Down time

Three hours of unexpected down time all to myself found me lost in the library this afternoon.

You guys? They have books for GROWN-UPS at the library. In Puyallup? An entire floor dedicated to nothing but literature that does not include Dora the Explorer or Curious George.

It had completely escaped me, in all my weekly (and often twice-weekly) wanderings through our gorgeous downtown library that I could also use this building when not in full-mom mode. Like the local Y, the downstairs level of the library is very family-friendly: the kids section is in the back, child-size study tables are located everywhere, and nobody bats an eye if a certain preschooler who shall remain nameless forgets her library voice yet again. And then...there is the upstairs. Also like the Y, this is the floor for grown-ups. Quiet study carrels. Comfy couches and chairs. Cookbooks. Parenting books. Racks and racks and racks of novels. Documentaries.

For me, it felt like walking in to an alternate universe.

Come on, you have to be thinking. It's a section of a library. How awe-inspiring can it possibly be?

At which point I will flare my nostrils in your direction and explain, again, the magnitude that IS my complete lack of free time. Trust me, when I am not working my paying job, I am planning activities and outings that center around things I can do with Zoey. And I swear to you, I adore spending my free time with Zoey. She's great company. Just not second-floor-of-the-library company, you know? I forget sometimes that this whole other adult realm exists in the world, despite my lack of participation in said realm. So yes. Meandering through the second floor of my library was a bit like finding religion on a sunny September afternoon, when I still had two hours left in my free-time bank and all the cookbooks I could ever want right there at my finger tips.

And then? I went to Safeway. By myself. That's right...only responsible for my own seatbelt, and not at the mercy of Turtle, my new nickname for Zoey and her speed (or lack thereof) when getting out of the car. I didn't feel myself age one tiny bit as I zipped through the parking lot.

LIBERATING.

I bought myself a Lean Cuisine pizza (favorite!) and salad fixings for dinner. I went home and ate by myself. I read my magazine at the table. I did not listen to Dora or anything Disneycentric. I listened to Michael Bolton's Greatest Hits.

(Feel free to mock.)

And, at the end of the evening, I was overjoyed to have my daughter back with me. Because wandering the shelves of the library renews my joy of reading. Wandering the aisles of Safeway minus Turtle is refreshing. Eating and reading at the same time? With Michael Bolton playing in the background? Nearly unheard of lately.

But at the end of the day, I am Zoey's mom, and without her, I would be lost.

It's about time she started earning her keep

You know what's great about preschoolers? Their utter devotion to their Mommy, their need to follow, copy and please at all times, even when you are in the shower. (Many a shower session has been spent these past few weeks with Zoey's little body positioned on her pink stool between the shower curtain and shower liner, because discussing which shirt she wants to wear today just has to happen RIGHT NOW.)

This is the age when learning takes place at such a rapid rate it can be alarming. Overnight, Zoey has learned how to write her name, and the letter 'A', and rattle off long lists of 'B' words.

Devotion. Desire to please. Soaking up new skills like a sponge. Totally what I took advantage of this morning at 7:45.

Zoey: MOM. I'm ready to get up. MOOOOOOM....I want to get up now!

Me: Mmmpfff.

Zoey: MOM! I want hot milk! I mean...can I have some hot milk, please? I want to get up! Let's make coffee!

Me: !

Zoey: MOM. I want to get up!

Me: Zoey. Do you want to learn how to turn on the coffee pot for Mommy?

Zoey: Yes! I can make coffee! Now I can learn so when I grow up, I'll already know how to make coffee!

Me: Yes. Excellent. Go get your pink stool and take it to the kitchen.

So, to the kitchen we went. Zoey cozied her pink stool right up to the counter, where I showed her how to find the 'B' word that says 'brew'. 'B' is the letter they've been studying in preschool all week, so really, I'm just reinforcing her lessons.

'Buh-buh-buh, brew starts with B!'

Zoey happily flipped the dial to Brew and turned the nearby switch to On. And next Saturday? I plan to have her practice her newly acquired skill. It's only a matter of time before she's able to brew my coffeee, find the creamer in the fridge, and pour me my first cup in the morning. By the time she's six, hopefully.

Working for Ariel

Zoey's latest fascination is her collection of tiny plastic Disney Princess dolls, which come with tiny plastic dresses and shoes that magically disappear at the hands of the vacuum cleaner. She loves them, covets them, drools over them in the check-out line at Target. And my friend Jodi at work loves to buy them for her, as Jodi would love to have grandchildren of her own but doesn't yet, and in the meantime settles for spoiling my child.

And last week I got smart and made her start working for them. A sticker chart was placed on the fridge. A sticker was added every time Zoey did what I asked her to do, the first time. 20 stickers, which took an entire week to earn. We were working for Ariel, the Little Mermaid, and ohhhh, she wanted that Ariel doll. Badly.

