Dear Disney, Let It Go!

My oldest daughter, like every other screeching girl under the age of 12, is OBSESSED with Frozen. Not just a little obsessed, but more like stalker-ish level. Ana, Elsa, and Olaf should probably get a restraining order against her because I'm not sure what she would do if she met them. Kill them to put some of their blood in a vial to wear around her neck for eternity? Wouldn't surprise me one bit!

We have to watch the movie over and over again, buy every single toy that merely looks like a scene or character from Frozen, listen to the radio in hopes that Let It Go will come on, play all Frozen games on the computer and watch all Frozen videos on YouTube.

Not only that, but Savannah sings the songs from the Movie AT LEAST 60 times an hour, usually while recording herself on my phone. I have approximately 21,430 videos on my iPhone of her singing the exact same songs, the exact same way. It's ridiculous.

This girl has a different favorite color every hour, but hasn't moved beyond the Frozen phase. 

I was mad enough at my best friend for buying her the movie.

Then my husband had this brilliant idea of buying Savannah the soundtrack. By brilliant, I mean stupidest-idea-he-ever-had-but-I-still-love-him. Though I still love him, after round 324 of listening to the soundtrack in the first day, I considered divorce. However, I then thought about how that would actually get him off the hook of listening with me and I threw away the divorce papers to spite him.

If I have to listen to this crap, so does he!!!!

So the soundtrack is here...with us...forever. Meaning that the Frozen obsession/stalking is probably not going to end. In fact, it's just getting worse because now my 2 year old daughter is becoming obsessed as well. She's equally annoying with the song-singing, except worse... She only knows three words of the song because she's 2.

So she goes around the house singing, "Let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go...over and over and over and over and over and over.

As you can imagine, this whole Frozen business had made me go mad. Bat shit crazy. Insane. Nuts. Whatever you want to call it, I've got it going on. Kids have that effect anyway, but its worse when an obsession like this sweeps through your house.

I need to be committed asap to the nearest insane asylum. I've admitted this for awhile, but yesterday I was seriously contemplating driving down, signing the paperwork and voluntarily taking whatever drugs the doctors were prescribing.

I got into my car to go to work. Last I knew, I had a Blink 182 CD playing. Sometimes I need to go back in time to a place before Frozen played every day and night. I assumed I would go back to singing, "Nobody likes you when you're 23!!!!!!" I would imagine myself back at 23. I would like me then. No kids....

I'm kidding...kind of...

A few minutes into my drive, I hear a very faint, "Let it go, let it go..." Since my car doesn't get any radio stations out here and I had Blink 182 in the CD player, I was confused. Why am I hearing that song?!!!!

"I'm hearing things!" I thought to myself.  "I've officially gone off the deep end, head first, into a pool with no water....straight into concrete where I won't hear anything Frozen every again!"

Why

Can

I

Hear

That

Song

?????

I'm alone, in my car, with no kids singing...and I'm still hearing it. I look at my phone to see if perhaps Savannah had changed my ringtone or left a Frozen video on. Nothing. I looked in the backseat to see if a movie was playing. Nope.

There was no other explanation. I had reached the point of madness where few mothers get to. The kind of madness that ends up on the evening news. I would now be making headlines. I would be appearing on Snapped...because I have snapped. I'm hearing a Frozen song that is not playing anywhere and I'm hearing it very faintly, but clearly. The demons inside me are coming through.

Then I looked down at the passenger side floor. There was a CD. It was Blink 182. So what was in the player then? I hit eject. Then I filed for divorce. Savannah had snuck out to my car and put in the dreaded CD. I wasn't going crazy after all...well, not as badly as I had previously assumed anyway.

I contemplated throwing the CD out the window. I played out the scene in my head;

"Mommmmmmm....have you seen my Frozen CD?"
"No, where did you see it last?"
"I put it in your car the other morning when you were sleeping."
"Did you look out there?"
"Yes, and all I could find was a CD imprint on your trunk where it appears that you threw out a CD and it hit your filthy car before landing on the pavement of the road."

She's that smart. I would never get away with it.

