Random Conversations

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(photo by momwithapen)

Sometimes my family makes me laugh. Most often than not, it's about something random. Like this afternoon, while I was talking to my Mom on the phone...

MOM: I am so tired.

ME: Well, that's understandable. You just finished class. (She works with kids with autism.)

MOM: I heard something that reminded me of you today. You know cows pass bad gas?

ME: *silence* (trying to understand what this has to do with me.)

MOM: It seems that their gas is bad for the environment. Kangaroo's have good gas though.

ME: Kangaroos? (Are the cows or the kangaroos like me...)

MOM: So they are trying to study the bacteria in cows and kangaroos so they can make cows have good gas.


I'm still not quite sure what this has to do with me...

I Googled the story my Mom gave me this evening. Well, what do you know...it's TRUE! Unfortunately for Mom, it's old news though.

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Ok, and then there was this conversation with Madison today:

*listening to They Might Be Giants (for Kids) in the car*

ME: Come on Madison, clap...clap..clap.

MADISON: No. (When does "no" stop being their favorite word?)

ME: Come on, you're being a stick in the mud.

MADISON: No Mommy. There no mud in here.

ME: Oh come on, clap!

MADISON: No.

ME: Stick in the mud...stick in the mud... *chanting*

MADISON: Don't worry Mommy, I take da stick out.


And that folks is a family...

(Please note that there wasn't any random conversations with the hubby today. It's all good. Tomorrow's another random day!)

Owing it to the Eggplant

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My Mom is Italian. My Grandmother was Italian. My Great-Grandmother was Italian. You get the point. What's the problem you ask? Besides the fact that I am not Italian? (Come on! You see the picture!) Well...I have no eggs. Any Italian will tell you that cooking without eggs is virtually impossible. That is, unless you're using boxed Barilla; but then that leads to the question, "Are you truly an Italian"?

Yesterday, during my 3-hour excursion to the grocery store (how many times can a three-year-old go potty at the opposite end of the store), I became awestruck. The entire store was covered in banners and signs that read, "10 for $1". And, as I continued to be dazzled by sale items left and right (as any SAHM would be), my eyes cast upon a lovely sight - a beautiful plump purple eggplant with a lovely green stem. Had I ever made eggplant before? No. But it was $1!

So tonight I belted out a couple of "paaaarmagiana regiaaaaana" and "meatballaaa" phrases to help me feel a little closer knit to my...ahem...heritage, and started peeling the eggplant as the internet recipe directed. Madison even joined in on the foreign language experiment. We were a couple of fools...and because the weather has been nice, our windows were wide open. Yes, my next door neighbors (who are also Italian, and no I don't live in Little Italy) are going to send cousin Gino and cousin Georgio to get me because of my lack of funds for Rosetta Stone software.

After slicing, salting and pressing moisture out of my beloved Barney-colored sale special; I was ready to dredge and bake. Crap. No eggs. And that's how the story ended folks. Seriously. Because I am not cramming the kid in the car at 6:00pm so that we can have a midnight snack and omelets tomorrow. *Gazing at the eggplant slices sitting in the colander and wondering if I could use them for a pseudo "Spa Night", like cucumbers with a hot towel wrap. Nope...didn't think so. Darn!*

You know, there's something nice about being adopted and non-Italian. Rice, rice...baby. Of course, then there's always Campbell's. Reap me over the coals and brand me, "Bad Mommy" because tonight folks I smell chunky chicken noodle soup...or well something like it anyways. Ever since pregnancy it's all fowl to me. I know...that was bad. *sigh*

Aha! *plotting* Maybe if I play my cards right (and hubby is hungry enough) I can escape to the grocery store while Daddy puts Madison to bed. Of course, how sad is that. OOOOOoooo the big evening excursion to "get out on my own" and "have time to myself" plot. Eggs. And to think, I owe it all to the eggplant.

Charmin Czar

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There are few things in life that I treasure; one of those is good toilet paper. Regardless of the fact we are cutting back, the good toilet paper stays. I know, in essence we're flushing good money down the drain...

