Moo Moo Fatty Patty Spaghetti

Today, I would like to extend my gratitude to someone who works his magic behind the scenes of the Dark Side of Aurora. He loves unconditionally and there is no end to his tolerance. He's often overlooked, but is crucial for any attempt at daily harmony. I would like to offer my kudos and a round of applause to, none other than, the famous...Moo, aka Moo Moo Kitty and Moo Moo Fatty Patty Spaghetti!

Moo has been K's best friend since conception. Literally. I'm not joking. It was obvious. Moo is not my favorite cat. I find him to be obnoxious and ridiculously mean to his sister, Ellie. I'm sure he picks up on the vibe. But when I was pregnant, he wouldn't leave me alone. As soon as I sat down, he was in my lap, laying on my stomach, purring. Just what any fat, pregnant woman wants, a hairy creature smushing her already crowded belly. He was so persistent, I eventually gave in. It became a nightly ritual, he would lay with K. It was obvious, it wasn't me he was interested in, it was her.

Since then, they have been best buds. Partners in crime. He was her alibi the day she pulled this stunt. He sleeps with her at night, misses her terribly when she leaves, and is waiting by the door when she returns. He's never scratched or bitten her, and as many have witnessed, she's not alway the nicest to Moo. In fact, sometimes, she blatantly abuses him. He never complains. She pulls his tail, he comes back for more. If she wants to play dress up, he's in. No objections.

No one wears a necklace better than Moo. Or hair bows, barrettes, bunny ears, reindeer antlers, tutus, tiaras, or fairy wings. No matter the event, Moo Moo's dressed to the nines. And a look is never complete without makeup.

Moo proudly wears makeup, imaginary of course. Face paint too, if it pleases her. He never gripes. He would walk through fire, wearing plastic princess heels, if she asked him to.

To sweet, patient Moo...I would like to say thank you. Thank you for following her around the house, being the most loyal playmate a little girl could ask for. Thank you for playing countless games and embarking on endless imaginary journeys with K. Thanks for braving her tantrums, often bearing the brunt of her anger and sadness. You are her best friend. Gracias.

***Out of respect for K's tabby cat, I will not, at this time go into the details of the heinous acts of molestation inflicted upon poor, poor Ellie. But let it be known, if he wasn't so amazing with K...him and I would have major issues.

Confession

I have two confessions. I'm ready to come clean.

Deep breath

I have a junk drawer and I'm a hypocrite.

Wow! That feels good. Glad to get it off my chest. Yup, world, I have random junk that finds it's way into the very large utensil drawer in my kitchen. I open the drawer at least a dozen times a day and the junk laughs at me, but I don't care. And really...I don't. Everyone has a drunk drawer, right? Neat freak, Monica Gellar, had a whole junk closet. But, there's an aspect of my junk drawer that I have a teensy, tiny problem with...the butcher's knife.

Which brings me to confession number two. I'm a hypocrite. I stand on my pedestal, claiming I'd never have a gun in my house with kids. It's just so dangerous. You never know what may happen...blah, blah, blah. And here I am, with a butcher's knife in my junk drawer. There's no safety lock on the drawer, oh no, that would be too smart. But, in case you're wondering, there are 2 child safety locks inside the drawer, just waiting to be used. You wanna know the real hypocritical part of it all, oh it's a shocker?! When I finally decided to clean the drawer out, it wasn't because I was worried my daughter would get hurt. Nope, I was concerned that I was going to be hurt riffling in the drawer. She gets a straw out of the drawer daily, and it's my well being I was looking out for.

Hanging my head in shame. Waiting for the stones to be thrown.

But, it's over. I've been to confession. Said my Hail Mary's. I've cleaned out the drawer.

And the tally, among other really special items...

Wanna grow a garden? 4 packets of seeds

Build a chopstick house? 13 take out chopsticks

Secure the aforementioned house together? 36 screws

Draw all over an heirloom desk? 3 sharpies

Poison a small child? 5 bottles of various medicines and vitamins

Tie dye shirts for your family? 21 rubber bands

And finally...

Arm yourself against rape and pillage? A chef's knife, a carving knife, 3 paring knives, and a meat fork

Glad that's over.

