You know what really enhances the retail therapy experience, especially when you know that shelling out plenty of money on an overhaul of your t-shirt wardrobe isn't the most financially sound decision you've made in, oh, a year or so?
Have a three year old accompany you to the dressing room. She will be sure to yell "OH MOMMY THAT FITS YOU JUST PERFECTLY! AND IT'S BLUE! I LOVE BLUE!"
That's right, Zoey. I'll take one in each color.
I'm just saying.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
*BANG*
So. I am fully prepared for many of you to read the following post and back slowly, slowly away from me, possibly forever, because how can one person be such a magnet for bad luck? And won't it start to rub off on those around me? And you know what? I WOULDN'T BLAME YOU. I'm pretty sure my own mother will start screening my phone calls very soon. If she hasn't already. But I would encourage you to read on, before you un-follow my blog and block my number from your cell phones, because any story involving picking shards of glass from my underwear in a random Dairy Queen bathroom while my child looks on in horror warrants a good chuckle before never talking to me again, right?
Now that I have your attention.
After a few mental health days spent up north at my mom's house, Zoey and I were heading home on Wednesday afternoon along 167 somewhere near Auburn. We were about 20 minutes from home, it was pouring down rain, I had to pee like no other, and Zoey had fallen asleep somewhere back near Renton. So there was no way I was making a pit stop. So there I am, cruising along in rainy traffic, when I hear a loud *BANG* and suddenly I am driving while covered in glass. And rain. The rain and muddy road splash streaming in from my now-shattered driver's side window. Glass. Everywhere. I continue to drive this way for, oh, maybe 10 seconds (one of my few redeaming qualities is that I can generally maintain safe driving skills until pulled over to the side of the road, no matter what the situation) thinking 'how did the happen? Glass? WHAT THE F**K?' At which point I somehow manage to maneuver to the skinny right-hand shoulder and call 911. Seriously, I thought I had been shot at. (And Zoey? Slept through the whole thing.) I kind of lost my cool with the 911 operator and I'm amazed she could get the full story out of me, what with my wobbly and shaky voice. She said she'd send a state trooper my way. And then she hung up.
And then I completely lost my cool.
You know those phone calls you make to your mother, even in adulthood, when things just really aren't going your way, and you need someone to listen to you have a complete meltdown over the phone? Or is this an activity that only I engage in at the age of 31? Anyway. I'm standing on the side of the freeway being sprayed by mud and water by passing semi trucks, STILL COVERED IN GLASS SHARDS, shaking so hard I can barely dial the phone, but did manage to get my mom on the line. The early stages of the conversation went something like this:
Me: Moooo-oom?
Mom: Amy? Are you okay?
Me: *sobbing*
Mom: Amy? AMY?!? What's going on?? Are you okay?!
Me: *sobbing*
Mom: Amy. Amy. You need to calm down. YOU NEED TO STOP CRYING.
Me: *hysterical sobbing. followed by shaking hysterical sobbing*
We continued in this manner until I could calm down enough to tell her what happened. And then Zoey woke up and began to cry and I started to wonder where in the hell was this state trooper, considering I had seen something like 34 of them along the way pulling people over for speeding, and where was one when you could feel itchy shards of glass migrating down your underpants and your daughter was crying because she wants Mommy to get back in the car and drive her home?
Seriously. It took him forever to get there. And when he did he was very kind but the only information he could offer me was that he found no evidence someone had shot at me (good? yes?) and then he called a tow truck. (After asking 'would you like to try and drive it home?' ARE YOU KIDDING ME.)
Another long wait.
The middle-aged, somewhat scruffy looking tow-truck driver who showed up something like nine hours later? Was my knight in shining armor. Took one look a the car, at me, said cheerfully 'well, this doesn't look good!' and proceeded to efficiently bundle Zoey and I in to the cab of his truck ('don't forget to grab her blankie, now, she'll probably want that') and quickly scooped up my poor, craggy-glassed Toyota Corolla behind his massive red tow truck and we were off.
And people? DID I EVER HAVE TO PEE AT THIS POINT. And my back was seriously itchy. I had shaken as much of the glass off as possible on the side of the road, but damn. The itching.
Once we were moving in the direction of the auto glass place someone at State Farm had directed me to, and Mr. Tow-Truck Driver was pleasantly chit-chatting about needing to take his dose of allergy medication because he had missed a dose this morning and you know? If you miss another pill those miserable allergies, they'll just sneak up on you, I worked up the nerve to ask if we could possibly stop somewhere to use the bathroom. 'Well, sure! I could use something to drink anyway! There's a Dairy Queen right up the street here!'
I am not joking when I say he whipped his truck and my lagging car into and around the parking lot of Dairy Queen like nobody's business.
After ushering Zoey and I in to the restaurant, we quickly found the women's bathroom. And let me tell you. YOU HAVEN'T LIVED UNTIL YOU PULL DOWN YOUR PANTS TO PEE AND HAVE TO SCRAPE SHARDS OF GLASS OUT OF YOUR UNDERWEAR. Even I could appreciate, in the moment, what an awesome story this could make once I could stop with the shaking and the crying. Zoey watched me itching and scraping while leaning against the (probably filthy) wall and only commented 'oh, Mommy....'
It was a long day. Looooong. Moral of the story?
1. Toyota, your acceleration and computer mechanisms may suck, BUT THANK GOD FOR INSTALLING SAFETY GLASS. So you've done something right. I guess I could be lounging around in an ICU somewhere right now, recovering from a head injury, had the still-unknown flying object actually made it through the window and connected with my skull.