So, on Sunday, Ariel finally floated down from the top of the fridge to the eagerly waiting hands of Zoey, who, like little girls everywhere, wanted nothing more than to undress her and examine her naked body. Ariel came packaged in a little mermaid flipper fin thing, and a miniscule clamshell bra, with a pretty pink dress waiting on the side for that magic moment when her flipper turned to feet. The flipper came off in a flash. The clamshell bra? Not so much.

Zoey: Mommy. I need help. I can't get her nipples off.

Me: Excuse me? Her what?

Zoey: Her nipples. See? They're stuck.

Me: Oh. Those aren't her nipples, sweetie, they call that a bra. A clamshell bra, specifically.

Zoey: (blank stare) Oh. Can you take her nipples off, please?

So. Ariel and her clamshell nipples have now joined the ranks of Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, along with various mice and magic coaches, in a Disney Princess shoe box tucked safely under Zoey's bed when not in use. This week we are working toward Sleeping Beauty #2, compliments of Jodi. Thankfully, I see no delicate bits that will need removing when the package finally comes open.

Another day in paradise

5:10: Roll out of bed. Slooooowly stumble to coffee pot. Oh, glorious coffee pot, I did not even hear your annoying beeps this morning.

5:18: Step out of shower. Hear Zoey screaming in bedroom.

5:19: Wet. Towel. Kitty litter stuck to my damp foot? Yes. Awesome.

5:21: 'Mommy...I peed in your bed.' Am too tired and too struck by the mortified look on my daughter's face to even feel fazed by this kink in my morning routine. Assess damage.

5:23: How did she manage to saturate everything belonging to me, and nothing belonging to her, save her brand new monkey jammies? Seriously. Her blanket and puppy dog? Spared. My down comforter? Headed to the cleaners.

5:24: Zoey in bath tub. I am finally dressed. Hair, which is currently cut short and adorably spiky, is beginning to dry in a fashion resembling a cotton ball.

5:27: Zoey out of tub. Begins to cry when I tell her it's time to get dressed. Would prefer clean, dry jammies instead. Leave her to calm down in the bathroom.

5:30: Fumbling with buttons on duvet cover. Fingers coated in urine. Sheets in washing machine. Zoey still crying.

5:32: Crying. More crying.

5:35: Distract Zoey by telling her the cat is currently stalking a crane fly, which delights her to the point she does not notice I have slipped her Dora underpants and play clothes on already. She runs off to check on Henry.

5:36: Pick up bathroom. Mop up bath water, sweep up cat litter.

5:37: Assemble remaining urine-soaked bedding in wet heap on kitchen floor. Start Clifford DVD for Zoey, a rare treat on a work/school morning. (Feel free to praise my fine use of the DVD player as a babysitter in the comments section.)

5:43: Assess damage done to mattress. Notice lack of upholstery cleanser in my cleaning-tool repertoire. Settle for dousing the mattress in Shout! and contemplate how one small child can hold enough urine in her bladder to soak a Montana-sized stain in to my bedding. Seriously contemplate a plastic sheet for my grown up bed.

5:50: Oh God. My hair.

5:51: Too late. I'm going out looking like a Q-Tip today, as there is (clearly) no time to douse my head and start over (unless I'd like to douse it in pee, of which there is plenty floating around).

5:55: Kix for Zoey, Cheerios for me. Wash coffee pot. Frantically throw together lunch for myself and something resembling the remainder of my breakfast.

6:05: Load soaked comforter, lunch bag, commuter mug in to car.

6:10: Turn off Clifford. Shoes. Rain coat. Zoey crying for me to please carry her. Locate blanket and puppy dog.

6:25: Out the door.

6:50: Fall in to break room chair at work. I have to spend 10 hours here? Working? Haven't I already worked a ten hour shift?

Heal Me

Zoey: MOM. Did you know Jesus will heal our owies?

Me: He will?

Zoey: Yeah. Ms. Ercila says so.

Me: Do you have an owie he is working on?

Zoey: Yeah. Right here on my finger. Ms. Ercila is soooo smart...just like me.

Some explaining to do

Zoey: MOM. Did you know God made us? Ms. Mandi says so.

Me: That's true.

Zoey: But...she says God made everything.

Me: Also true.

Zoey: But...that means he made...snakes.

What she clearly meant by the screwed up little expression on her face was 'explain THAT, lady'. A God who created all things wonderful, like libraries and Cinderella and hot milk, also turned around on whatever day it was before he got to seven, and whipped up a batch of SNAKES? You're joking, and I'm not buying it.

I'm not sure how to clear up the confusion on this one. If you substitute 'spiders' for 'snakes', this could possibly have been the exact same conversation I had with my own mother almost 30 years ago.