So I filed for divorce and gave Jim custody to Savannah and Madi. With any luck, I have saved Nolan in time and he won't even know anything about Frozen.

Just kidding...but I do daydream about that. Living in a world where there is no Elsa? That's my new perfect life. No more Hawaii or Tahiti or Paris. I just want Frozen gone.

So Dear Disney, Let It GOOOOO!!! Make a new princess movie already. That is my last hope....that maybe Savannah and Madi will become obsessed with a new movie.

And then the cycle will continue.

Yay to parenting!!!!!!

Hahaha


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Letting a Baby 'Cry It Out' Is Inhumane




Letting a Baby 'Cry It Out' Is Inhumane
 
in·hu·mane
ˌin(h)yo͞oˈmān/
adjective
adjective: inhumane

without compassion for misery or suffering; cruel.
 
I read this little gem of an article the other day. I laughed at the audacity to call this parenting method "inhumane". I'm fighting the strongest urge here to list all of the reasons that using moderate crying-it-out...at an appropriate age...with common sense is a good idea. No one's mind is going to be changed. I will be wasting my energy when I really need to use that energy to be more of an inhumane mother.  
 
No matter what I say on this topic, the mommy wars will go on with everyone screaming, "I'M THE BEST MOM EVER AND EVERYONE WHO DOES ANYTHING DIFFERENTLY IS INHUMANE AND RAISING PSYCHO SERIAL KILLERS!!!!!"
 
Okay, okay, we get it. You're perfect. You do everything right. You never let your kid cry even one little tear, you rock him/her to sleep every night and nap, and you won't have a problem at all letting him live with you until he's 40 years old, rent free, while you wash his underwear nightly because you are unwilling to be inhumane!
 
Cool story bro.
 
But let's discuss this little word of "inhumane". I Googled the word for referencing purposes. As you can see above, it means without compassion for misery or suffering; cruel. I'm betting that 99.999999999999999999998% of parents aren't cold-hearted assholes who just love to make their kids miserable.
 
I do occasionally like to make my kids miserable, but only for revenge purposes...not just because. I always have a good reason.
 
I understand that this word was probably used as an exaggeration. As someone who overly exaggerates EVERYTHING (yes, my drama-queen daughter may be mine), I'm not opposed to using exaggeration at all. But I think when you pretty much compare well-meaning mothers who happen to disagree with you to Hitler, I think maybe you should probably tone down the exaggerations a bit.
 
Frankly, I'm sure survivors of the Holocaust will disagree that crying-it-out is inhumane....because they've actually lived through inhumane...and it doesn't look like a well-meaning mother trying to teach their child sleep habits.
 
I'm sure the natives who endured torturous acts from the Europeans would not call letting your baby cry for five minutes "inhumane"...because they saw actual inhumane acts.
 
All I'm saying is that every single person who actually lived through inhumane acts thinks you're an ass right now. You basically spat in their face. Letting a baby cry for a few minutes is not inhumane.
 
YOU personally might not like doing it, but I like having three kids (6, 2, and 4 months) who go to bed in their own beds every single night (and nap) without a whimper. ....and its too soon to see the emotional and psychological damage that I've caused the two youngest, but the oldest FREQUENTLY gets compliments such as, "She's so loving", "She's so confident", "She's so sweet" , "She's so respectful"....
 
So maybe it was pure luck or maybe the whole crying it out thing doesn't cause as much damage as the "I'M THE BEST MOTHER EVER" kind of moms claim.
 
Lastly best mother ever, I have to say, I find it hilariously ironic that you claim crying it out is inhumane but then also confess to co-sleeping. You might want to move out of that glass house of yours before you throw rocks. "BEST MOTHERS EVER" don't co-sleep because they've read all the studies and parenting expert blogs that say how dangerous that is.
 
"You may like the idea of cuddling with your baby at bedtime. But co-sleeping may put your baby at risk for sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS) and other dangers, like suffocation."
 
"To protect against these deaths, the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends that infants sleep on their backs, and that they not share a bed with parents, caregivers, or other children."
 