2. Even in the midst of the shittiest day on record, you will still find hope that not all of humanity is out to get you. Like Mr. Tow-Truck Driver. The awesome people at my State Farm office. The even cooler employees of Genuine Auto Glass, who fixed my window in less than three hours.
3. Situations like these present themselves, perhaps, when you're sitting around wondering what to blog about.
But I'll still understand if you don't want to hang out with me anymore.
Now that I have your attention.
After a few mental health days spent up north at my mom's house, Zoey and I were heading home on Wednesday afternoon along 167 somewhere near Auburn. We were about 20 minutes from home, it was pouring down rain, I had to pee like no other, and Zoey had fallen asleep somewhere back near Renton. So there was no way I was making a pit stop. So there I am, cruising along in rainy traffic, when I hear a loud *BANG* and suddenly I am driving while covered in glass. And rain. The rain and muddy road splash streaming in from my now-shattered driver's side window. Glass. Everywhere. I continue to drive this way for, oh, maybe 10 seconds (one of my few redeaming qualities is that I can generally maintain safe driving skills until pulled over to the side of the road, no matter what the situation) thinking 'how did the happen? Glass? WHAT THE F**K?' At which point I somehow manage to maneuver to the skinny right-hand shoulder and call 911. Seriously, I thought I had been shot at. (And Zoey? Slept through the whole thing.) I kind of lost my cool with the 911 operator and I'm amazed she could get the full story out of me, what with my wobbly and shaky voice. She said she'd send a state trooper my way. And then she hung up.
And then I completely lost my cool.
You know those phone calls you make to your mother, even in adulthood, when things just really aren't going your way, and you need someone to listen to you have a complete meltdown over the phone? Or is this an activity that only I engage in at the age of 31? Anyway. I'm standing on the side of the freeway being sprayed by mud and water by passing semi trucks, STILL COVERED IN GLASS SHARDS, shaking so hard I can barely dial the phone, but did manage to get my mom on the line. The early stages of the conversation went something like this:
Me: Moooo-oom?
Mom: Amy? Are you okay?
Me: *sobbing*
Mom: Amy? AMY?!? What's going on?? Are you okay?!
Me: *sobbing*
Mom: Amy. Amy. You need to calm down. YOU NEED TO STOP CRYING.
Me: *hysterical sobbing. followed by shaking hysterical sobbing*
We continued in this manner until I could calm down enough to tell her what happened. And then Zoey woke up and began to cry and I started to wonder where in the hell was this state trooper, considering I had seen something like 34 of them along the way pulling people over for speeding, and where was one when you could feel itchy shards of glass migrating down your underpants and your daughter was crying because she wants Mommy to get back in the car and drive her home?
Seriously. It took him forever to get there. And when he did he was very kind but the only information he could offer me was that he found no evidence someone had shot at me (good? yes?) and then he called a tow truck. (After asking 'would you like to try and drive it home?' ARE YOU KIDDING ME.)
Another long wait.
The middle-aged, somewhat scruffy looking tow-truck driver who showed up something like nine hours later? Was my knight in shining armor. Took one look a the car, at me, said cheerfully 'well, this doesn't look good!' and proceeded to efficiently bundle Zoey and I in to the cab of his truck ('don't forget to grab her blankie, now, she'll probably want that') and quickly scooped up my poor, craggy-glassed Toyota Corolla behind his massive red tow truck and we were off.
And people? DID I EVER HAVE TO PEE AT THIS POINT. And my back was seriously itchy. I had shaken as much of the glass off as possible on the side of the road, but damn. The itching.
Once we were moving in the direction of the auto glass place someone at State Farm had directed me to, and Mr. Tow-Truck Driver was pleasantly chit-chatting about needing to take his dose of allergy medication because he had missed a dose this morning and you know? If you miss another pill those miserable allergies, they'll just sneak up on you, I worked up the nerve to ask if we could possibly stop somewhere to use the bathroom. 'Well, sure! I could use something to drink anyway! There's a Dairy Queen right up the street here!'
I am not joking when I say he whipped his truck and my lagging car into and around the parking lot of Dairy Queen like nobody's business.
After ushering Zoey and I in to the restaurant, we quickly found the women's bathroom. And let me tell you. YOU HAVEN'T LIVED UNTIL YOU PULL DOWN YOUR PANTS TO PEE AND HAVE TO SCRAPE SHARDS OF GLASS OUT OF YOUR UNDERWEAR. Even I could appreciate, in the moment, what an awesome story this could make once I could stop with the shaking and the crying. Zoey watched me itching and scraping while leaning against the (probably filthy) wall and only commented 'oh, Mommy....'
It was a long day. Looooong. Moral of the story?
1. Toyota, your acceleration and computer mechanisms may suck, BUT THANK GOD FOR INSTALLING SAFETY GLASS. So you've done something right. I guess I could be lounging around in an ICU somewhere right now, recovering from a head injury, had the still-unknown flying object actually made it through the window and connected with my skull.
2. Even in the midst of the shittiest day on record, you will still find hope that not all of humanity is out to get you. Like Mr. Tow-Truck Driver. The awesome people at my State Farm office. The even cooler employees of Genuine Auto Glass, who fixed my window in less than three hours.
3. Situations like these present themselves, perhaps, when you're sitting around wondering what to blog about.
But I'll still understand if you don't want to hang out with me anymore.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Star light, Star bright...
