Wit and Wisdom - Wormy Edition

Today, as K and I were driving on the beltway we were searching for UPS and FedEx trucks. This is her latest thing. She is fascinated by the delivery trucks. Maybe it's her future calling or just her hope that the trucks all contain Amazon boxes filled with princess paraphernalia just waiting to be delivered to her doorstep. Regardless, that's what we were doing until she spotted what she thought was a garbage truck.

"Look Mama, a trash truck!"

"No baby. That's a sewage removal truck."

"Huh?"

...hmm, I'll tread lightly on this one, knowing her drain issues.

"Well, it's a truck that takes the stuff people put down the drains, like the potty. It takes it away to be cleaned," I tell her.

"So it comes why we're sleeping?"

Like its Santa or the Easter Bunny.

"No. It doesn't come to our house. We live in the city. It comes to houses where the people live in the country."

"Like Elmo's house?"

I don't know if I'm allowed to say this, but clearly she doesn't watch enough tv.

"No baby. Elmo lives in the city on Seasame Street. You know Slimy's cousin Squirmy? Remember? He lives in the country."

Laughing a bit, she says "Yeah, but he lives in an apple. And worms don't have potties."

"No? Why not?"

"Because Mama. Worms don't have vaginas or bums or penises."

So there you have it. Now you know.

Her innocence will believe Slimy, from Oscar the Grouch's trash can, has a cousin who lives in an apple in the country. But the idea that he could have a potty is entirely too far fetched for her.

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.

Sweatshop

It's February 20th. Is it time to throw in the towel? I'm not really sure what's protocol in this department.

This is a photo of my kitchen table, taken only moments ago. Valentine's Day was a week back. And, yet, it appears I'm still hoping to send out cards. Better late than never, right? I did my part. I bought the supplies, cut out 12 heart cards, and printed LOVE, on each one. My husband bought stamps. All K had to do was peel and stick hearts and rhinestones and write her name. That was it. I thought this was a cake project.

Holidays can sometimes turn into a sweatshop in my house, mass producing a dozen cards and gifts for family members. I'm the boss and I generally stay in the kitchen for several hours, for several days, barking out reminders to an unenthusiastic child, attempting to keep her focused. 75% of the time it works. I have been known to help her with a few brushstrokes of my own, but projects are mostly completed by K.

This Valentine's Day I decided I wouldn't be the boss. I would take away the pressure and magically that would cause her to want to make her cards. It's seemed like a great plan. I wouldn't be stressed, she would have fun crafting. Sounds perfect!

See how well that plan worked. I'm a genius, clearly.

At dinner last night, as we were trying to find a place to sit and eat, we were discussing the failed card project. K still wants to decorate and mail them. She hasn't crafted a single card today, by the way. My husband thinks I should cut them into eggs and send them out for Easter. I think I should throw some stickers on the hearts, scribble her letters and a few "drawings", and get the ridiculous things out of here.

So, if you receive a Valentine from K this week there's a 1 in 4 chance it was made by her. Maybe you'll be a lucky one.

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.

 

Dinner Rolls

You know the moment...you're sitting with friends at a restaurant, sipping cocktails, and the bread bowl arrives at the table. You unwrap the napkin to unveil the mound of piping hot rolls. You silently count the rolls, 6 rolls...4 people.

Seriously? Mother effer! You've got to be kidding me?! In what sick, cruel world is this ever fair? 

This is the dialogue in my head, every single mother lovin time. Pay attention next time you eat out, it's consistent. The number of rolls is always off. It's like the restaurant industry got together, had a little meeting. 

"Aright, alright. Brainstorm, people! There has to be some vindictive trick we can play on the masses. They can't just snap their fingers at us and demand service! We must passively retaliate!"

"Um, well, we could constantly get their orders wrong, that'll show em, right?"

"No, no, no.  We'll lose business for sure with that plan. Keep thinking, people!"

"How about this, we spit in their food?"

"Have you even heard of a little thing called the Health Department? Am I the only one with my head on straight tonight?"

"I got it boss. How about we mess with the rolls? You know, if it's a couple on a date, give em 3 rolls instead of 4. That way they have to fight about who gets the last roll."

"Brilliant! Genius, really. Someone give that kid a star."

Maybe that's how it happened. I dunno. But I do know that somewhere along the line, something got screwed up. If its a table of 2, it's a no-brainer, either 2 or 4 rolls should go into that basket. No odd number is ever acceptable.