There was no problem with our uses of toilet paper until recently. The other day I heard a scuffle and decided to follow the mysterious sound. There Madison was, squatting and furiously wiping the floor with an entire unwound roll of my beloved Charmin Ultra.

"I went pee-pee on the floor" she said. Then to make it all better she decided she'd better add, "I went little bit in potty." Then she grinned at me. It didn't really make everything better, but it helped.

Last week she attempted to feed the commode half a roll of toilet paper. The story goes as follows: While in the other room I heard, "Uh oh." Knowing that the phrase, "uh oh" was not something good, I ran to see what happened. The evidence, an empty cardboard tube, lay on the tile floor while my daughter stood looking over the toilet - pants down, teetering from top of her red and purple Dora stool. The story ended well; although once again, I had to climb upstairs (remember I'm still mothering a broken toe) to steal from our wholesale stash of 2-ply.

It seems like attempts to control Madison's fascination with massive amounts of toilet paper are futile. We've tried the Cottonelle special Kids paper (with the paw prints and puppies) but that seems to excite her moreso. And really, what kid needs 6 squares of toilet paper? Come on Cottonelle!

So two days ago, in my last attempt to save trees (and my only sustained luxury as a SAHM), I've started rationing squares. Yes, raise your hand up high to me - the Toilet Paper Nazi. Hail to me and make me a chair of Charmin. For now, upon the empty toilet paper holder I place 4 (count them, 1-2-3-4) sheets of TP; no more, no less. Every time Madison proudly mounts her Dora potty seat (yes, it matches perfectly with her stool), she reaches out with eager hands, rejoicing at her beloved 4 squares just prior to dismounting and doing the "pee pee dance". Mary Lou Retton would be proud.

So far, so good...right?

Well, last night Madison must have gotten up in the middle of the night to pee, because no sooner than a sliver of light broke through the blinds this morning I heard a voice from downstairs calling, "I finished! I finished! I fiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiished!" She was relentless. I stumbled downstairs (toe in tact) to commence my appointment as the Charmin Czar. All hail... *yawn* What was I saying?

Four years ago I was making major design and construction decisions on new residential projects; today I am weighing my options - contemplating whether sleep or my 2-ply is ultimately more important. And by the way...Yes, as Charmin Czar I WILL take that executive office with the view of the park and a competitive benefits package. Yes, thank you very much.

Decisions

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Last weekend, while visiting Grandma, we visited the pumpkin patch. It was Grandma's idea, and to-date she is still talking about the ordeal...

After a long day of shoe shopping and clearance rack hunting, we finally made it to the pumpkin patch. Madison's eyes were big and bright, and she could barely contain herself as we pulled into the lot. As I unbuckled the bucking bronco from her car seat I smiled at her excitement and asked, "Are you going to get a big pumpkin or a small one?"

"BIG!" Then she giggled.

I had visions of her carrying out a 26 pounder, and her black and white in the local newspaper - "Kid Scores Huge. Dad grasps wallet!". So I casually said, "Big is good, but small pumpkins are nice too."

Now if you don't know kids, they take things pretty literally. Madison is no exception. In fact, not only did she attempt to show me EVERY small pumpkin that her little hands could grasp, but because of my brilliant pumpkin comment she couldn't decide on the actual specimen she wanted to adopt.

First she ran to one side of the tent (yeah...in Florida we don't have true "patches") to show us a rather large bumpy (I'm still unsure if it was contagious) pumpkin, then she turned as ran down to the other end of the tent to fling a miniscual yellow squash like the nerf football it should have been...down to the other end to sit on the "pig pumpkin" and giggle whilst riding...then once more to contemplate the existence of gourds. (Is it just me or do those things look like ducks?...ok, just me...sorry.) The whole experience was as fast, and as furious, as a match at the U.S. Open.

Fast as in...she sure ran fast, but time seemed to stand still on the picking the "perfect pumpkin pal". Yes, Madison continued her pumpkin patch relay for 45-minutes. When the sky darkened and she spotted another child getting stickers as they checked out, only then did the thought pop into her head that she needed to make a final decision.

