If One Drinks From a Bottle Marked Poison

I blog for two reasons, to chronicle K's life and for cathartic purposes. I knew when I wrote my first word I didn't want to be limited. I wanted to express what I felt, regardless of how it affected others. I also knew that was selfish and unrealistic. As much as I wanted to have freedom to say what I wanted, I didn't want it at the expense of those I love.

Before I published my first entry, I asked my husband what was off limits. He mentioned just a few things and I have stuck to my word and never wrote about them. At the time, months ago, he must have given very little thought to his true feelings regarding his privacy. Because here I am, writing this post.

The post informing my faithful few followers that I can no longer continue blogging Life From the Dark Side of Aurora. Or at least I can no longer blog it here, at this address.

As a resut of a battle I did not want to win, I deleted a recent blog entry. It hurt me to do it. But it seemed it was going to hurt my husband more if I kept it published. So I allowed him to censor me yet again.

After a great deal of thought and frustration, I've decided it's time.

"For if one drinks much from a bottle marked 'Poison', it's almost certain to disagree with one sooner or later." - Alice

I made the grave mistake of telling a few people in my life about my blog. At the time, I wanted them to be able to enjoy reading bits about K that ordinarily they wouldn't get to hear. They will no longer get this window into K's world and that makes me sad. Family members reading my personal thoughts didn't bother me. But it sure did bother my husband.

I must do what is necessary for me. I will continue blogging, anonymously this time. I will create a new site, with a new name written under a pseudonym. I will write freely and it will most certainly agree with me.

I thank you for reading and laughing about K's antics. I appreciated all of your comments. And for the compassion I received on a few emotional posts, thank you.

"...it's time to say good-bye. No, no. Don't speak. For some moments in life, there are no words. Run along now. Adieu, adieu, parting is such sweet sorrow."

---Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka

Cleverly Defiant

It's no secret, my kid's a tad bit defiant. Alright, some days she's a hell of a lot defiant.

But she's a smart one.

This morning, for reasons I'm not entirely sure of, she threw her juice cup on the floor when she was finished with it.

"K, come back in here and pick up this cup and put it in the sink."

"No," she said so casually.

My gut reaction was to pick up the cup and launch it in her direction, but I did some deep breathing and counted to ten to think it through. In the end I decided to use my big girl words instead.

"If you don't come pick up this cup, there will be no orange juice with breakfast tomorrow morning."

In her hap, hap, happiest voice she said, "Oh that's okay Mama. I'm having pink lemonade tomorrow."

So pleased with her quick witted response, she practically skipped into the next room.

Let it be known though, I am ruler supreme. She did pick up the cup and she even put it in the sink.

The Day She Threw Her Shoe At Me

"I always say moms have the toughest job in the world if you're doing it right."

- Oprah

Today, without a doubt, I believe that quote. I don't always feel that way. The toughest job? I'm sure I could think of a few tougher.

And then I have a day like today.

Today was a day from hell.

Today I was wishing I had dropped my daughter off at daycare and worked in an office with adults.

I sit here and think...where did the day go so wrong? Where did I go wrong? It was a beautiful 70 degree pre-spring day. Meltdowns and tantrums aren't supposed to happen on those days. I had simple, enjoyable plans. A morning trip to the library and then spend the rest of the time, before nap, at the playground, including a picnic. Not a tough day. I had even agreed to drive to the playground with the sandbox, her favorite.

I will not rehash the pivitol moment in the morning. I know this will come as a great disappointment to the readers who relish in hearing my trials and tribulations with dear, sweet K, but I just can't do it today. I will say I was searching for a specific book on raising the spirited child when the fireworks began.

Spirited. Hmm...I can think of a few other words.

The tantrum continued as I forced K out of the library, crying the whole way. Library book bag empty. No fun day spent playing in the sandbox. No swings. No picnic. She screamed and sobbed the entire ride home. She even threw her shoe at me.

K doesn't embarrass me in public often. She generally saves the naughtiness for home. Today was rough, for both of us.

We talked this afternoon, agreed to be bestest best friends from now on. We will try the fun plan again tomorrow, minus the 70 degree weather. Here's to hoping the library book bag will come back full and I won't be placing an Amazon order for the spirited child book during nap time.

Let's Make a Deal

My 3 year old thinks her life is a big game of Let's Make a Deal. Except, without farm animals and appliance prizes.