The stars have been out at night lately. Has anyone else noticed this?
A recent streak of freakishly clear and beautiful (if very, very chilly) weather has meant you can actually see the stars come out, if you look close enough. I may have missed this phenomenon (yet another reminder that YES, SPRING IS COMING AND HOPEFULLY THAT MEANS EVERYONE WILL BE HEALTHIER) were it not for one of the Berenstain Bears books we have on repeat at bedtime lately...I forget which one, maybe the one where Mama Bear gets all cranky about her cubs zoning out in front of the TV all the time, and makes them go outside and watch the stars come out instead? Or the Christmas edition, where Sister Bear is staring at the stars on Christmas Eve, wondering how Santa will deliver her presents, what with the absence of a chimney in their house, and the sky magically clouds over and delivers snow at that very moment and you find yourself rolling your eyes and kind of snorting until you look down at your kid and realize she is buying this, hook, line and sinker?
Anyway. It was one of those.
So Zoey and I went out one night this week to stare at the stars and the moon for a few minutes, right before bed. We talked about the different shapes of the moon. Tried to guess which star was the brightest. Made our wishes and went back inside.
The next night, while in the bath tub, Zoey asked if we could have another "wishing star party".
Me: Party? What kind of party?
Zoey: You know, Mommy! I get out of the bath, and put on my jammies, and you wrap me in a blanket, and make me wear a hat, and we go outside and look at the stars! And the moon!
Oh.
THAT kind of party.
Preschoolers rock.
A recent streak of freakishly clear and beautiful (if very, very chilly) weather has meant you can actually see the stars come out, if you look close enough. I may have missed this phenomenon (yet another reminder that YES, SPRING IS COMING AND HOPEFULLY THAT MEANS EVERYONE WILL BE HEALTHIER) were it not for one of the Berenstain Bears books we have on repeat at bedtime lately...I forget which one, maybe the one where Mama Bear gets all cranky about her cubs zoning out in front of the TV all the time, and makes them go outside and watch the stars come out instead? Or the Christmas edition, where Sister Bear is staring at the stars on Christmas Eve, wondering how Santa will deliver her presents, what with the absence of a chimney in their house, and the sky magically clouds over and delivers snow at that very moment and you find yourself rolling your eyes and kind of snorting until you look down at your kid and realize she is buying this, hook, line and sinker?
Anyway. It was one of those.
So Zoey and I went out one night this week to stare at the stars and the moon for a few minutes, right before bed. We talked about the different shapes of the moon. Tried to guess which star was the brightest. Made our wishes and went back inside.
The next night, while in the bath tub, Zoey asked if we could have another "wishing star party".
Me: Party? What kind of party?
Zoey: You know, Mommy! I get out of the bath, and put on my jammies, and you wrap me in a blanket, and make me wear a hat, and we go outside and look at the stars! And the moon!
Oh.
THAT kind of party.
Preschoolers rock.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
On the mend. Again.
I meant to post an update last night before going to bed...at 7:30 p.m....but it seemed my laptop had been commandeered by a certain three year old who now believes that computers are for watching episodes of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and, occasionally, Handy Manny. So I tried to sneak out of bed early this morning, and guess who popped up automatically next to me, asking for hot milk and snacks?
That's right, people. I've got a nester laying right next to me as I type this post.
We followed up with Zoey's pediatrician yesterday and found that Zoey is now the proud owner of yet another ear infection (because why not?), her left lung still sounds 'junky' (technical medical term), BUT she seems to be improving. She's definitely perking up (read: she's crabby) and I'm starting to feel like if I don't escape the house without her at some point today, I might go crazy. We are able to switch the inhaler to three or four times a day sans 3 a.m. treatments, which meant we all slept considerably better last night. We crawled in to my bed with books and cartoons on the laptop a little past 7 p.m. but managed to stay awake until 9:00...you know, because it was a Friday night, and that's just how exciting we are around here.
We will lie low this weekend and I'm sure that, come Monday, I'll be more than ready to go back to work. My next order of business today is to find a babysitter for tonight, so Bryan and I can go to Justin and Angela's for dinner. Because I'm fairly certain they won't want a hacking, green-snotted, somewhat-whiny preschooler leaving a bread-crumb-trail of germs all over their house. Just a guess.
That's right, people. I've got a nester laying right next to me as I type this post.
We followed up with Zoey's pediatrician yesterday and found that Zoey is now the proud owner of yet another ear infection (because why not?), her left lung still sounds 'junky' (technical medical term), BUT she seems to be improving. She's definitely perking up (read: she's crabby) and I'm starting to feel like if I don't escape the house without her at some point today, I might go crazy. We are able to switch the inhaler to three or four times a day sans 3 a.m. treatments, which meant we all slept considerably better last night. We crawled in to my bed with books and cartoons on the laptop a little past 7 p.m. but managed to stay awake until 9:00...you know, because it was a Friday night, and that's just how exciting we are around here.
We will lie low this weekend and I'm sure that, come Monday, I'll be more than ready to go back to work. My next order of business today is to find a babysitter for tonight, so Bryan and I can go to Justin and Angela's for dinner. Because I'm fairly certain they won't want a hacking, green-snotted, somewhat-whiny preschooler leaving a bread-crumb-trail of germs all over their house. Just a guess.
Friday, February 12, 2010
A word on pneumonia
So. Pneumonia. Yeah.
