If you give a toddler a cookie...

You'll witness unadulterated bliss.

Yesterday

I don't exactly know what kind of tears they were. Maybe tears of frustration. Or tears of embarrassment. Tears of exhaustion, of disappointment, of annoyance, of loneliness.

All I know is that they were hot tears and they were dripping off my face as I drove in the snow down the road, not sure where we were heading next.

I had to carry her out of our exercise class, over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, while she kicked and screamed and blubbered. She yelled at her friends. She sobbed like she was being beaten. She flailed on the floor. It took me over twenty minutes to wrestle her into the car seat.
She hit me.
She spit in my face.
She kicked and pounded.
She tried to bite me.

Everything I said was met with a NO and a glare and a look that communicated one emotion - hate. She was seething in her car seat, hating me. And in the moment, the feeling was mutual.
And then I cried.
And I couldn't stop.

After slightly composing myself I called my mom and cried some more, wishing she lived around the corner and could swoop into make everything better, easier, smoother. I sat surrounded by self-pity.

I am supposed to be better at this. I am supposed to be able calm her and soothe her and make her feel okay. I am supposed to have taught her by example - shown her how to problem solve, make good decision and negotiate her feelings.
We are supposed to be able to work through situations with out both of us yelling. Without me wanting to smack her back. Without her slamming her head on the floor or her door in my face.
Without a river of stupid tears.

By the time we pulled into the garage, my cheeks were still wet and she was singing gaily in the backseat, as if her meltdown, and my meltdown, had never occurred. As she always does after a blowup, she said "Are you happy Mommy?" and I could barely respond without the threat of new tears.

Because, no, I am not happy when I feel like I am failing her. I am not happy when I feel like I can't meet her needs. No, I am not happy when I am so angry that I understand why parents hit. I am not happy when my angel rips off her wings and sharpens her horns. I am not happy when I am completely unable to handle the situation. I am not happy when my tears give me away.

I tried to get our day back on track. And for a few moments, here and there, it was. But there were many more tears. Several minutes were spent on the thinking stool. She lost her privilege to use her stamps and a basket of stuffed animals is still sitting on top of my dresser.

But at the end of the day, when her Daddy brought her up to bed, I got an extra kiss and hug that was a bit longer than usual. Both of which, I appreciated and needed.

And then, shortly after her, I crawled into bed, hoping for a better today.

A 7:30 p.m. phone call

Him: How are you feeling?

Me: Er. Okay. My throat is still hurting on and off and one sinus always seems to be on stuffed up. I don't know. I just feel off my game.

Him: Hmmmm. Maybe you just have a bad case of twoandhalfyearolditis?

Me: Umphh.


Had he not told me that was on his way home to cook dinner and put her to bed, I would have hung up on his ass. And changed the locks on the doors.

But dinner does smell good. And she is asleep.
But my throat still hurts. And my sinus is annoying me.

Umphh.

Scribble Monster

She loves to create. To scribble, color, paint.

She thinks glue and glitter and scissors and play dough are gifts from the gods.

When she paints she is oh so precise. She steps back from her easel and looks at the big picture and then adds more. She thoughtfully chooses her paints. She loves green, orange and blue together. She thinks purple, red and yellow make a statement. She smears and layers and creates.

Her markers and crayons create colorful chaos on paper after paper. Scenes of water and kitties and gorillas and boats - at least that's what she tells me. I usually see lopsided circles, squiggles and lines. Beautiful lopsided circles, squiggles and lines, nonetheless.

I take those endless, wonderful creations and hang them up. Her first finger paintings are in our basement, framed. Her favorite glue and sand project is a self in Daddy's office, right next to her first watercolor painting. Her creations from school and story time hang for a bit on a wall - adding a little color and fun to our horrifically bland kitchen and making me smile.

Last night she drew Andy a picture. She said it was piggy toes - he could see it and told her good job. Then she snatched her drawing stating it needed eyes. After a few minutes of concentrated drawing she proudly brought it back and said "See Daddy! Monster!"