Please tell me I'm not the only one who has been observing this strange roll phenomenon for years?? If I've ever eaten out with you, rest assured, I've counted the dinner rolls and cursed in my head.

Lights Out

"And the hits just keep on coming." 

 Tom Cruise -- A Few Good Men 

I'm not heartless. I get it. The dark can be a scary thing to kids. Hell, even as a teenager, when I got home from work late at night, I would run from my car to the front door. In my defense, I lived on a farm in East Jabip and it was extremely dark in the evening.

But I swear, K has taken it to a whole new level this time.

She has successfully suckered me into giving her not one, not two, but four light sources in her room at bedtime. For her first birthday, she received a ladybug that shines constellations on the ceiling. Then, when she started potty training and needed to go to the potty after bedtime, she picked out an angel that lights up and she can hold it and carry it around. She named it La La. Really, I think it's just another doll to her, but nonetheless, it glows. After that scam, she demanded that we leave the hall light outside her room on at night. And finally, after Christmas was over, she had grown so accustomed to the lights on the little tree in her room, I removed the lights from the tree and wrapped them around a feature on her dresser.

For sure, this is enough light for one little 3 year old and her fears. With all of the light in her room, she could read books, play dolls, build a rocket. But, no...my lovely Veruca Salt insists her bedroom light be left on. And if I'm not going to leave the light on for her, she will take matters into her own hands. See, she can't reach the light switch yet, not quite tall enough. But if she climbs into her stuffed animal basket...bingo. Once that was discovered, of course I removed the basket from her room. K was not discouraged. She tried to build a tower of books to stand on. I don't think she was ever successful with that plan, but occasionally I still see a stack of books under the light switch. So clearly, she's still trying to work out the kinks in that method. Then came her sneak outs to the bathroom to get the stool. Usually she would be discovered. But I'm sure in her mind it was still a success. 

And then...sigh...and then, she got really smart. She almost outwitted me. Actually, she had outwitted me. 

 About a week ago was the first time we noticed her dresser was broken. 

 

We blamed it on cheap craftsmanship. My husband fixed it and we went about our day. The top drawer broke again yesterday. Once more, I blamed it on a faulty product. But, still I knew K had a hand in it. I had no idea the extent until tonight. 

She let it slip. 

 Her: If you don't put the stool in here, I'll just climb over the drawer.

Me: Wait. What? What do you mean, you'll climb over the drawer?

Her: I'll climb over it and reach.

Aha! (lightbulb moment) Is she freakin climbing her dresser to turn the light on? She broke her dresser drawer climbing to the top? No way! She's too cautious to do that. No freakin way!!

Me:  Show me. Show me how you turn the light on.

And damned if she didn't. She started to put one foot on the pull to the bottom drawer. One hand on the top of the dresser. Second foot on the other bottom drawer pull. I saw it happening...with my own two eyes. My daughter had been climbing her dresser like a mountain to reach her light switch.

She had me. I had two choices. Remove her dresser from her room or give her a stool. 

It's 10pm, 3 hours past bedtime, and here we sit, in a stand off. Me blogging my frustrations away. Her still awake, doing God only knows what, in her room...with the light on.  

Spot of Tea

Yesterday, I was playing tea party with K. The rules are simple, which I like. I have a hard time keeping up with the ever changing rules to the other games in her life.

The party's going well. She turns to me with cup and saucer in hand.

"Mama, would you like a spot of tea?"

What the eff? Who is this child?

Let me remind you she's 3 1/2 and we don't have a British nanny. And as far as I know, I don't say spot of tea. Where does she get this stuff?

At this point, I determine she's brilliant, even a genius. There is no other explanation. I pat myself on the back. I must be doing an amazing job for her to be this smart.

"Mama? How about a spot of vegetable? Maybe a carrot?"

So, okay. Maybe she's not a genius. But she's still pretty smart. And I'm still killing it at this mother thing. It's obvious I've instilled the love of vegetables in her.

A few moments later, we're still partying. I take a cup and offer it to Marley, our dog. Next thing I know, K spins around, as if possessed by the devil himself, teeth clenched, eyes red possibly even glowing.

She rips the cup from my hand. Marley's now cowering down behind me, likely fearful for her life.

"NO! THIS IS FOR AURORA!"

Sigh. She's just a normal 3 year old. And I'm an adequate mom. Thanks for keeping it real for me.