What? A Girl's Got to Accessorize?

There are definitely some advantages to living without a man in the house. My own closet. My own stash of ice cream. Pink sheets. Violet sheets. Flowery sheets. Watching whateverthehellIwant on TV.

And then? There are those moments where I reeeeeaaaally could use a man.

Take for example the sweet and serene scene of a Mom gently tucking her little boy into bed. She lovingly pulls back the sheets, gathers all of his favorite stuffed creatures, plumps the pillows in just the right... HOLY SHIT WHAT IS THAT ON HIS PILLOW?

...

I'm pretty sure it looked more like this, actually:

What's a Mom to do...but scream? Duh. Then, ask children to hurrythefuckup and run and get a shoe. I figure I'm best suited to keep an eye on the thing (although I really couldn't have missed the dragon-sized-beast feverishly crawling on my son's pillow) while the youngins' run and fetch me a weapon.

"Hurry please. Go get me a shoe."

"Where?"

"In my closet. Hurry. Quick. Shoe."

....

...

"Hellooooo? Just get a shoe. Any shoe. Quickly."

"Tatum," (I think Chase spotted some legos or something far more interesting along the way) "Where are you?"

"Mommy, I'm tryyyyyying."

...

...

"Tatum, I can't take my eye off this thing. Just.Grab.A.Shoe.Right.Now."

About 40twentyhundred16 minutes later, she shows up with a lovely red ballet flat. One which I know damn well was not the most conveniently located shoe in the closet. In fact, it would have taken some perusing, reaching, tippy-toes, major yoga moves to find that shoe.

It's a shoe she has had a penchant for borrowing once before.

Apparently, a it's an innate sense that a girl must always choose exactly the right shoe for every event.

Small and Mighty

Dear Future Spouse:  Beware.  This girl means business.  

Recently at dinner, Patrick and I chose three words to describe each child.  We didn't compare notes until we had the first three to come to mind.

Words for Tatum:

Daddy says:  

Smart

Stubborn

Observant

Mommy says:

Intelligent

Stubborn

Independent

I am wicked-proud of that stubborn little girl!

I Hope You Dance

Tatum 

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder

You get your fill to eat

But always keep that hunger

May you never take one single breath for granted

God forbid life ever leave you empty handed

I hope you still feel small 

When you stand beside the ocean

Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens

Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance

And when you get the chance to sit it out or dance

I hope you dance

I hope you dance!

A Birthday, A Move, and a Trip to the ER (Part II)

First, it was my husband's birthday.  Because we lived in two oddly empty houses on his birthday, I decided to pack up the kids, come to the new house, and dive in to cake-baking.  It looked a little like this:

Blowing out candles looked a little like this:

Then we moved, finally.  And it looked a little like this:

Check out the shirts, inspired by Cheri at Blog This Mom, won by Jenn and Juggling Life, and created by Trish at This is Trish's Blog.  It was a collaborative effort.

Then there was a little bit of this:

Although this time it wasn't at the beach, it was in our living room, and the landing didn't go over quite as well.  Let's just say, Patrick has never been so afraid in his life.  Tatum fell out of his arms on the landing, on her back, and her eyes rolled back.  

I was called downstairs to the scene.  I asked Tatum where it hurt.  She pointed to her forehead.  Again, she fell on her back so I was a bit worried that her brain had done a bounce on her forehead.  She whimpered, but didn't cry much, which is almost harder.  But she didn't seem too badly hurt.  More shocked than anything, like her Daddy.  

Then Tatum fell asleep.  Uh-huh.  About 5 minutes after the fall.  I know, I know.  We're not supposed to let them sleep after a head injury.  But it was extremely hot, it was around 2:00, and she may just have been truly tired.  She slept on the couch while we watched her breathe.

Then she woke up.  And vomited.  And vomited.  And vomited a third time.  She wasn't saying much more than a mumbled word here and there.

So Gran rushed over to take Chase, and we went to the ER.

Tatum vomited on the drive over as well.  

We got in.  It took over an hour to be seen.  But in that hour, our tiny little girl became much more like herself.  She sang.  She spelled words.  She went potty.  She smiled.  She talked on the phone.  We had a feeling things were going to be alright.

By the time we were seen, it had been about 4 and a half hours since the fall.  She was okay.