And there it was...a monster. Not a scribble. Not a lopsided circle.

A perfect, beautiful monster.

Blond Blur

To catch them together, in the same picture, is next to impossible, unless they are fighting over Papa's lap.

They are a constant flurry of motion, a blur of blond. She is in the family room twirling in her tutu. He is at her kitchen trying to figure out how the blender works. At the museum she was elbow deep at the sand table while he zoomed down the slide.

They vie for their grandparents' attention and kisses from cat. They both love Mickey Mouse's Clubhouse (ACK!) and tickles. She lives for encased meat products and he finds food uninteresting.

When they are together there is constant motion, lots of giggles and exhausted adults - but never a dull moment.

Looking for Spring

My friend Sara has informed me that spring has arrived in Seattle.

She says the birds are chirping, the are crocus blooming and the sun is peeking in.

I look out at my 23 inches of snow and am a tiny bit jealous.

Around here, these are the only blooms I could find...

What's to Come?

Sometimes I try to imagine what Addison will be like when she's grown.

Will she be tall and willowy like her Aunt Nikki?

Will she feisty and funny like her Aunt Kimmie?

Will she have an inappropriate sense of humor and laughter that fills the room like Uncle Jeaf?

Maybe loud and silly like Uncle Brian?

Will she be a computer whiz like her Uncles Kevin and Quinn?

An organizer like her Aunt Kelly?

Will she be level headed like her daddy or moody like me?

Will she have her grandmothers' kindness or her papas' goofiness?

With any luck she'll have a little bit of each of them. But with way things are looking right now, it seems that she may have more than a bit of my baby cousin in her.

Already Addie is showing quite a disposition of sassiness, just like Jill..

She needs explicit directions to get things done, just like Jill.

I can't say Addie go put on your socks and shoes. Instead I have to give her one step instructions. Go get your shoes and socks. Put on your socks. Put on your shoes. No, sweetie, your socks and then your shoes.

I've recently learned if I rub or scratch her back she'll get still, and better yet, quiet. Just like Jill.

They both make me laugh. They both make me smile. And they both, definitely, march to their own beat.

And they seem to have the same sense of style.

Happy Birthday Jillian Stew. To quote your mother "Welcome to your 25th year".

So Smug

The words were still hanging there in the air, swirling above my self-satisfied smug little head.

Yeah, she's been doing great.

Accident free all weekend, a few small accidents this week.

And so far, no accidents at all out in public.

My friend congratulated me and told me how impressed she was. This was a major compliment, as she is an amazing mom, who is due in less than two weeks with kiddo number two. Yes, she has had bumps in the road and she and her 4.5 year old don't always see eye-to-eye. But she is calm, self-assured, always has an answer when I need it, and has raised a very smart, sweet, sassy daughter.

So there my smugness was, floating above my head, when I heard from somewhere inside the depths of the mammoth tree exhibit:

Mommy I peepee my undies.

My undies peepeed Mommy.

And there she stood in the tunnel two stories above me with soaking wet incredibly cute, pink, corduroy pants.

I told her to come down to me. She ran. I called her three more times. She had no response.

So I did what I had to do.

I climbed up the tree structure.

I crawled through the tunnels and rope bridges (holy, claustrophobia) and I went in search of my pee soaked offspring.

I never tracked her down up there, and after crawling and stooping and slightly hyperventilating, I made back down the ground and found my darling.

I marched her to the bathroom ignoring her endless chorus of

Why? Why? Why? Whhhhyyyy? Are you happy Mommy? Are you happy? A little bit happy Mommy?

and plopped her on the toilet, armed with new undies, clean pants and a finite amount of patience.

She had peed so much that her sock and shoe were wet. I could have wrung out her incredibly cute, pink, corduroy pants.

So I answered her questions in a hard whisper:

Because you kept playing when you knew you had to go peepee.