Sorry, guys, it's been a long few days and I'm not feeling all that articulate, although with my eyes feeling like they've been lined in sandpaper, YOU WOULD THINK I'd be sleeping right now, but I'm not. Because it's 6:47 a.m. and at 7 a.m. I have to wake Zoey up yet again for another go-round with her Albuterol inhaler that she hates and which will leave her feeling wired and jittery and still wheezy for at least an hour to follow.
Should I back up?
Wednesday afternoon, the cold Zoey had been playing around with for nearly a week seemed to take a turn for the worse. We came home from the library and she picked listlessly at her lunch, started running a fever. Eventually the fever cranked up to 103 degrees. Her cough got worse. We camped out in my bed, she with the laptop streaming endless rounds of Mr. Rogers and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, I with my new book. I figured she just had a bug. It would run it's course and in a couple days she'd be better.
Thursday. Yesterday? Yes. Yesterday. I left work early to come home and relieve Bryan, so HE could go to work. Zoey began complaining that her ear hurt. Ah, an ear infection! Right? So we trundled off to the pediatrician's office, where we spent NEARLY TWO HOURS with a very competent and very sweet nurse practitioner and her nurse practitioner-student-sidekick who both informed me that, while Zoey's ears looked red (not infected), the real problem seemed to be her lungs. Decreased breath sounds, wheezing, what sounded like snap-crackle-popping each time she took a deep breath. We stayed for two rounds of breathing treatments and, when her lungs still sounded junky, left for the medical imaging office down the road for a chest x-ray.
We went to Target to pick up her Albuterol inhaler and two new Dora books because seriously, people? Zoey took two breathing treatments AND an x-ray like it was nothing. 'Bring it' seemed to be her motto. Totally worthy of two books. Okay, so they were both inexpensive. But whatever.
The nurse called later to confirm that it is, in fact, pneumonia. She reinforced how important it was for Zoey to use her inhaler EVERY FOUR HOURS for the next 24 hours, and to follow up back at the pediatrician's office tomorrow. (Today? Right. Friday. Right?) I went back to the Target pharmacy (where they are beginning to know my name) for a $75 course of antibiotics.
Returned home to find my kid bouncing off the walls, post-Albuterol-and-Tylenol.
The thing about Albuterol is that it makes you feel all keyed up. Jittery. TOTALLY WIRED. I know this is a side effect, and yet, I was still dreading getting up every four hours to wake my child and make her jittery IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.
Let's just say the Albuterol didn't disappoint.
We were all sound asleep at 11 p.m. when the first alarm went off. Zoey was most displeased at being woken from her recent crash off the Tylenol high, and I can't even say how much of the inhaler she ACTUALLY inhaled. Must have been enough, since we were awake and fidgety until almost 2 a.m. Zoey couldn't get comfortable and I couldn't doze off, either, because a) I was trying to sleep sitting up with her in my lap because that seemed to relieve the ear pain and b) I was too paranoid about listening to her wheezy little breath sounds. I'm sure we nodded off right before 3 a.m. Which made the 3 a.m. alarm all the more pleasant. BUT we were back to sleep by 4 a.m. And when my alarm went off again at 5:00 to remind me to get up for work? Right. Not happening. I re-set for 6 a.m., called in sick, and went back to bed. But didn't fall back asleep (obviously), because here I am. Typing away without my little bug resting in her makeshift nest beside me.
I am hoping for plenty of rest for all of us today, that Zoey's follow-up appointment is uneventful, and that by tomorrow, she is feeling much better.
Sorry, guys, it's been a long few days and I'm not feeling all that articulate, although with my eyes feeling like they've been lined in sandpaper, YOU WOULD THINK I'd be sleeping right now, but I'm not. Because it's 6:47 a.m. and at 7 a.m. I have to wake Zoey up yet again for another go-round with her Albuterol inhaler that she hates and which will leave her feeling wired and jittery and still wheezy for at least an hour to follow.
Should I back up?
Wednesday afternoon, the cold Zoey had been playing around with for nearly a week seemed to take a turn for the worse. We came home from the library and she picked listlessly at her lunch, started running a fever. Eventually the fever cranked up to 103 degrees. Her cough got worse. We camped out in my bed, she with the laptop streaming endless rounds of Mr. Rogers and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, I with my new book. I figured she just had a bug. It would run it's course and in a couple days she'd be better.
Thursday. Yesterday? Yes. Yesterday. I left work early to come home and relieve Bryan, so HE could go to work. Zoey began complaining that her ear hurt. Ah, an ear infection! Right? So we trundled off to the pediatrician's office, where we spent NEARLY TWO HOURS with a very competent and very sweet nurse practitioner and her nurse practitioner-student-sidekick who both informed me that, while Zoey's ears looked red (not infected), the real problem seemed to be her lungs. Decreased breath sounds, wheezing, what sounded like snap-crackle-popping each time she took a deep breath. We stayed for two rounds of breathing treatments and, when her lungs still sounded junky, left for the medical imaging office down the road for a chest x-ray.
We went to Target to pick up her Albuterol inhaler and two new Dora books because seriously, people? Zoey took two breathing treatments AND an x-ray like it was nothing. 'Bring it' seemed to be her motto. Totally worthy of two books. Okay, so they were both inexpensive. But whatever.
The nurse called later to confirm that it is, in fact, pneumonia. She reinforced how important it was for Zoey to use her inhaler EVERY FOUR HOURS for the next 24 hours, and to follow up back at the pediatrician's office tomorrow. (Today? Right. Friday. Right?) I went back to the Target pharmacy (where they are beginning to know my name) for a $75 course of antibiotics.
