the answer.

"I'd rub your little bum to calm you down. Alice, why don't you want to be a mama?"

"I don't like how babies get out of the tummy from the vagina."

"I didn't like it either. But you can still be a mama if you want. You don't have to grow the baby in your tummy if you don't want to. You can adopt a baby that needs a mama. Like your Aunts did."

With an upbeat tone she exclaimed, "That's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna get a baby that already has a name."

The Relish Tray

Thanksgiving came and went. We survived. I mean, really, it's a fairly painless holiday. You eat and drink and eat and watch football and drink and eat and drink and eat and eat.

People talk about the Thanksgiving meal for weeks ahead of time. The proper turkey technique is debated, to brine or not, to stuff or not, to deep fry or not. Recipes are shared. Every morning show and cooking channel attempts to teach you how to prepare the easiest and tastiest Thanksgiving meal. Everyone has their favorite dish, the one aspect that makes it Thanksgiving dinner. For me it's a trifecta: mashed potatoes, stuffing, and dumplings. Without all three, it's just not Thanksgiving.

But, this isn't about me. Surprise, surprise...it's about Alice. Wanna know how much she liked Thanksgiving dinner? Wanna know what she ate? Pickles. And a roll. Not a roll with butter. No, she wouldn't try that roll. Just a plain roll. And approximately ten dill pickle slices. To say my daughter is picky is an understatement.

There were twenty four people seated at dinner, all of them piling food on their plates, the waist band on their pants stretched to maximum capacity. People helping themselves to seconds or thirds and Alice is only eating off the relish tray.

How is possible that my child will eat guacamole and hummus and gazpacho, but will not eat mashed potatoes? Or a roll with butter for that matter? When I was three years old, my mother walked into the kitchen one day to find me on the counter eating from a tub of butter. I was eating butter by the fingerful, but my child wouldn't eat a roll because of it.

I'm starting to feel she isn't going to make it in the world, survival of the fittest. She won't eat chicken nuggets, cheeseburgers, or french fries. No hot dogs, or fish sticks, or grilled cheese sandwiches. I can't make her try tacos or lasagna. She's never going to be invited to any sleepovers. Her friend's mothers are going to talk about picky Alice. She won't try fish or crab or any other seafood besides shrimp, ergo it won't be long before my family will ostracize her. In no time, she'll be banished from society completely. And to think it could've been avoided if she would've just eaten Thanksgiving dinner when she was four years old.

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.

Go Vote!

I overheard this conversation and it made me chuckle.

Him: So, Alice. Today's Election Day. That means we get to vote to decide who's going to be our president.

Her: What?

Him: Well. I'm going to vote this morning. I'm going to pick who I want to be president of our country.

Her: Where?

Him: You know the playground near our house?

Her: The one with the spinny blue monkey bars.

Him: What? I don't know the spinny blue monkey bars. I'm talking about the playground at the school near our house.

Her: Uh huh. The one with the spinny blue monkey bars.

Him: Sure. Fine. I guess. Anyway. I'm going there to vote.

Her: You get to go to the playground? I wanna go to the playground!

Him: I'm not going to the playground. I'm going to go to the school to vote.

Her: ..........

Him: So tonight or tomorrow we will find out who's our president for the next four years. It's either going to be Obama who is our current president or Romney.

Her: I think you should pick Romney.

Him: I think you're wrong.

The Post of Links

I wrote my first post on December 18th, 2011. Of course, not at A Tea-Tray in the Sky. That first step into the darkside of blogging was somewhere else. I debate linking to old posts all the time. Even though it was only four months, Alice was excellent blog fodder, and I wrote a shit ton of stories about the trials and tribulations of raising her. But ultimately, I decide against it. I don't need my cover to be blown. So, to you fine readers that were fortunate enough to follow along back when Alice wasn't Alice and to the rest of you that have joined in along the way, I say thanks for coming on this journey with me. We've cried. We've laughed. We've drank a lot.

You know when you're watching Young and the Restless and the day's episode is like a wedding or a funeral. You know you're going to spend the whole hour watching a montage of memories. Nothing new is going to happen. You debate not even watching it, why waste an hour of your day, only you do watch it and it sucks. Just like you predicted. It's definitely not a Friday episode where they leave you with a cliffhanger of a car accident, a murder, someone falling through the ice at the lake, and an affair being consummated.