Needless to say, we took home 3 pumpkins that evening.

Grandma said that if she would have known the decision-making abilities of her grandaughter before-hand; she would have taken three pumpkins, put them in the backyard, thrown a stuck a sign in the ground and collected a dollar for the purchase.

I'm pretty sure if Daddy knew that was an option, he might have even set up a florida tent for the occasion.

Competitive

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Toddlers are smart. If they weren't, SAHMs all over the world would be watching soaps and downing Dibbs. Don't believe me? Ask any parent what happened the last time they turned their back for 30 seconds. Madison dumped 2 bottles of nail polish onto our beautiful wood table in hopes of creating a new fabulous paint color for the wall. (Hence why you can find me flailing through the junk drawer, for my key to my locked cosmetic case, anytime I want to wear sandals.)

Recently, while browsing the ABC News website, I clicked on a headline that read, "Are You Smarter Than A Toddler". Thinking it was a story on keeping kids out of trouble, I got comfy. (Or as comfy as one can get on a stool in front of a computer monitor.) When the page loaded, I realized the story wasn't a 10-lister of "Best Toddler Safety Products", but rather a story on child prodigies.

Now Jeff and I are like most parents; we want the best for our child. We've made sure that Madison knows her A-B-C's, her colors - the building blocks for when she enters pre-school. We read three books before bedtime each night and we've even begun teaching Madison how to tell time. We feel felt like we are ahead of "the game".

There's nothing like knowing that another child, younger than your own, can rattle of 78 countries. Worse yet, find them on a map. Suddenly I'm reminded of conversations from my first Baby Bunch, "Your daughter can't crawl yet?" Crap.

It's not that I'm expecting Madison to be a Nobel prize winner by the time she learns how to roller skate, but it would be nice to know that I'm ahead of the game; actually, even in the middle would be of some comfort. Of course, now that I know what I'm up against I might as well wait for that flat of Belgium Chocolate and an icy glass of caffeine to fall from the sky...and, what the hell...Patrick Dempsey.

Maybe I just need therapy to erase the bad Baby Bunch conversations from my head. What happened to "Kids need to be kids. Let them play, make mud pies, splash in puddles...live." *looking up* Yeah, what happened to that?

We Can Send a Man to the Moon, but We Can't Find a Quick-Fix for Tantrums...

If you woke a grizzly bear from hibernation, crossed him with an angry cobra, and then let loose a pack of wolf pups...it would be named "toddler". Who would have thought this toddler, our little girl, who can't sleep without her baby doll, plays tea and dress up, and loves to jump into "da da's" arms when he comes home from work, would have the spirit of a wild mustang in captivity.

Ahhh...the woes of parenthood. Babycenter just says that at age 2, our toddler is "coming into her own...and understanding that she has options". Hmmm...could someone remove the checked box for the option of "NO" please? How many "no's" does it take for a toddler to understand that it's still going to happen? Case in point...

"We're going to get ready for bed in 5 minutes."

"no..." She whimpers as she runs off to get another toy out.

[three minutes later]

"Two minutes until bedtime...let's put away our toys." She runs off to give Daddy a hug. (Commonly referred to as "Kissing up" in our household....Darn! I guess that makes me the "heavy".)

[and...the moment arrives]

"Ok...it's time to go to bed. Let's get a book for a night time story."

Staring at me with her mouth slightly open...obviously in disbelief. "No..." She shakes her head...and then runs away.

AggggggggghhhhhHHHH!!!


You'd think since there are more parents in this world than there are stars in the universe, that all the answers would be solved. We can send a man to space...but we can't figure out a quick fix for a two-year-old tantrum.

Sure, some of her "quirks" are kind of cute. Like how she always tries to copy that Pampers "pancake" commercial. (You know the one...where the toddler puts the pancake on her head...and the Mother smiles and chuckles.) HELLO!!! WHAT WAS THAT MOTHER THINKING??? I just want to slap her. Pampers obviously wanted Moms to reconsider their competition. Yes, I still went into the other room, rolled my eyes, and grinned. After all, my little she-devil wasn't too happy to learn the lesson that syrup was sticky. And the time where she threw herself down in a whirlwind of a tantrum, but very gently...as not to hurt herself.