 

Mouth Buggies

There's a ginormous amount of tension in the air at my house. K's antics are taking a toll on everyone. I'm in need of lighthearted amusement. Or really good wine.

Hopefully this post will brighten my heart a little...

 

How many of you fine readers have ever thought...Gee, I sure do wish I could be a fly on Kara's sticky car wall. Seriously? None of you are going to raise your hand? I just finished telling you how rough things are and you can't throw me a bone? Whatever. A lot of really funny shit is said in my car. Here's a sample from this mornings car ride, the wit and wisdom of K.

K: Mama? Do I have buggies in my teeth?

Me: I can't look right now, I'm driving? 

But I do look. In the rear view, I see her, mouth wide open.

Me: I don't see any bugs.

K: My tooth hurts. It's probably the buggies. You know we all have buggies in our mouth, Mama?

Me: I know.

K: They're probably trying to build a nest in my mouth. Maybe if I drink my orange juice, the buggies will go away.

I contemplate asking her where the bugs will go when she drinks her juice. But decide against it, for fear she will infer that the bugs would go into her tummy. Knowing her insane phobia of insects, she may stop eating all together.

K: I don't want the buggies building nestses in my teeth. They're probably all working hard in my mouth building lots of nestses. Maybe a whole city. That's probably why my tooth hurts. All the building. You think the buggies like it in my mouth, Mama?

Me: Probably. 

K: You think they're going to be mad when I brush my teeth tonight? I'm gonna spit their nestses right out.

 

Aww...my thought provoking, little girl. Every now and again, she makes it all worth it. 

Spit Happens

Toddlers and preschoolers are not merely small people. They are their own breed, with their own set of laws governing their world. Understanding this helps me find patience for irrational hair loss fears and chalk drawn murals.

But, I believe, my patience has reached its boiling point. When confronted with an undesirable situation, some young kids hit, others bite. K has chosen to spit.

In Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Violet Beauregarde informs Willy Wonka, "Spitting's a nasty habit," to which he retorts, "I know a worse one." I'm calling your bluff candy man. I would give anything to be writing about K having a boogie picking addiction.

Instead, here I am describing a battle I am losing. I'm just moments away from waving the white flag. 

Incase you don't have much experience with spitting preschoolers, let me fill you in on what it's like.

Backseat of the car, I'm buckling her in her car seat.

She demands, "I want my lollipop NOW!" 

"Not how you ask, and you know the rules. No lollipops in the car," I rationally explain.

And just like that, spit in my face. Directly in my face.

Now I'm a good mom. But at that moment, it takes all the willpower I possess to not slap her across the face. Lucky for her, I see the big picture. She's a little girl, who is really, really mad at me for telling her no. And the first way her little brain can think to convey this anger is to spit. She doesn't sit around thinking up all the ways she can disrespect me. She doesn't plot a plan of action to send me crazy. But let me tell you, incase you've never experienced it first hand, the knowledge of why doesn't make it any easier to endure.

She's a spitter. What next? That's where we're at. 

I've googled. Babycenter says its a normal phase, one of those "this too shall pass" ones. Once she perfects her language skills, it should fade away on it own. Countless yahoo members offer little to no help, but they sure can share their own "been there, done that" stories. K's pediatrician offers his advice, when she spits give her as little attention as possible, theorizing that she's doing it for attention. We've taken away privileges. Removed toys. I've been putting into practice techniques I learned in my Elementary Education classes from years past. 

I've had countless conversations like...

"I understand you're angry cause Mama said its bedtime. Instead of spitting is there anything else you could do to let Mama know you're mad? Could you stomp your foot and say argh? Take 5 deep breaths? Could you use your words and tell me that you're mad?"

Nothing is working. She's still spitting. 

A recent conversation with a friend inspired our most current effort to curb the spitting. It's a marble in the jar plan. Anytime K is caught handling her anger the proper way, she gets a marble in the jar. Anytime she spits instead, she loses a marble. Five marbles earns a prize. This plan has been in affect since February 1. She hasn't earned a prize yet. At the present moment, there are 3 marbles in the jar. Not writing it off yet, but the plan doesn't seem to be helping. 

I'm considering alternative solutions. My husband wants to run away to Jamaica when K hits puberty. I say I present a nice, effective trade. I go first and leave him with the spitter. I promise I'll come back...probably. Eventually.