"Here's the deal," I say, trying to rationalize with her.

I'll wait while everyone laughs at me trying to rationalize with a 3 year old....Okay, good, you're done.

"You can either put your pajamas on now and have time to read books before bed. Or you can dilly dally and waste all of your book reading time."

"Well, here's my deal," she tells me with much attitude and her hands on her hips. "First, I'm going to do a big jete and then a spiderman handstand. Then, I'll put my pajamas on. And then, you can read me books."

Obviously, she doesn't understand in Let's Make a Deal the audience isn't allowed to create their own deals.

"K, if you dilly dally I won't have any time to read you books. Put your pajamas on NOW," I tell her so kindly with an abundance of patience.

"But that's not MY deeeealll!"

I guess she feels my deal's a zonk.

Censorship

I have bad news. I was censored.

Now I know what it feels like to be George Orwell. Or Eminem.

I was working on yesterday's post. I needed to do some fact checking, so I texted my husband.

Him: But wait - your NOT blogging about (insert censored topic here) - sorry!

Me: Yes.

Him: Sorry - do not blog about (censored topic)...seriously.

Me: I'm not saying you specifically.

Him: Don't care - u can include many things - no (censored topic.) Please don't write about that.

Me: Ugh.

This text exchange continued, and I'd love to share it all. But I fear the wrath if I do. I'm sure dear husband will already not enjoy this post. See, the thing is, I thought the censored topic was harmless. It's 2012, people do and say far worse than what I wanted to write about. I'm not a nip slip or an obscene hand gesture waiting to happen at the Super Bowl. I can be trusted to blog responsibly. But evidently, he feels otherwise.

And during the entire text conversation, I was cursing myself for fact checking. I know my facts. My memory rocks! Why did I even bother to bring him into it. I should have just written the damn, funny post. Dealing with him afterwards would have been worth it. But, as soon as I knew his feelings on the topic, I was effed.

I should have heeded the advice of successful blogger, Marinka from Motherhood in NYC. In a post written in 2009, she offers blog lessons she's learned. Lesson #3, which I clearly did not follow, is Do not tell anyone about your blog.

"The big downside to telling people about your blog is that they will read it and then you can never blog about them. Well, you can never blog about them in THAT way," -- Marinka

Now I'm stuck. Unless, I find a loop hole. Like maybe next year, I'll turn the censored Lent topic into my own personal Lent story. Then, I can blog about it with reckless abandon. Stay tuned, Lent 2013 might be quite funny.

It's Not Going to Be Easy

The season premier of Cougar Town aired this past Tuesday. I'm a fan. It was Valentine's Day and I was elated with my evening plans to stay in with my fishbowl of wine and watch. I'm cool, huh.

If you, like me, are super-duper awesome and already saw the episode, bear with me on this brief recap. Anyway, between season 2 and 3 little Stan grew up. No longer a baby, now a young kid...a devil child. During the episode, Ellie struggles with little Stan and his behavior. They fear him. And it hits her, this is just the kind of kid he is. Maybe she has to accept he's going to grow to be a hell-raiser.

It made me think of lovely K. No, I don't truly think she's the spawn of Satan. But, kids come in all kinds, and maybe she's just the curious, creative, strong-willed, slightly defiant kind. It's very likely I will still be struggling with how to parent her antics when she's a teenager. Maybe she's just not gonna be an easy one.

The other night I walked into her room to see this on her dresser.

Not sure what you're looking at? Here's a close up.

"What the eff? How in the hell did she get chalk."

See, this is what the hallway outside of K's room looks like as of late. It's a staging area, if you will, for the toys that a responsible, trustworthy child should have in her room. But, as we are discovering more and more every week, that is not K. Somewhere in the row of toys is a basket of chalk, because as we know, K can't be trusted alone with chalk.

She's a smart one, that girl. Left with nothing in her room, she still finds creative ways to explore her mischievous side.

This day, my brilliant daughter learned there is more than one way to accomplish a goal. A life lesson, really. I should be proud. Who needs sticks of chalk when you can just smear the palms of your hands on your existing chalk board drawing and, voila, chalk to decorate with.

She did later confide in me that she was upset she messed up Belle and her pretty dress in the mountains. Life lesson #2 for the day, perhaps? Regret.

"But dont worry, Mama, I'll just draw it again."

Nope, no regret.