But a lot of the time parenting a 2-year-old is more challenging than I would have ever imagined. Try having a conversation with someone that doesn't understand you (or is just not listening and doesn't WANT to understand you) and is not really interested in anything you have to say, but only in whether or not they've had dinner. Wait...this is kind of sounding familiar. I think I was living this life a little before our little one came along...

A lot of days having a toddler is like watching the weather. You can always predict, but you never know what's going to blow in unexpectedly. A challenge? You can say THAT again. Answering the final question on "Who Wants to be a Millionaire might actually be less challenging. And, with that, I'd at least be able to treat myself to a sassy new pair of sling backs for a night out on the town.

But...all in all...I wouldn't trade this for the world. Any parent would tell you that no matter how many "NO!'s", bruises from being kicked, spots to clean off the new carpet, conversations about "not hitting others" and time-outs...it's the payoff that counts. Sure, that payoff may be a year from now...or 30 years down the line...but there is a payoff.

ummm...Isn't there?

Oh...and by the way...could you make sure that my payoff is the one a year from now. (Not the "30 years down the line"..."Check's in the mail" kind of payment. Thanks.)

Co-Sleeping...

The night my daughter was born, the nurses told me to swaddle her tightly, and get some sleep. The tiny arms would "break out" of the swaddle, her little body would convulse...and she would cry. No, let me rephrase that...scream. The only way to console her was to pick her up. By the second night...we realized that baby, nor Mommy was getting any z's. Hence, the next night I ended up sleeping in a semi-reclined position, with her clinging to my chest. Even though she wasn't crying, I still wasn't able to sleep.

Our first night out of the hospital, I thought I would be thankful. I tried to put her in the crib...and no sooner had I done so...the screaming began. She would fall asleep for mere seconds...enough for us to get into the hallway..and...well, let's just say...after the third night of this... She became a co-sleeper.

I beat myself up about co-sleeping. I was SO against it...but the scales tipped in the favor of sanity. Oh, by the way...everyone beat me up about it. We had parents criticizing us, family giving us "words of wisdom"...I even had another Mommy from our parenting group say, "And if you have another child I bet they'll come home and go right into their crib."

This is me...but who do the hell people think they are? Nothing against "those against co-sleeping". I value differences of opinion...but if I value your opinion...please at least consider this...

EVERY child is different. Just like there are different types of parents. Perhaps your child wasn't a bad sleeper. Maybe they drifted off into the darkness with images of snips and snails and puppy dog tails, or...What's the part for the girls??? Anyways, if you had the same screaming child for a week, I know you'd modify your technique. You just would. Or, maybe you're right...You would have coped with standing on your feet for days on end...but as my emotions swallowed me whole, and I sank into a sleepless trance, I couldn't hack it...so sue me.

Sure, I agree that you shouldn't put a child in between two adults without protection. We used a co-sleeping bed so that we wouldn't roll on her....And, I'm the type of Mother that sleeps lightly. If I hadn't have been...I wouldn't have done it. Or maybe would have found an alternative.

And today...two years later?

Today my daughter sleeps soundly...in a toddler bed. And although she co-slept with us until she was about 13 months, the transition to a toddler bed was a piece of cake. In fact, many of the children who were crib sleepers are now finding it hard to transition.

As I look back...I know that I'm a damn good Mother. Point blank. And, for you Mothers out there with people choking your "Mother's Intuition"...One comment:

My in-laws were amongst those that joked about us co-sleeping with Madison. When Madison was sleeping in her own bed, she stayed over at my in-laws. The second night that Madison was with my MIL...she ended up in bed with her. Hence...IF YOU AREN'T IN THAT POSITION...WITH THAT PARTICULAR CHILD...DON'T CRITICIZE.

It's still a good chuckle amongst the family...