Mother of the Year
I am SO not in the running for Mother of the Year. When BabyGirl first started talking a few months ago, “pizza” and “Ba Ba” (SpongeBob) were two of her first words, after “Mama” and “kitty”. You think she’s been allowed to watch too much TV with her older siblings while Mama orders pizza for dinner? Shame! At least she acts like a sweet, well-parented child. Well, she did.
Just got back from an eventful grocery shopping trip with BabyGirl. When we first walked in, every person in sight was saying hello to her or telling me how cute she is. She’s one of those pretty babies that people love to smile at and talk to. She’s learned to say “Hi” in that breathy Marilyn Monroe voice and flirt mercilessly with the other shoppers. She was singing “Twinkle Twinkle” and doing her baby sign language to point out the bananas, apples, and cheese. She was playing the Perfect Baby part to the T.
Until we got to the International foods aisle. I picked up a few boxes of Pocky’s–a Japanese snack. These are tiny sticks of cookie dipped in chocolate or strawberry coating. Once she saw those, she started to sweetly sign “please”. I know, I probably sound like an idiot talking to the 20 month old like she’ll understand. I’m sure people around me were probably rolling their eyes. But I tried to explain to her that we couldn’t open them until we had paid. She did the “please” sign more adamantly. I said no. She threw her little curly blond head back and started shrieking. I made her calm down and sit quietly for a moment. After she please-ed again and was polite, I went to the checkout and bought the Pocky’s so we could open them and have some as we shopped.
(Of course, it’s never so easy in my head. I’m questioning if she really got the message that we bought them because she was quiet and polite, or does she just remember that screaming=snacks? Should I have popped her little diapered tush? Or can I be just as effective by withdrawing my attention? All the while, I’m reminding myself that I have four older kids that are (usually) polite and (usually) well-behaved. Could I really screw this one up too badly?? It has been ten years since I’ve done this stage, though–am I handling it the same way as I did with the quads?)
OK, crisis averted. Moving on. She gives me another please sign. Then she hands me a can of evaporated milk from the cart. She doesn’t drink canned milk, why does she want it? I tell her (I know, I’m explaining too much to her) that we can’t open it. Another little tantrum. Now all the people who thought she was a doll before are looking at me with that “can’t you control your kid?” look. Oh, look! SpongeBob Cheez-Its! Wouldn’t she just love holding those while we shop? I try not be embarrassed that my 20 month old can sing the SpongeBob theme song. Admittedly, with only the word “Ba”, but the tune is definitely recognizable. Ever since the Academy of Pediatrics came out years ago saying that toddlers watch too much TV, I’ve been sensitive about my kids showing off their broad knowledge of children’s programming.
We’re happy now! Singing about Ba Ba and holding the crackers. I run to pick up the pork chops. As I walk back to the cart, she throws me another “please”. Raw meat?! What’s with this kid? I’m just ready to get out of here. This time, I give up the long explanation and just say, “Nope, sorry.” More screaming and kicking. More dirty looks. More of me trying to save face and telling her that this is unacceptable and rude behavior. That doesn’t seem to sink in.
Frozen Chicken. Please. Wanh! Cookie dough. Please. Wanh! Air freshener. Please. Wanh! Yogurt. PLEASE! WANHHHHH! BabyGirl throws one of the yogurt containers onto the floor and it pops open and splatters. I’m in the line for check out by now. Everyone quietly watches how I’m going to handle this little wild one. I grab all those dirty tissues that seem to gather in my purse and wipe up the smear of yogurt on the floor. What can I do? I start pointing out other kids in line. BabyGirl loves babies and kids. Look at that big girl, she’s being so polite while she shops with her mama! BabyGirl might as well be making a big “W” with her fingers–for WHATEVER. Now, all she wants are those SpongeBob crackers and I’ve gone and given them to that strange lady at the counter who is handling all our groceries.
Once we’re out of the store, with no audience, it’s like Perfect Baby has returned. Cooing, smiling, giggling, aren’t I so cute? Until she drops the Ba Ba crackers and decides she wants something that she can’t say and I can’t figure out. We’re into that stage where she makes that lovely noise that’s something like this “Uuuunnnghhhh, gasp, uuuuunnnnghhhh, gasp, uuuunnnnghhhh, gasp . . .” You mothers know exactly what I’m talking about.