Returned home to find my kid bouncing off the walls, post-Albuterol-and-Tylenol.
The thing about Albuterol is that it makes you feel all keyed up. Jittery. TOTALLY WIRED. I know this is a side effect, and yet, I was still dreading getting up every four hours to wake my child and make her jittery IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.
Let's just say the Albuterol didn't disappoint.
We were all sound asleep at 11 p.m. when the first alarm went off. Zoey was most displeased at being woken from her recent crash off the Tylenol high, and I can't even say how much of the inhaler she ACTUALLY inhaled. Must have been enough, since we were awake and fidgety until almost 2 a.m. Zoey couldn't get comfortable and I couldn't doze off, either, because a) I was trying to sleep sitting up with her in my lap because that seemed to relieve the ear pain and b) I was too paranoid about listening to her wheezy little breath sounds. I'm sure we nodded off right before 3 a.m. Which made the 3 a.m. alarm all the more pleasant. BUT we were back to sleep by 4 a.m. And when my alarm went off again at 5:00 to remind me to get up for work? Right. Not happening. I re-set for 6 a.m., called in sick, and went back to bed. But didn't fall back asleep (obviously), because here I am. Typing away without my little bug resting in her makeshift nest beside me.
I am hoping for plenty of rest for all of us today, that Zoey's follow-up appointment is uneventful, and that by tomorrow, she is feeling much better.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Sleeping in is for sissies
Zoey has finally foiled my scheme.
You know, the one wherein I wake up ridiculously early in the morning, sneak out of bed and shower quickly, so that I might have some Time To Myself before heading out to work? Yeah. That one.
Yesterday she came sneaking out to the kitchen at 5:30 a.m. I made her a "nest" of blankets on the floor by my desk and told her it was "quiet time". Which we all know means "email time". Apparently this was a huge mistake. I made her too comfortable! This morning she nearly scared the shit out of me--I pulled back the shower curtain and THERE SHE WAS, quietly perched on her pink stool, clutching her blanket and two stuffed animals, JUST WAITING FOR ME. 'Hi, Mommy. I just want to lay on the blankets next to you again.'
Luckily, I can often get her in to bed by 7 p.m., what with this new trend toward waking before dawn. This gives me a couple hours at night when Bryan is still at work and Zoey is sound asleep, and I can ignore the laundry and hunker down on the couch with whatever I happen to be reading at the moment. This keeps me sane.
And if it weren't for these early mornings together, I would miss the following conversation, and that would be sad.
Zoey: Mommy, I need some hot milk!
Me: Okay. (Going to the kitchen, pouring the milk, while Zoey follows after me.)
Zoey: Mommy! I wanted to help you pour the milk!
Me: Oh. Sorry. Sometimes Mommy forgets things. Especially before her coffee kicks in.
Zoey: (Savage tone of voice.) Well. You'd better follow the rules next time, buttercup!
Me: *Snickering* Uh, yeah. I'll try and remember that next time. What are you going to do at school today:
Zoey: I don't know.
Me: Play with your friends? Do you think Kelly will be there?
Zoey: Yeah.
Me: Gabrielle?
Zoey: Yeah.
Me: Xavier?
Zoey. Yeah.
Me: Malachai?
Zoey: No. He has 'pointments today.
Me: Ah. Malachai is a busy man, isn't he?
Zoey: Yeah.
So here we are, me typing away while Zoey lounges on her nest at my feet, pawing through several Little Critter books while softly singing 'If You're Happy and You Know It'. All before the sun comes up.
You know, the one wherein I wake up ridiculously early in the morning, sneak out of bed and shower quickly, so that I might have some Time To Myself before heading out to work? Yeah. That one.
Yesterday she came sneaking out to the kitchen at 5:30 a.m. I made her a "nest" of blankets on the floor by my desk and told her it was "quiet time". Which we all know means "email time". Apparently this was a huge mistake. I made her too comfortable! This morning she nearly scared the shit out of me--I pulled back the shower curtain and THERE SHE WAS, quietly perched on her pink stool, clutching her blanket and two stuffed animals, JUST WAITING FOR ME. 'Hi, Mommy. I just want to lay on the blankets next to you again.'
Luckily, I can often get her in to bed by 7 p.m., what with this new trend toward waking before dawn. This gives me a couple hours at night when Bryan is still at work and Zoey is sound asleep, and I can ignore the laundry and hunker down on the couch with whatever I happen to be reading at the moment. This keeps me sane.
And if it weren't for these early mornings together, I would miss the following conversation, and that would be sad.
Zoey: Mommy, I need some hot milk!
Me: Okay. (Going to the kitchen, pouring the milk, while Zoey follows after me.)
Zoey: Mommy! I wanted to help you pour the milk!
Me: Oh. Sorry. Sometimes Mommy forgets things. Especially before her coffee kicks in.
Zoey: (Savage tone of voice.) Well. You'd better follow the rules next time, buttercup!
Me: *Snickering* Uh, yeah. I'll try and remember that next time. What are you going to do at school today:
Zoey: I don't know.
Me: Play with your friends? Do you think Kelly will be there?
Zoey: Yeah.
Me: Gabrielle?
Zoey: Yeah.
Me: Xavier?
Zoey. Yeah.
Me: Malachai?
Zoey: No. He has 'pointments today.
Me: Ah. Malachai is a busy man, isn't he?
Zoey: Yeah.