 
"The American Academy of Pediatrics has been cautioning against that practice for years, warning that parents can roll on top of their infants during sleep, or that a pillow can cover a baby’s face or a blanket can get wrapped around the child’s neck, or the child can get wedged between the mattress and the wall."
 
 
Basically what I'm saying here is that perhaps you might want to step down off that horse of yours and clean the blackness off your pot before you call the kettle any more names.



Inhumane... #shakingmydamnhead #somepeople



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Lock Down Drills

My 6 year old came home from school the other day telling me that she had a lock down drill at school. Wanting to ensure that she understood what it was for and such, I asked her some questions on it.

"Do you know why your school does those drills?" I asked.
"Yes, in case a bad person comes into the school and wants to hurt people." She replied.

Good. Glad to know they explained it. I think sometimes the school fails at explaining certain things because they are too worried about being PC and offending people. That's just me though. I don't run the school so it's not my call on many things.

After we talked for a moment about bad people and why a drill is needed, Savannah asked, "Mom, when are we going to have lock down drills at home?"

"Never." I replied. Just like we'll probably never do earthquake drills or fire drills, though we really should do those two. I just have a feeling that should the time come when an emergency happens, we're all going to panic, all reasoning will go out the window and we'll all do what our adrenaline tells us to do. Hopefully it guides us well....

Savannah was curious why we were not going to have a lock down drill. I was really hoping to not go into detail with it all, but when she probes about things I have a hard time not being honest with her. I like to be honest with most things, except the tooth fairy, Santa, the Easter Bunny, etc. But most other things, I try not to dumb her down. This however, was one I didn't really want to answer in detail.

"I think we should have a lock down drill mama." She said.

"Honey, we don't need to do one."

"Why not?" She asked.

uhhhhhhhhh......"Was that a deer?" I asked looking out the window. She isn't that distracted.

"Why aren't we going to have a lock down drill?" She asked again.

The moment had come. I had to answer the most un-politically-correct and worst answer in today's backwards society, where people assume that if you nicely ask a bad person to just stop breaking into your house or raping you or beating you to death, they will. No need for guns. Guns are bad.

"Because if a bad person comes into our house, daddy will just shoot them."

"Like he shot that coyote?"

See, this is why I didn't want to answer.

I went on to explain more in detail. She seemed satisfied finally. I have no doubt in my mind that a time will come when her school does another lock down drill and she asks her teacher why they aren't just shooting the bad person like her daddy would. Some of the teachers will then think we are some heathen, backwards, hillbilly family. I'm not saying we aren't, I'm just saying not in this case.

I think the best policy for schools is to do a lock down drill when a bad person comes in. I'm happy they have them in school. There are too many students to control without this kind of a drill. In my idea world, a school official or five would then hunt down the perpetrator and shoot him/her before they shot any innocent people, but I know that's not going to theoretically happen these days.

We have too much compassion for cold-blooded killers. Funny enough, they don't have any compassion for any of us. But I suppose those of you who take the non-violent route are better people for turning the other cheek....taking the high road...not getting in the mud with pigs...whatever you want to call it.

Meanwhile, I'm not turning the other cheek....or taking the high road...and I'm definitely getting into the mud with pigs....because that saves lives, specifically my family's lives. Any stranger who breaks into my house and gets passed my alarm system (tucker the dumb-dumb dog who barks at a leaf falling), will be shot, no questions asked. You're not breaking into an anti-gun house, you're breaking into a "guns stop criminals from harming my loved ones" house. Sorry for your luck.

I will not make any attempts to reason with you. Your "innocent until proven guilty" will immediately be revoked when you break into my house. I will not sit in my closet with my children, hiding, and remaining silent while hoping you don't find us. I have the right to feel safe in my house, unafraid of criminals and I will shoot you. Actually preferably my husband will shoot you, but I will if need be.

I do however promise to shoot you in a non-deadly spot the first time because I'm not cold-blooded. I prefer that you live. I personally cannot kill a deer, let alone a person. I don't want you dead, I want you stopped. I cannot offer the same promise if my husband is holding the gun. He may kill you. That's a chance you take. Roll the dice, play your cards, make your bet...I hope you are feeling lucky?