The benefit of having parented before is that I know stages like this are temporary and normal. I know she’s not sick or imbalanced. But it is still a bit unnerving to have a happy, good-natured baby go bad so quickly. I’m just going to stay stocked up on goldfish, wine, and anti-depressants (guess which ones are for me). This, too, shall pass.
I FREAKIN’ LOVE these sparkle-y princess shoes!
Sew Like the Wind!
It all started with a bunch of fabric I “won” on ebay years ago that was going to become bedspreads for the Dear Daughters’ beds. Really cute lattice-work pattern. Creamy yellow background with a denim-y blue design. I tell you, the bedspreads that were living in my head (ya know, in the beautifully decorated, eternally clean and dusted, peaceful house that lives there, too) were to DIE for! I’m a great “Idea Gal”, but not a good “Action Gal”. Which is why the fabric sat in a blue Rubbermaid container and journeyed from Texas to Virginia to Germany and back to Virginia. When one of the ladies at the church said they were looking for fabric for new curtains after the “big renovations”, I decided it was time to free the fabric to the universe and let someone actually enjoy it.
I took it to the church and my church friend loved it. She proceeded to tell me how she wanted the curtains to look. Oh. . . As in, you want ME to make them? I have a way to describe my sewing skills. I am a “straight-line-and-Halloween-costume” sewer. If it involves felt or glitter, I’m all over it. I told her this, but she felt confident that since the curtains were just a straight shot, I could do it. What the heck. It’s just my crafting street cred on the line here. I made the curtains and they turned out very cute. I broke my arm patting myself on the back when I put them up and everyone complimented them.
Because of my inability to say “No”, I then wound up sewing new cushion covers for the rocking chairs in the church nursery. Wait. What just happened? OK, I was hanging the curtains, then I was giving my friend the extra fabric for “someone” to make the cushion covers. Then, mysteriously, I was walking to the van carrying the fabric AND the cushions. (Checking watch.) Did I just lose time? This church friend totally needs to go into politics. She can make you feel like you can conquer the world. She said confidently, “All you have to do is seam rip the covers off and use those as patterns.” Notice she was NOT carrying the fabric and covers to her car when she said this.
Being the responsible and motivated adult that I am, I put the cushions next to the sewing machine on the far end of the dining table and promptly moved on to slay other dragons in my life. Come Saturday, I realized that people working in the nursery might want to sit on something more than springs and I’d better get sewing. Ripped seams, used old covers as patterns, followed the lines, BAM! New covers. I’m beginning to feel pretty confident in my sewing abilities.
So confident, that when I took the cushions in to the church, I talked myself into yet another project. A privacy curtain to go around the breastfeeding area. I decided that to brighten that corner up, the curtain needed to have a strip of netting or other fabric that would allow the light in around the very top of the curtain. I’m just getting cocky now, aren’t I? And, I start picturing putting a little ruffle above this window. A pleated ruffle that would match the window curtains. Yep, just keep digging that hole deeper, why don’t you?
So, onward and upward with the sewing projects. Just do me a favor, kay? If I start making little outfits and dressing up the cat, take away my sewing machine. That’s just one toe over a line I’d rather not cross.
Konichiwa, Y’all!
As I mentioned in a previous post, we are scheduled to move to Japan this summer. Being a military family, we are familiar with moving and new places. But Japan?? It’s just so . . . foreign! It was not on our list of “Places We’d Really Like the Military Send Us.” We had England, Germany, Turkey, Italy. The personnel office told us that if we were willing to move to all those overseas places, it was assumed we’d be happy to go Japan. That was something of a mental jump–into another hemisphere!
We’re actually going to be on the island of Okinawa. It’s about 60 miles long and 6-8 miles wide. I’ve got island fever already. And it’s hot and sticky. I’ve spent more summers in the American South than I care to remember, so I’ve done hot and humid. A friend who used to live on Okinawa gave me this uplifting description: “The heat isn’t quite as bad as Mississippi.” Oh, THAT makes me feel so much better. Guess I can put our snow pants and Gore-tex parkas into storage.
Trying to learn a little about Okinawa, I found out that they have the longest life expectancy of any people in the world. There are 457 people in Okinawa over the age of 100. They are all going to be driving in front of me, going about 20 mph in the fast lane, I’m sure. Apparently, old people doing amazing things is part of public entertainment over there. A 96-year old man won a boxing match against a 30-something former boxer. Some 105-year old killed a poisonous snake with a fly swatter. If you’re gonna be old, you might as well stay a bad-ass as long as you can.