Here's a good lesson, besides not throwing your kids in the air anymore, (can I just tell you how utterly scared and terrible Patrick felt?), according to the ER doctor, if your child has a head injury and falls asleep and vomits, it's not necessarily reason enough to bring them in.  He said it was more important to go based on their behavior.  Are they acting abnormal, which in her case was yes.  I'm no doctor, so follow your own gut, but I had always thought falling asleep was a no-no, and then vomiting meant, holy crap, get the kid in NOW.  Tough call.  We called about 147 doctor and nurse friends and they all said, go to the ER.  Glad we did.  Even better, that she is just fine.

Ta-Da!  I'm okay!

And here they are, the next day looking, and acting as cute as ever.  Thank God.

Living The (Estrogen) Life

I've been anxious about a certain birthday party that Tatum was invited to for the last 6 months.  Yes, 6 months.  It was a spa party ... for 4 year olds.  Rather than go into the politics of birthday parties and all their ante-upping I'll say this:  

Tatum had a mask, a manicure, a spa pedicure, a professional hairstyle, and professional "make-up," all while wearing chenille robes and getting catered to with light-up cups full of marshmallow-decorated smoothies.  Indulgent, yes.  Did she need a mask to smooth her flawless skin?  Of course not.  But I'm putting the breaks on judging.  We're all just parents trying to do the right thing.  

I've over thought the event for all these months, and when it came down to it, the party was for a friend, not for Tatum.  It was their choice to choose the day for their daughter.  I'm 99% sure they don't read my blog, but I want to be careful not to bash the day.  I had thoughts of this, but the truth is, it was sweet and the birthday girl had fun.

The price tag I can't imagine.  But Tatum eased my fears with this:

Manicurist (applying glitter on tiny fingernails):  "Would YOU like to have a party like this one day?"

Tatum:  No.

And just like that, we can go back to the likes of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey.

In other news, Mom had an indulgent Mom's Night Out too.  We saw Sex and the City.  All I can say is, it felt good to be a part of the buzz.  The theatre was packed with dolled-up, Cosmo-drinking women with Hall Passes to get out, and out we did.  I'm a sucker for an easy story line and a happy ending, so my vote, go see it.  

Looking beyond the cliches of fairy tales, overpriced shoes and product plugs, and looking beyond the shoulds and should nots of birthday party etiquette, here's the thing:  We had fun.  

I tend to over think everything and lose the moment in the process.  Yesterday was all Cyndi Lauper-like because really, "Girl's Just Want to Have Fun."  And sometimes, that's just fine.

Trade Her for Trader Joe?

For those of you not familiar with Trader Joe's, it's a quaint little grocery store with organic (over-packaged) produce, wood floors, delicious samples, and tiny shopping carts that roll better side-ways than forward.  The aisles are tight, but the food selection makes me feel like I'm a better chef than I am.  So Trader Joe's is a favorite for grocery shopping.

With tight aisles and two 3-year-olds, the kids go in the cart only occasionally squishing the tomatoes and Milton's bread.  Trader Joe, that's him over there I think,

has this clever idea to keep kids busy searching for Ringo the ring-tailed lemur whilst Mom is trying to make her cart steer forward blissfully shopping.

"Is that it?" pointing to a paper tree?

"Mom, is that it?" pointing to a box of cookies.

"Is that the monkey?" pointing to, well, a monkey, but not a lemur.  Sheez.  

This game is supposed to help me focus my efforts on my shopping list?  

So when the game is over (we never did find that damn lemur) the kids are awarded a treat at the check-out lane.  The treat:  peanut butter filled pretzels.  Dude, Trader Joe, ever heard of this little thing going around with kids called a peanut allergy?  We pass on the anaphlactic pretzels and opt for a balloon instead.  Does every outing have to end up like Disneyland for kids these days?  Answer.  Yes.  

So the cart is now too full for bagged groceries (yes, we bring our own bags) and two kids, so the kids, holding balloons, walk outside where we are barraged with Save California's Environment or You're Going To Hell friendly requests to sign petitions.  I'm getting annoyed at Save California Girl.  The cart is rolling (side-ways) down the wheelchair ramp, the kids balloons are precariously blowing around, and other (side-ways) rolling carts are threatening to knock my kids into the parking lot.  After managing to shit on the planet and presumably go to Hell, I try to navigate two kids, two balloons, and a effed up shopping cart through lunch-time traffic in an overstuffed parking lot.  