Because you didn't come when I asked you to.

Because I was bragging and now look a little foolish.

Because you are a big girl and you know better.

And No, I am not. Nope. Not even a little bit.

One pair of dry pants and the same wet sock and shoe later we reviewed the expectations around potty and went back to play. Her excitedly, me a bit embarrassed.

My friend chuckled and smirked, not in an smug way, just in a "I've been in your shoes" kind of way.

I felt it was my duty to remind her that in another 2.5 years, she'll be in my shoes again.

It looks like my summer interlopers didn't stray far when they abandoned my front porch.

It also looks like their little one is doing quite well, if a bit cold.

Seriously, Cincinnati? SERIOUSLY?

Kidcation

This past weekend Andy and I headed south for a 60 hour long kidcation. We headed to Durham, North Carolina to see our BFF Christie and her fiancee Michael. The impetus for our get-a-way was, of course, UNC basketball. The gents went to the UNC v. NC State game and Chris and I headed off for some pampering. We had our toes and fingers painted and rubbed. We chatted all things wedding, all things girly and enjoyed just being together.
On an un-girly note, UNC won. XU won. LU won. Visitation 5th grade basketball won - it was essentially Andy's best basketball day ever.

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Christie moved to Durham shortly after Andy and I fled to Cincinnati.

Prior to our moves, for the better part of nine years, we were inseparable. Chris and I worked together in a residential program for "at-risk youth". Imagine that - we were considered role models and mentors.

After leaving the program, our apartments were never more than two miles away from each other. We had weekly breakfasts and girl dates. We shared the same awesome circle of friends and a love of fruity drinks.

She cheered me on through grad school, stood with me when I got married and was at the hospital when Addie was born.

I cheered her through grad school, assured her that one day the right man would come along and watched jealously as she lived the wonderful life of a singleton in the big city.

Over many, frequent phone calls we've supported each other through the transition to new cities. We've listened to each other cry with frustration, mourning the circle of friends we left behind. We've encouraged each other and cheered each other on and celebrated each other's successes - professionally, personally, and endlessly.

She's going to marry Michael in seven months.

I plan to stand with her. To make sure the dress is flawless, the hair is in place and she is enjoying her moment. We'll toast and laugh and I'll get to say "See, I told you so".

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

So for a day and a half we frolicked and laughed and misbehaved. I didn't have to worry about running a two year old to a potty. I wasn't woken up at 6:30 with a request for cartoons. There was no negotiations around meals or nap times.

Instead there were conversations that included complete sentences. There was uninterrupted watching of smutty TV and sipping of Sparkeltinis. And cosmos. And Jack Daniels. And beer. And Bloody Marys. Hmmmm. And Old Fashions. Er, and a jager bomb. And, above all else, our new favorite beverage - The Hollywood Night.

What is a Hollywood Night, you ask? Well, a la TKW, here is a recipe worth your time:

• 1.5 oz of vodka (yum. vodka.)
• 1 oz of triple sec
• 1.5 oz of chambord (yum. chambord.)
• A splash of Rose's Lime Juice
• Shake over ice and strain into a martini glass.

Okay, so those are the directions, but we had them shaken over ice and then served on the rocks in, what else, a rocks glass.

It was fruity. It was frothy. It was heavenly. And better than everything - it was purple!

It, and all it's companions, resulted in a helluva a headache and a few drunken photos. But, on a kidcation, a headache and silly photos are okay.

It also helps that Addie was in the wonderful care of Grandma Patty. She played, she shopped, she didn't have any accidents and she was the center of attention. It was her own Parentcation.

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

As I wrote this, my kidcation officially said Screw you. You're back on duty.

Addie is refusing to nap. She stood in the hallway and peed her pants, her undies and all over the hardwood floor and subsequently melted down.

Did I mention that it's been snowing ALL DAY here?

What I would give for a Hollywood Night.