After all is said and done, should you be shot, or worst case scenario; die, anti-gun people may push for charges to be brought against my husband or I. Your family will probably sue for 3.5 million dollars and maybe even win....though I think you should know, you wont ever see your millions that you win from a common-sense-less jury/judge. I'm very poor...which means that you were wasting your time breaking in in the first place.

At the end of the day, I won't lose sleep no matter the outcome. I know that pleading and begging you to not steal from us, not harm us, not rape us, not kill us, etc., will not stop you from your intentions. You will do as you please no matter how nicely or desperately I beg.

But bullets will stop you. And that's my plan.

So, there will be no lock down drill here. We'll occasionally target practice to make sure the guns are in working order. That will be our "bad person" drill.

And I make no apologies for that. Even if the school officials think I'm the Worst Mother Ever for choosing violence over peace.

:)




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Someone's Grandma


I got seated a table of 2 older people at exactly 8 pm last night. 8pm as in, when we're supposedly closed. I was irritated after assuming that I would get home at a reasonably early hour. My attitude was shitty, I'll be honest. I walked up to the table with a chip on my shoulder. I wasn't especially rude, but I was a rude version of myself. They weren't getting regular, love to serve for the most part, Christy. They were getting some other server who was throwing a pity party for herself and who had every intention of giving these people the bare minimum to not get complained about to management.

It wasn't my proudest moment, but it's an honest assessment.

I introduced myself to the couple and asked if they would like some drinks. When I brought back drinks, I finally looked at the lady for the first time. She had salt and pepper hair, just like my grandma. She wore a sweatshirt over a collared shirt, just like my grandma. she wore long shorts, just like my grandma did, which almost covered her knees that bore the same scars that my grandma's knees had after knee surgery.

This lady looked exhausted...as if she had just had a very long day...and she looked just like my grandma did after a long day. And then she ordered fish and chips just like my grandma often ordered...with her Diet Pepsi, like my grandma would have.

I quickly wrote down the table's order and walked off with a tear in my eye. My once selfish heart literally melted away to gratefulness. This lady was my grandma. Not literally, but for the rest of the time the couple was in the restaurant, I could for a moment in time pretend that I was talking to my gram once again.

The lady at the table was very kind. She humbled me in a way that I haven't been humbled in a long time, but clearly needed to be. I was suddenly very glad that she came in and very sad when it was time for her to go. Everything about her reminded me of my grandma.

I reflected on this whole situation for the rest of the night and most of this morning. I felt ashamed for having those feelings and such meanness towards two people who had gotten in late and just wanted something to eat. I thought about the sadness that I would feel had someone treated my grandparents that way. I would never have been so resentful if it was my grandma who came in so late.

This lady was not my grandma, but she was someone's grandma. And I wasn't her bratty granddaughter, but clearly she knew that I was someone's granddaughter because she treated me far better than most people do. She treated me just like my grandma would have...with warmth, despite my coldness at the beginning. She treated me like I was a loved one.

Everyone is someone's loved one. But sometimes we forget that. Sometimes we think of people as having no importance in our lives. They are just our server, our cashier, our customer, or someone in general that we can just treat like crap or without kindness because they aren't our loved ones. They are strangers. We don't care how their day was because we feel that we don't need care about them.

But someone does. Someone cares about them a lot. And sometimes we all need a metaphorical slap in the face to see that the lady that you are angry at for no reason at all....she's someone's beloved grandma.



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What a Puke Day

We were ten minutes away from home after driving Savannah to school when I smelled that unfortunately, all too familiar smell; vomit. It's becoming very familiar lately as Madelyn has suddenly developed car sickness. Well maybe not suddenly developed...maybe she's always had it and thus the crying in the car. I don't know. What I do know is that she just started actually puking.

The vomit has become a regular occurrence now and happens approximately 1/3 of the time we take Savannah to school. Of course she would pick that time as Jim is at work and I have to clean it. I hate vomit. It doesn't phase Jim. So the universe aligns to make me clean it every time.