It looks something like this:

Me (holding the cart with one hand, holding Tatum's ballooned hand):  "Tatum and Chase, hold hands."  (A common request that we've practiced in parking lots many times).

(Car waiting ... inching ... waiting ... inching ...)

Tatum makes a fist with her free hand.

Me:  "Tatum, hold Chase's hand NOW."

Chase trying to hold his sister's hand and a balloon.  

(Car inching .... still waiting for us to cross ... cart rolling sideways ...)

Tatum:  (smirking)  "No."

Chase:  "Tatum, hold my hand."  

Me:  (Yanking Tatum's hand and placing it on the cart, I reach for Chase's hand as we proceed to the car.)

As I'm angrily buckling Tatum into the car seat, and holding her balloon string with my teeth  I ask, "WHY were you not holding his hand?"

No answer.  

"Tatum, how would you feel if Chase got hit by a car because YOU wouldn't hold his hand?"  

Tatum:  "Happy."

Me:  "HAPPY?  You would feel HAPPY if your brother got hit by a car?"

Tatum:  (Smirking)

I change gears.  Maybe she doesn't realize that getting hit by a car is a bad thing (I haven't used that term so freely before), but I'm furious now.  

Me:  "You would feel HAPPY if your brother got squished by a car?"  (I don't know where I'm going with this, but I can't believe what I'm hearing.

Tatum:  "Yes.  I would be happy."

I'm boiling.  I know I shouldn't play the game but I'm just too pissed to stop.  I take her balloon, wave it in her face, and release it to Trader Heaven.  

She loses it.  Tears.  Screaming from buckled position.

I feel victory ... for about a half a second.  Then I feel like an ass.  Cruel.  Defeated by a 3 year old.

As we drive away, through Tatum's sobs, Chase says, "It's okay Tatum.  We can share my balloon."  (The empathy I was looking for in the parking lot from the other kid...)

Driving home in silence I can't help but wonder what I'm doing wrong.  Why did I let my tiny daughter get the best of me?  She fell asleep on the drive.  I wanted to be there the minute she woke up to talk it over.  She apologized.  I apologized.  

But how does this game go when she's fourteen?  

Pyramid Schmyramid

Dear Tatum,

  Thank goodness you are a great eater.  You often wake up and ask for salad for breakfast.  Yes salad.  You request this wholesome meal with red peppers and tomatoes.  It's music to my ears.  When I make your school lunch, you request edamame, "cut apples," and a turkey sandwich (on whole wheat bread).  You're a delight a restaurants because you eat whatever Mommy and Daddy order for you, even if it's fish tacos or turkey meatloaf and mashed potatoes.  Although you like desserts, your don't devour them.  You daintily eat a few bites of sprinkles, or frosting, and go on your way (allowing me to finish it thankyouverymuch).  It's delightful to feed you.

Dear Chase,

  Although Costco would like to personally thank you for depleting their Dinosaur Chicken Nugget section week after week, you need to know about food diversity.  Annie's Mac n' Cheese and Dinosaur Nuggets for 2 and a half years straight does not exactly constitute as a balanced diet.  Of course when you pair these things with your other favorites, Hawaiian rolls, muffins, cereal, and Goldfish well ... someone just might want to call CPS on Mommy.  You're soon going to turn into a walking Carbohydrate, for your matter is made up of strictly carb particles I'm sure.  PLEASE try some new foods.  There are plenty of kids who actually entertain the crazy concept of a quesadilla, a grilled cheese sandwich, turkey, MEAT of any kind, spaghetti, or soup.  If I don't figure this out soon, you might turn into a Chase-muffin, and although that would be very delicious, I'd rather have a healthy boy to enjoy.

So, I'm asking for help.  Here are a list of things that Chase will eat.  What recipes or hints do you have that could get some PROTEIN in the kid?  He gets cranky without it so we often give him Odwalla (or home-made) protein shakes ... but I'm running short on ideas.

Among his carb-loading goodies, he eats:

*  scrambled eggs

*  broccoli

*  chicken nuggets (just the damn dinosaurs which have about ZERO nutritional value)

*  Mac n' cheese (I've started putting tofu into this)

*  sometimes the occasional meatball

*  protein shakes

HELP.  The kid needs variety.  Ideas?

Wordless Wednesday