I Just Don't Get It.

It's been a while, so I thought I'd fill you in on the random stuff that runs around in my brain these days, kind of like a catch-up phone call. Not that I have time to call you.

 

Now that my son is almost 3(!), I spend a lot of time exhaustedly sitting in one place while he dances around me like a dervish on speed. Even if I had the energy, I wouldn't want to get in his way, for fear of getting my tender parts winged. To attempt to maintain control of my life, I'm keeping a running list of things that mystify me about parenting one of these people and thought I'd share:

 

1. The kid that, while we're in the same room, maintains a minimum distance of 4' from me at all times, desperately rattles the door knob, calling, "Mama, where HAR you?! Knock, knock!" if I try to use the bathroom alone, with the door closed.

 

2. Bubbles blown into the air are the best ever; worthy of hours of chasing and cries of joy. Bubbles, disguised as bath suds, are evil, flesh-eating monsters, intent to kill and destroy.

 

3. Why doesn't a 103° fever slow a toddler down? 99.9° puts me in a coma for a week.

 

4. If I pooped my pants and someone offered to clean it up for me, I'd be happy to let them.

 

I think.

 

Hmm...

 

5. He won't eat delicious chicken and veggies, but chalk? Yuumm...

 

6. To my knowledge, I've never offered my child food that was actually disgusting or inedible, but he still expresses a good deal of anxiety over the first bite of a new food. Usually, either Mama or Daddy has to try it first, a la royal food tasters, to prove it's not poisoned.

 

7. Why is two drops of milk dribbled on his shirt intolerable, but a full cup poured on my rug is just fine?

 

8. Why is it that I bolt up, wide awake, when I hear a terrified sob come from his room in the middle of the night, but when I rush in to check on him, he's sleeping soundly? #hestryingtokillme

 

9. Tantrums: WHAT does a person with no responsibilities, who has every need anticipated for him, have to be so upset about???

 

10. If you have the presence of mind to hide when it's time to poop, why not just grab an adult and ask to be put on the pot, instead?

 See what I mean??

That's enough from me for now. Got any toddler mysteries to add? Feel free to leave a comment. Supposedly, there's strength in numbers. Maybe together we can beat them! 

The Food Wars

I am currently elbow-deep in a death match with a two year old over dinner, which pretty much means every night between 6 and 7, I have the prospect of hard work and frustration, with no chance of a positive return on my investment.

I'm lovin' them odds.

Tonight, my patience for the IF/THEN game ("If you eat a bite, you'll get a drink of milk!") wore thin quickly. Instead, he's watching Yo, Gabba Gabba on the Kindle in my bed while I catch up on my blogging.

I don't intend to harbor even a second of guilt over this. We're both happy right now and nobody's screaming or crying. Least of all, Mama.

Deal with it.

Fall

I love Fall. People can say whatever they like about the season--weather is iffy, season of decay, etc--but I love every blustery, cold morning/hot afternoon, layer-requiring, squash-eating, bonfiring, World Series watching, footballing, Halloweening, orange, red and brown bit of it.

We've already taken to the woods more times in the last 15 days than we did during the entire 3 months of summer, just because it's Fall so I'm more motivated to get out and commune w/Mother Nature.

Ahhh...the smell of rotting leaves...

I'd Tell You, But I Forgot.

The toughest part for me of being a working mom of a 2 year old (besides the tantrums) is the sneaking suspicion that I'm no longer interesting because I don't have (insert: time, money, energy, et. al) to do anything...well...interesting.

Or if I actually do get out of the house for fun, not errands or work, nobody knows about it because my brain is fried from exhaustion or I'm too distracted trying to keep this little person from killing himself to remember to talk about it when someone asks me what I've been up to lately.

Someday I'll laugh about it.

I read this blog (what I do when I can't sleep) where this guy said, 'Don't shame yourself for not being where you are "supposed to be." You are where you are; be in your actual life.'

Good advice, I guess; and way easier than trying to remember to tell people stuff.

Midnight Musing

I might be a bobble-head.