Today's post is kinda like that, a wedding episode. Nothing new, just a bunch of updates.

I love my car. Keyless entry kicks ass. It was everything I'd hoped it would be. And more. You know you've really made it in the world when you can push a button and your car doors unlock. If you happen to be one of those people that can start your car with a push of a button, please just shush. Let me bask in the glory for a little longer. Did I tell you I have heated seats? I warm my ass every chance I get. The hierarchy in my car is quite obvious. Check your ass, if it's cold on the ride to school your ranking in the family is not quite as high as mine.

Remember how I was struggling to get into my book and I wanted to quit but you guys convinced me that giving up was the wrong thing to do? You encouraged me to keep reading and I finally got hooked on Bossypants. Well. I downloaded a book to my iPad the other day. Hangs head in shame. I'm still only 111 pages into Tina Fey's book and I temporarily gave up. I bought Reflected in You by Sylvia Day. Apparently I truly am addicted to trashy novels. I heard the faintest Crossfire chatter on twitter and I was logged into my Amazon account within minutes. Just like that I succumbed to the glorified porn temptation.

As preschool room mom, I'm in charge of the Halloween party. I can't for the life of me understand how I signed up to be room mom, how I agreed to plan parties. I detest planning parties. What was I thinking?! But here I am, planning the hell out of what will be forever known as the best Halloween party the Sprout class ever had. And the Rainbow Potluck Dinner? The Sprout families will be bringing the most purple-est purple food* the school has ever seen. We will put the rest of the classes to shame!

Remember my moss? It's still a sad plot of dirt with random patches of lush green moss. People are not impressed. Oh, but mark my word, they will be. Give it time. Maybe in 2015 people will be impressed. But now, they are all laughing at me. "Crazy Nelly, weeding the dirt again." I'll update you with a new pic so you can have a good laugh as soon as I weed the dirt.

In the northeast we are heading into cold weather. Not there yet, and I'm not rushing it along. But I know with every leaf that falls we are getting a degree closer to cold and snow and ice. He still can't find his coat. And he better not think his absentmindedness gives him the excuse to buy a new one. He's going to have to grin and bear it with lots of layers. Natural consequences of life.

Today marks the fourth day since Alice has had a bath. That's right. She had a bath after swimming class on Monday and she hasn't had one since. Today's Friday. I've noticed paint and yogurt in her hair and it hasn't bothered me one bit. This morning I was finally forced to brush it, the mats were making parts for pigtails impossible. She isn't stinky, yet. I'm sure by tomorrow she will be. You see, it's not a school night so I have no pressing reason to bathe her tonight. It can wait till tomorrow. I guess it's fairly obvious the regular baths I boasted about were just a fad, a novelty to make myself feel like a stellar mom. Really, I'm just average. I still cry there's not enough time in the day.

So there you have it. The wedding episode. A glorious montage of A Tea-Tray in the Sky memories.

 

*Not me. I'm bringing wine. I'm too lazy to cook.

Only Alice

Hand in hand, I lifted the latch and we entered the tot lot. All around were tricycles, plastic ride on cars, balls, plastic playhouses, and a small playground. I saw the tooth fairy, a bat, Snow White, Anakin Skywalker, a super hero, a baseball player, and numerous other children dressed in their favorite costume. They were all having fun, riding and running, laughing and shrieking. Orange, purple, and black balloons tied to the gazebo greeted us as we walked in. It looked and sounded like a fun birthday party.

Alice, dressed as the most adorable version of one of our favorite characters in Alice in Wonderland, clung to me for dear life. To her the party looked intimidating. Everyone already in play mode, after a long crying fit at home, we were walking in thirty minutes late. After several attempts to ease my daughter out of her shell, I stopped trying. I socialized with the other parents, periodically trying to pry itty bitty fingers from my own. Looking around, all the other children were behaving like "normal" children at a birthday party. Adults were standing around, children were playing together. Not Alice. She bounced from my leg to Hatta's leg, holding tight. Her friends from school called to her.

"Alice! Alice! Come play!"