Hot Chocolate

We have been sprung from our snowed in home. Addie is at school and I have gotten errands done (like buying toilet paper, which we were dangerously close to being out of). The floor is about to be mopped and laundry is going to get put away. Something about being housebound with a toddler makes it impossible to get such mundane things done.

Our snow is nothing to what the East Coast was pummeled with, but for us it was significant. Schools were cancelled for two days and getting anywhere that involved a hill was tricky.

Andy and I have discovered that having a double driveway on a corner lot equates to a ton of shoveling. We have also learned that our neighbors are kind and generous when comes to their snow blower. Okay, in general they are kind and generous - we've borrowed spices, a whole gallon of milk, scotch tape and butter from them. They also readily supply play dates for Addie and lent us their lawn mower when I wrecked ours last summer. The point being that through their generosity we have discovered that snow blowers rock and shovels blows. On our list of purchases before next winter - a snow blower.

On the first snow day we frolicked and played. We went sledding, built snowmen and had a snowball fight. The second day it was frigid outside and the wind was whipping. Addie and I colored and painted and did laundry and fought over nap time.

I was forced to get creative and decided to make play dough. While it was a great hit, note to self don't use an all-purpose whole wheat flour mix - the dough is a bit grainy and the color is really off. My misjudgment didn't seem to bother Miss Thang, however.

She rolled it and smashed it and played with it for quite some time. We made snakes and gorillas and a manatee. She used her cookie cutters to make flowers and apples and deer. She generously made her Daddy a rock.

With all the movie watching, snow playing, painting and play dough creating I thought I did a decent job of keeping my darling daughter entertained and content. But it turns out, to achieve her bliss, all I really needed to do was whip up some hot chocolate with marshmallows.

Hmmmm. Hot chocolate with marshmallows...could the pure sugar intake be ruining her nap time? Dear lord, sometimes I question my smarts.

Let it snow...

And even after all the fun....No nap.

Double Edge Sword

The nap.
The needed, necessary, essential nap.

Needed because she gets grumpy when she isn't well rested.
Necessary because I get impatient when I don't get my slice of daily silence.
Essential because it keeps our house in some form of harmony.

These days the nap is a battle. It requires planning and cunning and nerves of steel. If she doesn't nod off in the car then the nap usually doesn't occur. I can ask her if she is going to nap, and she can serenely nod, and then the battle begins.
She gets up three dozen times. I* threaten. I bribe. I take away toys and music and dress up clothes. I sit in the chair in the bed room and pretend to read or surf the net or watch TV, when in reality my eyes are trained on her door. I watch for the shadow to appear, for the door to crack open. I get ready for the complaints - My toes hurt or I have to go peepee or Here my kitties, I earn them back tomorrow or quite simply NO NAP NO.

If I give up the nap battle and bend to the demands of our benevolent dictator then our afternoons are tedious. Full of tears and bad behavior. The cat is tormented, toys don't get picked up, dinner is a nightmare. Errands are impossible and following through on "no nap consequences" (no cartoons, no movies, no painting and so on) are more of a punishment for me than her.

On the upside, bedtime is usually a breeze. PJs, milk, stories, asleep - sometimes the stories aren't even finished before she is snoring on one of our laps. She borrows under her blanket, snuggles her stuffed friends and snores away. A peaceful evening after a long day.

If she does fall asleep in the car or I cajole her to take an actual nap, our afternoons are lovely. There is laughter and game playing. The cat is hugged and kissed, toys and crayons get put away, and dinner is usually a pleasant affair. We are able to go to Target or Home Depot or Kroger without incident and a movie or cartoon is enjoyed (I love me some Elmo's World).

The downside? Bedtime is, in a word, hellacious. She gets up six dozen times. She wants to pretend to be an octopus under her blanket. She wants to see what we are doing. She sneaks around in the shadows and hides in the living room. She needs one more kiss, one more hug, one more snuggle from the cat. She has a list of concerns - Where's Gramma? Uncle Dickie at work? What Emmett doing?. She has her complaints - My tag biting me or My hair ouchy or My boogers hurting, a LOT or I no wanna go ni-night.