Anyway, I smelled the smell and turned around to see Madelyn covered in her breakfast after it had gone down and come back up. Fabulous. So I got to drive the remaining ten minutes taking in that lovely aroma because it was raining and I couldn't roll down the windows per two small children in the car. They owe me....big time.

When we arrived at our destination, I grabbed Madi out of the car touching as little of her as possible in the most unloving way possible. If I would have had tongs big enough, I would have used them. A hazmat would have been preferable though. I had neither so I did what I had to do.

Once on the porch, I stripped her down, all the while she is thrashing and flailing because she is cold. I get it kid, it's slightly chilly, but you're throwing puke everywhere and soon there will be two of us covered in it.

Finally, I got her cleaned up and settled and braced myself to clean out the car seat. Let me just say right now that if I were given the choice between biting off my big toes and cleaning this vomit covered car seat, I wouldn't have hesitated to lose my toes via my teeth. No joke.

Some car seats have covers that come off easily with just a few steps. Madi's car seat is not one of those kinds. In fact, it's extra difficult to get the cover off. I guess this is good in the case of an accident but in the case of vomit, it's not. Not even a little.

I had to keep turning and flipping and maneuvering the seat to get all the straps off and the little tie thingies unhinged. Amidst all of this, I put my hand into puke wet stains a thousand times. I think I broke a world record for saying "Ewwwwww!!!!" more times than anyone ever.

Of course, this couldn't stop getting worse. Madelyn, who had by this point had a bath and clean clothes on, decided to pick up some of the straps that were on the ground next to me while I was focused on the seat itself. I looked over to see her put one of the vomit straps in her mouth. I came seconds away from puking myself....for the 99th time in an hour.

I put everything down to wipe her down again. Each second saying ewwwww more and more.

When the car seat shell was stripped and cleaned and wiped and sanitized and hosed down with a fire house...okay maybe not that last one....I put it back together and called it good.

And then found a bunch of chunks on the floor that Madi was not walking in. Puke reflex activated again. Great.

Cleaned her again and hand-washed the puke clothes and puke car seat cover in the kitchen sink. Oh, did I mention we barely have any water at my house currently? Yeah....so its really fun to clean a huge puke mess when you barely have a trickle of water.

Good day all around.

Old people always say that parenting are the best years of your life. "Cherish these moments. You'll really miss them when they're gone."

I can say with 100% certainty and not a shred of doubt in my mind that I will absolutely, positively, surely, never ever ever ever ever miss this day. Or any other day that resembles this day. Or any day that involves puke. Or any day that involves hand washing anything. Or any day that requires me to pull apart Madi's car seat.

But other than that, I'm sure I will miss a few moments....such as now....when the little kids are napping and Savannah is at school.

;)

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Share!

I make my oldest share snacks and such with my two year old because my two year old does not finish anything I give here. Therefore, if my two year old wants a banana, I give it to my 6 year old and tell her to share with sister. Is this fair to my 6 year old to always have to share with her little sister? Perhaps not, but believe me when I say that she needs to learn that the world does not revolve around her. She currently believes that she is the sun and we are all little peons revolving around her.

As all two year olds go, little sister is not exactly excited to share either. If she is the current holder of the banana, she has a hard time giving it back to older sister for her turn to take a bite. But if I tell her to share, she will reluctantly hand it back to big sister. 

Anyway, we're working on sharing and manners in general. But as is always the case, sometimes mommy's plans backfire in my face. When I say sometimes, I mean always. They always backfire in my face.

I stopped by the coffee stand on my way home from taking Savannah to school and got a fiber-enriched 100% organic smoothie with kale and spinach extracts....along with some free-range calcium infused carrot sticks for the two year old to snack on during the drive home.

I'm kidding. I got a Redbull with raspberry flavoring and the two year old got fruit snacks.

I didn't hand her the entire bag because I'm not a damn fool. Okay, I am but not in this specific case. Instead I handed her one by one to limit the amount that would be lost forever in my car, until I sat in the backseat with nice clothes on and then they are magically found on my butt as I get out.

Another lesson learned the hard way unfortunately.

So the one by one plan goes swimmingly until she finishes the first fruit snack. Then, from the backseat I hear, "Share mama, share!"