So here we are, me typing away while Zoey lounges on her nest at my feet, pawing through several Little Critter books while softly singing 'If You're Happy and You Know It'. All before the sun comes up.
Monday, February 8, 2010
And you thought I was crazy
I can't decide whether to make this woman my new hero and fall on my knees in worship before her year's worth of planned out meals, or to agree with Alice and dismiss the entire idea as LUNACY.
Maybe this is what would happen to me if I didn't work full-time outside the home? Could I really take organization and adherence to coupon-clipping to this level of insanity? Would Bryan attempt to medicate me before it happened?
You be the judge.
Meal Planning for a Year: Crazy Talk?
Maybe this is what would happen to me if I didn't work full-time outside the home? Could I really take organization and adherence to coupon-clipping to this level of insanity? Would Bryan attempt to medicate me before it happened?
You be the judge.
Meal Planning for a Year: Crazy Talk?
Sunday, February 7, 2010
To Whom It May Concern. Bryan.
I know that our child is in the final throes of her potty training education. So it goes without saying that we will occasionally wake up in the middle of the night to the cries of "I PEED IN MY BED!!" I also appreciate your half-hearted attempts at stripping Zoey's bed at 2 a.m. and your completed effort at getting said child stripped, washed, and re-pajamaed.
However.
It seems there is one household rule which must be revisited.
CLOTHES SOAKED IN BODILY FLUIDS SHOULD NOT BE PLACED IN THE LAUNDRY CHUTE.
I totally get that you don't often (okay, ever) empty the laundry chute, and have therefore never experienced the pleasure of being greeted full-on in the face by urine-soaked size 4T Dora panties. I can guarantee you that peeling a pair of stinky underwear from your forehead only needs to happen ONCE before you will never again send something that belongs in a biohazard bag down the laundry chute.
So please, please, yet again...make note of the above Household Rule.
Thank you,
The Management
However.
It seems there is one household rule which must be revisited.
CLOTHES SOAKED IN BODILY FLUIDS SHOULD NOT BE PLACED IN THE LAUNDRY CHUTE.
I totally get that you don't often (okay, ever) empty the laundry chute, and have therefore never experienced the pleasure of being greeted full-on in the face by urine-soaked size 4T Dora panties. I can guarantee you that peeling a pair of stinky underwear from your forehead only needs to happen ONCE before you will never again send something that belongs in a biohazard bag down the laundry chute.
So please, please, yet again...make note of the above Household Rule.
Thank you,
The Management
Lazy Sunday
Recently, Sundays have morphed in to a day spent mostly curled up in bed with books, and occasionally, the laptop. I have been speed-reading through a collection of library books, and books that have been lying in wait on my shelf, with plenty of hours on Sunday dedicated to page-turning. The thing is, our TV is downstairs in the basement, and from late-autumn to late-spring, it's far too cold for me to justify trekking downstairs to watch cartoons. So Zoey and I curl up in bed, and while I read, she either flips through her latest library book selections, or watches Dora on the laptop. Sometimes she naps. Most times, she doesn't. She reads Berenstain Bears books to the cat, loses interest, treks down the hall to see what Daddy is up to. Comes back later with an armload of baby dolls and reads to them, instead (they are better listeners). We take breaks for more coffee, snacks, folding a load of laundry. And then it's back to reading.
Spring is debating whether it wants to make an early appearance here in Washington. I am mostly thrilled by the warmer weather, sunny (if chilly) days, and the ability to play on the playground right next to the library--the beloved playground that has gone largely ignored for the past several months of rainy, drippy, gray Northwest winter weather.
But somehow, the thought of curling up in bed all day on a Sunday to devote many hours to my latest library book doesn't sound as appealing when the weather is warm and sunny. Maybe I'm not as ready for spring as I thought I was.
Maybe the nice weather will hold off until my stack of books diminishes a bit.
Spring is debating whether it wants to make an early appearance here in Washington. I am mostly thrilled by the warmer weather, sunny (if chilly) days, and the ability to play on the playground right next to the library--the beloved playground that has gone largely ignored for the past several months of rainy, drippy, gray Northwest winter weather.
But somehow, the thought of curling up in bed all day on a Sunday to devote many hours to my latest library book doesn't sound as appealing when the weather is warm and sunny. Maybe I'm not as ready for spring as I thought I was.
Maybe the nice weather will hold off until my stack of books diminishes a bit.
Friday, February 5, 2010
William has issues and I am not 'that parent'
A few follow-ups on my previous post. The one regarding the little brute at daycare who has reportedly been spitting on my child.
My first thought, when Zoey presented me with the he-yells-fuckit-and-spits-at-me story, was NOT to run right out and call her teachers. I don't want to be 'that parent' who gets on the phone every time her kid is upset and gives the teacher an earful. Also, I believe in arming my child with the tools to survive in the world, and we are (apparently) starting with the lesson on how to stick up for yourself. I coached her, many times, on how to tell William to (politely) fuck off. Complete with sticking her hand in his face oh-no-you-didn't style and telling him to (politely) go to hell. And then to promptly run and report the behavior to her teacher. It was that last part that seemed to leave her a little bewildered--Zoey is not the type to run and tell her teachers ANYTHING. She can't even quite wipe her own bottom yet but will she ask for help when she's in the bathroom? NO. So she seemed a little lost when I kept telling her IT'S OKAY TO TELL THE TEACHER WHEN SOMEONE IS SPITTING ON YOU.
I'm trying to empower her, people.