I encouraged her to play. I reminded her we arrived late and the party would be over before she knew it. I walked with her to the playhouse where her friends were climbing and chatting together. She ignored them and hid further behind my leg. I talked to her friends, hoping she would see me having fun with them and join in. That plan was not successful. Finally as a last ditch effort, I took Alice aside.

"Alice. You know how I tell you that sometimes it's okay to be stubborn and sometimes it's not? How sometimes it gets in the way of you having fun? This is one of those times. You're being stubborn, refusing to play, just because. You know that if you just allow yourself to play you will have fun. These are your friends. You play with them everyday at school. So stop being stubborn and let's play or we are going to have to leave the party early."

I walked with her, holding her hand so she had no choice, to the playground. I made us walk up the steps to the top. And there I encouraged her to go down the slide, promising I would go down right behind her. And finally, just like that, she did it and all was right in the world again. She ran to the steps, climbed to the top, and happily slid down the slide again. She was playing. Upon her insistence, I took my turn down the slide and waited for her at the bottom.

I'm hoping this is what the rest of the party goers saw. My adorable child finally allowing herself to have a good time. You wanna know what I saw?! Naked four year old vagina.

OH! EM! EFFING! GEE! My daughter was dressed head to toe in sparkly tulle, sliding down the slide on her naked ass. I swear, only my child would be devasted because her black bow headband wasn't completely centered on her head but could care less that she was out on the town with her naked parts out there for the world to see. In her crying fit of rage at home, we had neglected underwear. You may remember how my daughter has a fondness for going commando. She wasn't wearing underwear when I helped her dress into her costume and I, just wanting to get out of the house, completely forgot.

Luckily I'm a prepared mom and I had a skort in my bag. I grabbed her hand and walked a bit out of the way of the party, all the while scolding Alice for going out in a dress without underwear. She's four. She has to be aware of these things. I can't possibly be in charge of everything! With the skort slipped discreetly under her costume, Alice was free to run and play.

I have to say, I am a teeny bit worried about Alice's naked vagina showing up in some unsuspecting mother's photo stream. There was this one mom that was blasting her iPhone like she was the paparazzi. Please say my daughter is not on the Lindsay Lohan track.

Have You Seen My (fill in the blank)

There's a person in my life that loses everything. I won't mention any names. I've already had to join the blogger protection program once before, not looking to do it again.

I don't even know how it's possible to lose some of the shit that disappears. Take for example a winter coat. How in world does a grown person lose a winter coat in your own home? It's only been a handful of months since it was last needed. Yet, it happened. How about a cell phone charger for the brand new iPhone 5? Mine hasn't even been delivered yet and somehow, in a matter of days, this person lost theirs. I could go on and on and on and on...sunglasses, debit cards, keys, concert tickets, shoes, et cetera, et cetera.

I tell you fine readers this saga because it amuses me. It didn't always. It used to drive me batty. Worse than batty. Wars have been fought over this shit. But somewhere in the last few years, I let it go. I realized it wasn't my belongings that were being lost (most of the time,) so I got over it and started laughing more.

I'm not a vindictive bitch, I've tried helping this person rectify the problem. I've put into place systems, a place for everything, everything in its place. Except no matter how I suggest, prompt, or bitch nag things don't end up in their place. And then they disappear. Maybe I'm blaming the wrong person. Possibly, and I'm going out on a limb here, these items all get up and walk away. It's some kind of sick trick they're playing. I dunno. All I know is the misfortune of one is entertainment to another. I am allowed that privilege as compensation for putting up with it for so many years. Retribution, if you will.

I had a good laugh this morning. Remember that iPhone charger? Well, apparently the replacement that was purchased just yesterday, turned up missing. It was only MIA for a few moments, but for those moments I was peeing my pants laughing, in my head of course.

Congrats, I Hope You Like Pee

You know what I hate? Pee. I am sick to death of pee. Not mine of course. My pee is fine. I put it in the appropriate receptacle. I think the next time a friend exclaims in her zealously, novice voice she's pregnant, instead of the traditional congratulatory words, all I'm going to say is, "I hope you like pee."

From the moment you laboriously push the babe from your nether regions you are inundated with urine. I should have expected it. I'd heard the story countless times. The first moment my father held all 8lbs 7oz of beautiful baby me, I peed on him. All down his side and his leg. There's even a picture to prove it.