I know what you're thinking...how cute that she is repeating. You're wrong. Not cute at all for the simple fact that it wasn't in a nice, sweet, polite tone. Instead it was in a tone that can only be explained as a banshee being tortured to death. Actually that sound might have been preferable to Madelyn's whining the word, "Share! Share!"

Now I have quite a bit of patience these days due to being old. The first 2,000 "Share!" whines did not bother me. It was the 2001st time that got to me...and the 30,296 times after that. You see, there are approximately 30 fruit snacks in this bag that I foolishly purchased. Times each one by 11,000 tortured banshee "share" whines and if my math is correct, this totals to a whole lot of "share" coming from Madelyn's mouth.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions. I thought teaching to share and teaching manners would be heavenly. This wasn't the case after all. I highly recommend not teaching to share...or manners either. It's never a good idea.


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Conned By My 2 Year Old

I assumed I had learned all there was to know about parenting from my oldest. I assumed that she had tried every trick there was. I assumed that I would always be able to outsmart my second and third children having learned all my lessons from being outsmarted by my first on a regular basis.

I assumed wrong.

I usually assume wrong.

I don't know why I haven't stopped assuming yet.

After 18 months of my second child screaming every single time we entered the car, I finally found a trick to keep her from crying (for the most part). If I keep her mouth full, she doesn't cry in the car. So I bring snacks everywhere we go now. It's usually healthy snacks of some kind, but occasionally I'll do junk food.

Okay, that's a lie...it's more like 50/50...ish.

This morning, all I had in the car was suckers. See title of this blog if you're shocked by suckers in the morning.

As soon as my 2 year old started crying, I grabbed a sucker and handed it to her in the backseat while I was driving. She immediately stopped crying. Praise Buddha!

Not even a minute later, she started whining. Dang it Buddha! What the heck? One minute of not crying? That's all?

Thankfully, my toddler is getting really good at communicating her problems to me so at least I know why she is crying or whining.

"What's the matter, Madi?" I asked her.

"Fall down. Oh no!" She whined.

I used my mom translating skills to deduce that this meant she had dropped her sucker. I couldn't look back because we were going around a bunch of corners.

Greaaaattttt....a sucker has fallen prey to my car. Or my car has fallen prey to a sucker? Eh. Why did I think suckers was a great idea? I don't know. I'm new. Clearly.

And she started crying hard again. Still having another 20 minutes left till home, I took my chances and handed her another sucker.

"Tanks. Welcome!" She says when I hand the second sucker to her.  She's very polite, even "you're-welcoming" for me. She also says sorry when someone else burps or farts. I have one heck of a cute, sweet, tantrum throwing, half-evil toddler. Haha...and that's exactly how toddlers are if you are a new or non-parent. Split personalitied.

And personalitied is not a word.

A few seconds after handing her the second sucker, I came upon a straight stretch in the road and moved the rear-view mirror down so I could look at her. I prayed to Buddha that the sucker was not in her hair or stuck to her elsewhere.

It wasn't.

Because it was in her other hand. She scored two because she tricked me into thinking she had dropped the first one.

I was conned by my 2 year old.

I've said it a hundred times, and I'll say it again; Nothing good comes from having intelligent children. Nothing.


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Dangers of Cleaning

I'll admit it, I'm a notorious surface-only cleaner. By surface-only, I mean I clean only what you can see when you come over to my house. And this is only if you give me notice that you're coming over. If you surprise me, there's no telling what condition the house may be in.

I have really been working on my lack of being a good cleaner and I'm making huge improvements, but I'm still no fabulous housekeeper.

I have lots of excuses for this, but the cold hard truth is....

....cleaning is bad for my health.

And also, I'm a horrible housekeeper because my gram spoiled me and I never had to clean.

But also, it's bad for my health.

Yesterday my landlords came over to fix up my bathroom. To you, landlords might mean evil slum lords who take your money and never put anything back into the house. To me, landlords mean my best friend and her family. They take care of the house well.