With five kids, it’s hard trying to find a house big enough in the US. On foreign soil, the search for a home can become comical. Apparently, a lot of the housing on Okinawa takes the form of high-rise apartment buildings. The grandparents just got the kids a trampoline for Christmas, so we must have a yard. And I can’t stand the idea of someone clomping around on the floor above me while I’m trying to get the baby to nap. Guess I’m just Grinch-y that way. We’re already limiting our housing choices and we haven’t even gotten our paperwork. And the thought of putting the cat in that tiny carrier and keeping her under the airplane seat in front of me for hours and hours . . . Serenity NOW!
At least the Baghdaddy will be home by then and the kids will be six years older than our last overseas move. That leaves the frighteningly unpredictable factor of BabyGirl. A two-year old on a flight from the West coast to Asia. I’m thinking some Dimetapp might come in handy. Or a metric tonne of Goldfish. Or maybe just let her be in charge of the cat. She’s CRAZY about the cat. BabyGirl would be thrilled, the cat would hate me forever. And that would change the cat’s behavior how?
I’m off to practice killing venomous snakes with a fly swatter. You think the Pampered Chef’s Super Swat (with included dustpan and tweezers) would give me an unfair advantage?
Off, Damn Socks!
First, an admission. With the Baghdaddy in Iraq, BabyGirl has been sleeping in my bed occasionally every night. She goes to sleep in her crib, no problem. Around 12 or 1 every night, she wakes up and cries. I don’t want her to disturb the big kids who need to get up for school, so I bring her to my bed and she goes straight to sleep. I know, I know. I used to mock those people with kids in their beds. I’d think, “Sheesh, show a little backbone and let them cry a little. They’ll go back to sleep in their cribs. It’s called parenting.” Now, all that has come around to bite me in my hypocritical butt. But she’s just so warm and baby-smelling and all. And my bed is so empty with no Baghdaddy to snuggle with. I’m sure I could have a lot of excuses if you give me a few more minutes, so shut up.
So, BabyGirl is sweetly snuggled between me and the mental-patient-looking bedrail. Around 2:30 am, this thought process must have occurred in her rapidly developing brain: “I absolutely, positively, do NOT want those socks on my feet. They have got to come off.” Yank (sock #1). Yank (sock #2). “Oh, wait. Maybe I did want those. Crap. Now they’re off. And while I DO have opposable thumbs, they are still a little wonky, so there’s no way for me to get these back on my chunky feet. Who in the world could help me? Hey, Mama is right here! Maybe if I ask her nicely . . .WWWWAAAANNNNHHHHH!” Socks go back on. “Oh, yeah, that’s nice. Toes nice and toasty. Binkie in mouth, blankie in fist. I’m totally good. What is WITH these socks? Why are they even on my feet? I don’t want them there. Wonder if I could just take them off.” Yank. Yank. “Yes, socks are off! No, wait, I wanted the socks on, right? Now what am I going to do? Hmmm, I think I got results the last time I screamed like I was being branded. Yes, I remember, Mama came to my rescue. Let’s try that again . . .” Socks go back on. “Socks, socks, socks! I love my socks! I love my socks! I HATE my socks! Maybe if I tugged them, they’d come off.” Yank. Yank. “Yay! No socks! Uh-oh, I think I wanted those. Oh, Mama is going to laaaaaaugh about this one–she’s got a great sense of humor. See, this is so funny. I thought I wanted my socks off, but really, I wanted them on. Isn’t that hilarious? Let me make that same noise to wake up Mama so she can share in my little laugh. No, really, she’s gonna think this is soooo funny.”
This went on for a couple of hours. It’s a good thing she’s so cute, or I’d have left her on the front porch for the early edition paper carrier to take home. Around 4:30, I finally figured if she had a little bit of milk in her tummy, she might forget all about what was going on from the ankles down. Worked like a charm. Why can’t I think to do that when she first wakes up? I always feel like an idiot realizing two hours later, “Oh, I guess she was just hungry.” Bad mommy. So between the nighttime performance and the nasty freezing rain, it’s a great nap day today. This time, she’ll be in her crib.
Though, she is so warm and baby-smelling and all . . .