Alice was no different than any other baby. She peed nearly every time she had her diaper changed. Luckily, she was a she and her pee didn't, um, go anywhere. It still made a puddle to be cleaned.

Potty training brought new mess. Lucky for us, (is the sarcasm font working?) when Alice was 19 months old she wanted to be just like her slightly older best friend who just got an Elmo potty seat and Cookie Monster big boy underwear. Her body wasn't quite ready, but she had made up her stubborn, bullheaded mind. She was getting herself some Zoe big girl underwear and a Dora potty seat. I invested in large quantities of rug cleaner and away we went. We arrived at her two year well check up in said underwear.

After such a momentous achievement, I thought we were in the clear on the urine front. Nope. We still had the night time potty training task ahead of us. Many, many, MANY loads of laundry later and she was done. A bonafide kid. Not a baby. Not a toddler. A real kid.

So the next logical question is why, oh God, why am I still cleaning up pee?! She's four freakin years old! She's been at this for over two years now. It's not hard, really. YOU PUT YOUR MOTHER LOVIN PEE IN THE EFFING POTTY!! One would think, after awhile it would be second nature, like eating and breathing. Never am I tempted to pee in the recliner because I'm too engrossed in Pinterest to get up.

You can imagine my displeasure when Alice woke me up the other night.

"Mama. My shirt's wet."

"Alice. Your shirt's wet because you peed in my bed. You're soaked in pee. Alice. Get up. Go get clean clothes...Alice, please. Get out of my bed. I've got to change the sheets."

That's right she was in my bed. Operation "Big Girls Sleep In Big Girl Beds" has only partially worked. She starts the night out in her own bed and whenever she feels like it, she meanders into my bed. This night she decided to meander into my bed and pee. You know why crib mattresses have a waterproof top surface? Pee. You know who's mattress doesn't have a waterproof top surface? Mine. The next day, when I properly stripped the mattress down it's like a Picaso in pee. My mattress that I once loved so dearly, now belongs in a frat house. Do you know how many loads of laundry I have to do every time she pees in my bed? Four. That's right. The mattress pad, the sheets, the duvet, and finally the cover. I HATE PEE!!

Can you even guess what greeted me when I picked Alice up at school, after I had spent the entire morning trying to sanitize my mattress? A baggie with pee pants inside. She had her first accident at school. On one hand I felt for her. She's made real friends at school and I imagine she didn't enjoy wetting herself in front of them. On the other hand...ARE YOU FREAKIN KIDDING ME WITH THE PEE, CHILD!!

Cubby Time

"I had to sit in my cubby," she told me completely out of the blue.

"Yeah? What do you mean, you had to sit in your cubby?" I asked.

"I was naughty."

"When were you naughty? Today at school?"

"Uh huh. I had to sit in my cubby, at school," she informed me with the same lackadaisical attitude that started the conversation.

"Okay. Well. What did you do that was naughty?"

"I was carrying my chair around."

"You had to sit in your cubby cause you were carrying your chair around? Alice, I'm confused. Why where you carrying your chair around? What were you supposed to be doing?"

"Me and Forrest were carrying our chairs around on our back. I had to sit in my cubby and Forrest had to sit in Jude's cubby. Ricki was carrying her chair around too but Miss Sharon didn't see her so she didn't have to sit in her cubby."

I almost laughed at this part. Already, she senses the unfairness of life.

"Alice, why in the world were you carrying your chair around on your back?" I asked still trying to sort the story out.

"I dunno. I didn't want to clean up. It was funny. Forrest was doing it too."

When Alice told me this story last week I felt two completely different emotions, one was worry and the other was relief. Worry for Alice. She has a lot of strong willed, spirited, defiance in her and I think this initial cubby timeout is only the tip of the iceberg. I predict many incidents like this in her future, for it seems she's of the mindset that rules are made to be broken. While I felt worry, I couldn't help but feel relief. Finally I had the confirmation I needed. It wasn't just me. A little piece of me has always thought maybe her and I butt heads and this is the cause of her defiance. Maybe under someone else's leadership she would toe the line. Ha ha, not the case! It's her!

I was not surprised when we had this conversation in the car the following day.