But then I talked to my mother, and my mother-in-law, who were both kind of 'um, yeah, empower all you want BUT SHE'S ONLY THREE and go call her teacher, for God's sake'.
Sometimes I just need a little prompting myself. A little reassurance that reporting an f-bomb on the playground and some spit being hurled around is NOT, in fact, being 'that parent'.
I talked to both of Zoey's teachers yesterday, both of whom were properly horrified by what was going on. They assured me that they are both well aware of William's "behavior issues", although neither of them had seen the little shit picking on my daughter. Ms. Nicole was particularly peeved with William's choice of language, and assured me she'd be talking to the program supervisor about all this.
Relief.
So, Zoey is heading back to daycare today and we'll see how it goes. We've not had ONE tummy ache in the past several days, and she seems pretty okay with going to school.
And if she pounds the living shit out of William on the playground, well, karma can be a bitch, can't it?
My first thought, when Zoey presented me with the he-yells-fuckit-and-spits-at-me story, was NOT to run right out and call her teachers. I don't want to be 'that parent' who gets on the phone every time her kid is upset and gives the teacher an earful. Also, I believe in arming my child with the tools to survive in the world, and we are (apparently) starting with the lesson on how to stick up for yourself. I coached her, many times, on how to tell William to (politely) fuck off. Complete with sticking her hand in his face oh-no-you-didn't style and telling him to (politely) go to hell. And then to promptly run and report the behavior to her teacher. It was that last part that seemed to leave her a little bewildered--Zoey is not the type to run and tell her teachers ANYTHING. She can't even quite wipe her own bottom yet but will she ask for help when she's in the bathroom? NO. So she seemed a little lost when I kept telling her IT'S OKAY TO TELL THE TEACHER WHEN SOMEONE IS SPITTING ON YOU.
I'm trying to empower her, people.
But then I talked to my mother, and my mother-in-law, who were both kind of 'um, yeah, empower all you want BUT SHE'S ONLY THREE and go call her teacher, for God's sake'.
Sometimes I just need a little prompting myself. A little reassurance that reporting an f-bomb on the playground and some spit being hurled around is NOT, in fact, being 'that parent'.
I talked to both of Zoey's teachers yesterday, both of whom were properly horrified by what was going on. They assured me that they are both well aware of William's "behavior issues", although neither of them had seen the little shit picking on my daughter. Ms. Nicole was particularly peeved with William's choice of language, and assured me she'd be talking to the program supervisor about all this.
Relief.
So, Zoey is heading back to daycare today and we'll see how it goes. We've not had ONE tummy ache in the past several days, and she seems pretty okay with going to school.
And if she pounds the living shit out of William on the playground, well, karma can be a bitch, can't it?
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Hopefully we can solve this problem before she gets an ulcer
So, after a few too many reported tummy aches and a few more traumatic daycare-drop-offs than is normal for this child, I did some verbal fishing last night to find some clues as to what might be bothering Zoey.
Me: Zoey, how is school going? Are you playing nicely with your friends?
Zoey: Yeah....but I cwy a lot at school.
Me: How come? What is making you so sad?
Zoey: (I swear, looking at me like she wasn't quite sure if she could trust me with the following information) Mommy? Sometimes William comes to me and yells "FUCKIT!". And then he spits at me.
This is, needless to say, NOT what I was expecting.
I think that if I was dealing with a co-worker screaming profanity at me and following it up with a little spit in the face, I'd develop a chronic gut ache myself.
You know those moments when you die a little inside as a mother, because you KNOW there is no way to protect your child from situations like these? Kind of had one of those for a brief moment before recovering enough to review how NOT COOL naughty words and spitting happen to be. I reinforced (several times) how important it is to walk away from someone like William who is clearly (when I am being kind) having a bad day or (when I'd like to wring his little neck) a deranged little sociopath.
Later on, as we were fixing hot milk before bed, Zoey and I were talking about ways to make ourselves feel happy when, really, we just feel like crying.
Me: Sometimes, when I feel sad, I try really hard to think of things that make me happy. What are some things you could think about? Does going to the library make you feel happy?
Zoey: Yeah! I yike the yiberry!
Me: Good! Maybe when you're feeling sad at school, you could think of going to the library with Mommy. What else makes you feel happy?
Zoey: (resting her head on my shoulder, and in a very dreamy little voice) Going to Target.
Me: Ohhhhh. Yeah, I get that. Sometimes, when I'm sad, I dream about going to Target too.
*Sigh*
Me: Zoey, how is school going? Are you playing nicely with your friends?
Zoey: Yeah....but I cwy a lot at school.
Me: How come? What is making you so sad?
Zoey: (I swear, looking at me like she wasn't quite sure if she could trust me with the following information) Mommy? Sometimes William comes to me and yells "FUCKIT!". And then he spits at me.
This is, needless to say, NOT what I was expecting.
I think that if I was dealing with a co-worker screaming profanity at me and following it up with a little spit in the face, I'd develop a chronic gut ache myself.
You know those moments when you die a little inside as a mother, because you KNOW there is no way to protect your child from situations like these? Kind of had one of those for a brief moment before recovering enough to review how NOT COOL naughty words and spitting happen to be. I reinforced (several times) how important it is to walk away from someone like William who is clearly (when I am being kind) having a bad day or (when I'd like to wring his little neck) a deranged little sociopath.
Later on, as we were fixing hot milk before bed, Zoey and I were talking about ways to make ourselves feel happy when, really, we just feel like crying.