What, on a no nap day, is a 10 minute bedtime ritual becomes a two hour ordeal on a nap day.

And I can't decide if there is an upside to either scenerio...ouch.


*"I" truly equals We, as the loving husband does have nap and bedtime duties when he's not at work.

Coloring for the Cat

I've talked before about their love/hate relationship.

They drive each other crazy, but wouldn't know what to do with out each other.
They antagonize each other, and comfort each other, and play together when they're bored.

More than occasionally they both drive me bat-shit crazy.

They want my attention. They want to be fed.
They want my lap and to be snuggled. Neither of them are ever quiet.

It's all Mama Mama Mama and Meeeoooowww, Meeeoooowwww, Meeeooooow all the time.

Unfortunately for the furry one, all my patience is used up on the one that endlessly speaks broken English. So the poor furry one is sometimes banished to the basement, or told to zip it, or shooed off my lap or snapped at unnecessarily.

But she draws her pictures.
And she let's her use her for a pillow.
She bosses her around.
And she tells on her when she's snuck out of bed during nap time.

And together they create mischief. And drive me nuts. And make me laugh.

In the car today

Addie, you did such a great job on the potty yesterday! Let's go to the store so you can pick out some new big girl undies.

Yea! I love Bleauty and da Beast undies. I LOVE them.

Okay, I hope they have them. If not maybe we'll get Elmo undies.

Mama, you da Beast, I a bleauty!!

I'm the Beast?? No fair.

No, Mama! You not a beast! You a queen. Me a princess.

At least the child is speaking the truth.

Paint

Last June my friend Ali threatened me that I had to something, anything to my blah bedroom. I totally agreed with her, but had no idea where to start. After visiting Lowe's and Home Depot's paint sections 42 times I eventually got some color swatches on the walls - where they stayed until late autumn.

Finally in November Andy and I had decided to paint our bedroom and bathroom. We banged both rooms out in one day and, if I do say so myself, they look great.

The bathroom before - - - - - - - - - - - - The bathroom now

The bathroom is crisp and clean feeling - I even splurged on new soft, fabulous towels. And while I love to escape with a good book and a cheap glass of wine to my bathtub, it's my bedroom that I am most enamored with now.

It got painted Hot Chocolate and it got new dressers and a chair. If finally feels cozy and warm to me, and I find myself wanting to hide in it quite often. I have fantasies of sitting in the chair reading or knitting or zoning out to HGTV*.

Having these to rooms painted is one more step to claiming this house as ours. I know, after almost two years here we should feel settled, and overall I do, but painting things the way we want, not the way they had it, makes it feel all that much more like home.

Now we just need to get something on the walls......

*The reality is my long wished for chair will serve two major purposes:
1. It will collect clothing. Shirts will be draped on it, piles of folded laundry will be stacked on it.

2. It will give me a place to sit as I try to enforce nap time - like I am right now.

A Full House

This weekend was a whirl of wine, champagne and cheese based snacks- all of which have me moving a bit slower for a Monday.

When I say there were cheese based snacks, I'm talking taco dip, artichoke spinach dip, feta spinach dip, beer cheese, salami cream cheese rolls ups. Oh so yummy were they all - oh so tight are my pants today.

And when I say a whirl of champagne and wine, I'm talking bottles of mimosas and sparkletinis and close to a case of wine. Luckily, there was also many, many glasses of water consumed and bottles of Gatorade and Advil were generously stocked. Our house was overflowing with laughter and noise and now it feels a bit too quiet.

The downside to a house full of friends? A certain two-and-a-half-year-old who was lavished with attention and gifts and instant playmates. She got to play tutus, read books, play hide-and-seek, and generally be the center of every one's attention.

Now it's just Mommy, and plain old Mommy is just not good enough.