"I didn't have to sit in my cubby today!" she told me with great exuberance.

"That's awesome Alice! I'm so proud of you! Great job following the rules."

"Oh, wait. I forgot. I did have to sit in my cubby a tiny bit."

"What for?"

"Hehehe...I don't even remember, Mama."

 

Before the questions begin, since the idea of sitting in her cubby seemed to confuse some family members. Their cubbies are not closets or lockers. They don't have to climb inside, there is no door. It's not cruel punishment and nothing like Harry Potter living in the closet under the stairs.

She's a Cutter

Alice is a cutter. No paper is spared. I shit you not, from sun up to sun down my daughter cuts.

If it wasn't so damn annoying, it would be cute. Her current favorite pastime is coloring people in coloring books and then cutting them out. She says she's making her own paper dolls. Cute, huh? Which brings me to the so damn annoying part.

These "paper dolls" are everyfreakingwhere!! She takes them in the car. She takes them to nap. She leaves them on the coffe table. I find them under couch pillows and under tables. I'm up to my ears in "paper dolls." So...I did what any good mom would do. I forced her to purge. She was able to keep ten and the rest would go to other kids who aren't fortunate enough to have their own paper dolls. Hehehe. While she was away at school, ahh school, I recycled the scraps. She arrived home that day, shocked the give away pile was gone, I simply explained what happened. "While you were at school, I saw a few kids walking by and I asked them if they would enjoy playing with the paper dolls. They said yes, so I gave them away." Alice bought it. She actually seemed pleased in herself, like she was helping make mankind better. Let me inform you it lasted a day or two at most.

"So Mama. If the paper dolls are on the couch, you can't give those away. And if you find them on this table, you can't give those away either."

An hour later.

"Mama. These paper dolls that I'm putting here on this shelf, these you can't give away. These are for me to keep. And those over there, I'm keeping too. You can't give any of these away."

Sigh.

My world is full of paper barbies and paper princesses. Paper wings cut from paper fairies and glued to paper mermaids.

Do you know what all of this paper cutting leads to? Little shreds and scraps and strips of paper all over the freakin place. There are so many little pieces of paper on every surface and littering the floor, I hardly see them anymore. No, I still see them. I soo see them. They drive me mad. I wanna scream, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! PICK UP YOUR TRASH, CHILD!!" But I don't, something about stiffing her creativity or something. I encourage her to clean up after herself, knowing she's four and I'm likely to be doing the majority of it myself. As I'm on all fours pinching bits and pieces, I remind myself, this too shall pass. It's just a phase, an adorable, irritating phase in the creative life of Alice.

My Daughter Will Not Be the Dirty Kid at School

Alice is well into her second week of school and things are going swimmingly. She's an ungodly early riser by nature; the transition of getting out of bed for school is a nonissue. She's been rather pleasant and cooperative in regards to the morning procedures of breakfast and dressing. Matter of fact, we've arrived on time all six days. You're clapping for me, right? We really seem to be getting into the swing of things...most things. There is one issue I'm struggling with.

Bath

You see, it's considered bad parenting to send your child off into the world dirty. Before preschool was a part of our lives, bath was not a common occurrence in our house. Basically, if she hadn't been swimming in chlorine or coated in sunscreen bath was not on the agenda. I'm a busy woman, there aren't enough hours in the day to accomplish it all...don't judge me. In the winter months when swimming and sweating wasn't a daily concern I bathed Alice twice a week. As I sit here, I'm a teeny bit embarrassed to admit it. Let me reemphasize there aren't enough hours in the day. Given the choice of putting Alice to bed at an appropriate time or bathing her, I don't think it's even a close call. I would always choose bed, knowing I could pull her dreadlocked hair into a ponytail and the rest of the world would be non the wiser.

Enter Miss Sharon, Miss Kelly, and the rest of the kids in the 5 day 4's Sprout class at Alice's preschool. I feel it's my job to give my daughter every advantage I can. And if that's a regular bath I'm willing to roll up my sleeves and get a little wet. The last thing I need is for the teachers to notice the paint on Alice's toes from yesterday is still there today. God forbid her pony tail comes loose and they have to help, tugging and yanking on her tangled mats. As for the other kids, nicknames stick. Look at Pigpen from the Peanuts.