Me: Sometimes, when I feel sad, I try really hard to think of things that make me happy. What are some things you could think about? Does going to the library make you feel happy?
Zoey: Yeah! I yike the yiberry!
Me: Good! Maybe when you're feeling sad at school, you could think of going to the library with Mommy. What else makes you feel happy?
Zoey: (resting her head on my shoulder, and in a very dreamy little voice) Going to Target.
Me: Ohhhhh. Yeah, I get that. Sometimes, when I'm sad, I dream about going to Target too.
*Sigh*
Monday, February 1, 2010
Because I'm sure you've been missing me
I know, I know. You've been living for 11 days now without ONE SINGLE ZOEYISM, and you're going crazy, right?
Right.
A few pearls of wisdom I've managed to get out of my daughter recently:
1. Zoey has recently decided she will not be attending kindergarten. Never mind that it's nearly three years off...and that, if you had asked her months ago, she would have gone hysterical with excitement about ANYTHING that involved her getting on a school bus. Not sure what flipped the coin and made kindergarten suddenly seem so...what? Intimidating? Boring? I'm not sure. Anyway, she has a list of life goals she WILL accomplish, including but not limited to "getting big, drinking coffee, driving, and becoming an ambulance girl", and I have yet to make her understand that kindergarten is a pre-req FOR ALL OF THOSE THINGS.
But we're working on it.
2. Zoey actually managed to squeeze a nap in to her busy schedule yesterday, while snuggled in bed next to Mommy, who was trying to make the sadness that is A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Housseini go away, and the only way that was happening was to power-read through at least 100 pages in less than 24 hours. Not sure who had the more daunting task...me, for completing the (wonderfully written, gripping, interesting) book that left me weeping in despair for the state of all humanity, or Zoey, because we all know how she feels about napping.
Anyway.
After finishing the book and, you know, feeling like I could use a pick-me-up, I decided to head to the gym. This was all before Zoey woke up, and I knew she'd be miffed to wake up and find me gone, but I figured she'd get over it quickly. The following conversation ensued later on at the dinner table:
Zoey: Mommy. I woke up from my nap and I cwied and cwied for you, because you were gone. (Followed by a very stern, reproachful look.)
Me: Oh. I figured you might be sad...but then I thought you'd be happy, because Daddy was here to play with you!
Zoey. Well. I wasn't.
Bryan: *rolls his eyes*
3. Bryan and I went in for our parent-teacher conference today at Zoey's daycare. Apparently, Zoey is excelling both academically and socially. And by "excelling academically", I mean she knows all her colors and shapes, and she understands concepts like 'near and far', 'empty and full', and 'first and last'. And by "excelling socially", I mean she manages to act at school completely the opposite of how she traditionally behaves at home, which is to say that Ms. Nicole reports never having put Zoey in time-out. Ever. At all. And I even asked her to dig back through ALL her records, just to be sure. Because, really? WE HAVE ENTIRE DAYS AT HOME SPENT SITTING IN THE TIME-OUT CHAIR.
Bryan and I got in the car, took one look at each other, and said at the same time "well, at least she's behaving SOMEWHERE."
Right.
A few pearls of wisdom I've managed to get out of my daughter recently:
1. Zoey has recently decided she will not be attending kindergarten. Never mind that it's nearly three years off...and that, if you had asked her months ago, she would have gone hysterical with excitement about ANYTHING that involved her getting on a school bus. Not sure what flipped the coin and made kindergarten suddenly seem so...what? Intimidating? Boring? I'm not sure. Anyway, she has a list of life goals she WILL accomplish, including but not limited to "getting big, drinking coffee, driving, and becoming an ambulance girl", and I have yet to make her understand that kindergarten is a pre-req FOR ALL OF THOSE THINGS.
But we're working on it.
2. Zoey actually managed to squeeze a nap in to her busy schedule yesterday, while snuggled in bed next to Mommy, who was trying to make the sadness that is A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Housseini go away, and the only way that was happening was to power-read through at least 100 pages in less than 24 hours. Not sure who had the more daunting task...me, for completing the (wonderfully written, gripping, interesting) book that left me weeping in despair for the state of all humanity, or Zoey, because we all know how she feels about napping.
Anyway.
After finishing the book and, you know, feeling like I could use a pick-me-up, I decided to head to the gym. This was all before Zoey woke up, and I knew she'd be miffed to wake up and find me gone, but I figured she'd get over it quickly. The following conversation ensued later on at the dinner table:
Zoey: Mommy. I woke up from my nap and I cwied and cwied for you, because you were gone. (Followed by a very stern, reproachful look.)
Me: Oh. I figured you might be sad...but then I thought you'd be happy, because Daddy was here to play with you!
Zoey. Well. I wasn't.
Bryan: *rolls his eyes*
3. Bryan and I went in for our parent-teacher conference today at Zoey's daycare. Apparently, Zoey is excelling both academically and socially. And by "excelling academically", I mean she knows all her colors and shapes, and she understands concepts like 'near and far', 'empty and full', and 'first and last'. And by "excelling socially", I mean she manages to act at school completely the opposite of how she traditionally behaves at home, which is to say that Ms. Nicole reports never having put Zoey in time-out. Ever. At all. And I even asked her to dig back through ALL her records, just to be sure. Because, really? WE HAVE ENTIRE DAYS AT HOME SPENT SITTING IN THE TIME-OUT CHAIR.
Bryan and I got in the car, took one look at each other, and said at the same time "well, at least she's behaving SOMEWHERE."
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