I realize that this may feel like it's coming out of left field to you, but I've had a great deal of time to think about this. I first considered it when I read an article about body proportions and perceived attractiveness. The study showed that when 100 pictures of people were flashed across a screen, the majority of those described as "attractive" were people with regular, symmetrical features and with heads that were proportionally large for their body sizes. The study also noted that most sex symbols and more particularly, movie stars, had proportionally large heads for their bodies. Also of note, they mentioned that large heads on small bodies present well on the big screen. Go figure, it all makes sense. Bobble-heads make the world of entertainment and sex appeal go 'round.

At the time I remember asking a select few loved ones if I had a big head. I'd become suspicious when I noticed that my face, at least, always looked big in pictures, especially if I was with another person. On more than one occasion, I was assured that, no, my head was no bigger than the average Jane's, so I let it go.

My loved ones are liars. Maybe they did it for my own good. They didn't want me to (pardon the pun) get the big head and start thinking I was a sex symbol or something, so they lied to keep me humble. Regardless of their reasons, man, they're liars, one and all.

I blame myself. The signs were all there. I already mentioned the pictures. I never like the way I look in hats. And perhaps the most damning sign of all, my son has a big head. In fact, he's in the 10th percentile for height among 2 year olds, but in the 85th percentile for head circumference. Future sex symbol in the making, folks.

Until recently, I blamed his father for this. He's got a big head. Lots of men in his family do. I come from a family of pin-heads so it couldn't come from me. Must be his genes, right?

Noooot necessarily...

Exhibit A

That's a big melon. I have to come to terms with it and raise my head (slowly and with great effort under the weight) to accept my plight.

All hail bobble-heads! Long may we rave.

Down In My Heart to Stay

I recently got to spend a kid-free weekend with two dear friends, Nikki and Angie. We hadn't seen each other for 2 years and are all so busy that regular phone calls aren't practical, but no matter how long the separation, we always pick up where we left off, as if no time has passed. I hit the jackpot with these two.

Adorable...

One of them is a social worker for the Federal Bureau of Prisons. She's gorgeous, smart as a whip, cares deeply about people and can find the redemption and humor in most situations. Everything I know about bad-naked, I learned from her. The other is a current stay-at-home mama and former Pediatric Occupational Therapist with a heart as big as her home state. She's also gorgeous, can spot a good beer at 20 paces and I've never cried alone in her presence.

We did it all and we did nothing. Apparently, girlfriending draws a crowd. We drew conversation from strangers wherever we went. :) We ate good food, drank good wine and beer, got mani/pedis, lounged in our jammies and talked until we passed out. Literally.

We also got tattoed.

The first stroke.

I've been talking about getting a tattoo for two years and thinking about it longer. It's been something I wanted to do but have always been a tiny bit too chicken-gutted to follow through on. The original plan was to get one on my 35th birthday. Instead, I got a baby. At 36, I was nursing, so it got pushed back again. By the time 37 rolled around, I'd pretty much given myself up as yellow-bellied and let it go, but neither of these chicks would let me get away with it. Soo...

We did it!

Did I mention that the offical girlfriend code also includes a clause that prohibits getting body art alone? It's a subset of the "no crying alone" clause.

It was so great! I give props to Sarah, our tattoo artist at Hearts of Fire Tattoo in Springfield, MO--she patiently accommodated each of our choices and gave creative ideas if we hit a rut. She was also quick and steady-handed. We got tattoos that reflected our personalities and that were meaningful to us, at a good price. My tattoo is Hebrew and is pronounced simcha. It means joy, or joyful. It's used in one of my favorite Old Testament scriptures, Zephaniah 3:17. The reasons behind the other girls' tatts aren't mine to tell, so I won't. :)

People say that getting tattooed is addictive, which could be true. Nikki was planning her second before the first was done, and this was Ang's 3rd rodeo. As for me? I think I'm probably good for now. I got the best of what I wanted out of that single experience and the body art is the least of it.

Frazzle Dazzle

Due to childcare issues beyond my control, I've needed to stay home with the man-cub for the last two days. He's been frustrated with the amount of attention that I've been devoting to my work and has decided to let me know it.

He just put his entire foot into a glass of juice. That I was drinking. On purpose. My only response has been to consider drinking what's left in there. You know, so I don't waste it.

I think it's time to go back to the office now.