Unfortunately, my best friend is a cleaning freak. They say opposites attract and I think our friendship proves this. Also, she is a big girl with a big girl job and I'm...well, I'm me. Haha

So when she comes over, I try to clean my house so that she doesn't think I'm some slob. I am a slob but I don't want her to think that. After 17 years of friendship, I think she might be catching on, but just in case she hasn't, I clean before her arrival.

I never deep clean though. I just surface clean. I keep making promises to myself that I will deep clean one room per week so that the rooms never get too dirty. I never keep these promises as evident by my bathroom yesterday.

My landlords were going to paint so I needed to clean walls, nooks and crannies, floorboards, etc. I have never in my life cleaned nooks and crannies. Never. Not once. I've cleaned walls and floorboards every time I've moved out of a house but never nooks and crannies.

But yesterday I had to. They were painting.

And so, I woke up, put on my big girl panties and went to work. It was the most horrible three hours of my life. I would have rather walked on hot coals.

When I was done, I called my best friend..."Please tell me that this disgustingness was not just from us. Please tell me the dirt in the nook and crannies never got cleaned before we moved in???!!!"

Nope. She cleaned it from top to bottom spotless before we moved in. Great. Not only am I a slob but I definitely just admitted that to her. Turns out she already knew and loves me anyway. That is real friendship.

Anyway, my nightmare ended when the bathroom was cleaned. Or so I thought....

Last night as we settled down and relaxed before going to bed, I mentioned to Jim that my right side hurt.

I know what you all are thinking, "APPENDIX!" That's the first thing out of everyone's mouth every single time I say that my side hurts. After I lift up my shirt and show them my 5 inch scar that proves my appendix doesn't live there anymore, they regret suggesting it might be that. Yes people, it's gone. Unless appendixes sometimes grow back, my side hurting is NOT my appendix.

What the pain felt like was right after I had my C-section...and the pain was exactly where the surgeon had stitched everything up together inside. So I touched myself...

My god people, not like that!!! Get your hands out of the gutter! I touched around on my side. There was a lump. As I am not a doctor, I have no idea what it is...scar tissue, cyst, pulled something or other, another appendix??? I don't know. What I do know is that it wasn't there yesterday and neither was the pain.

The only thing I can think is that the deep cleaning caused all of this. I'm pretty sure a doctor will agree with my self-diagnosis. And then he will prescribe me a strict regimen of never ever ever ever deep cleaning again!

I can no longer deep clean ever again. The one time I tried it, I nearly killed myself.

Okay, maybe I just pulled a muscle from doing something that my body is not used to doing....

But either way, there are obviously dangers in cleaning.

I'm just saying, I'd rather not take that risk. I have kids to think about.

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Si!

I'm bilingual in case anyone here doesn't know that. I took three years of Spanish from Senora Lincoln in high school...all three of which were spent doodling on my note pad and planning what excuse I wanted to use on any particular day to get out of class.

Got my period? No, I used that last week.

Diarrhea? Not that desperate.

My cat is sick? Don't have a cat and don't want to send bad ju-ju to that cat that I don't have.

I'm all out of ideas. Come on, Christy! Pull yourself together and think of something to get you out of this class!!!!!

So basically I was a good student who practically speaks the language like it's my first one.

For example, I can say, "Mi ojos es verde." This roughly translates to, "I'm the best Spanish speaker in the whole wide world because I studied very hard in my high school classes."

Not really. It translates to "My eyes are green." That's pretty much all I got from three years of Spanish. In case you missed that. THREE YEARS OF SPANISH...

But wait! There's more!!!!

My best friend Maria speaks Spanish fluently. She took about 30 years of Spanish from her parents. She has told me for about 10 years now that I, when drinking, speak Spanish very well.

I wouldn't know because I, when drinking, drink too much to remember much of anything.

But apparently, with a few shots and a couple beers and a bottle of wine, I speak Spanish better than she does....and she's from Mexico. I can even roll my "R's" which I absolutely cannot do at all even a little when sober. How is this all possible?

Well, it's like the Bible says, "All things possible with Jack...Daniels."

With all that being said, I do not teach my children my second language. This is 50% due to the fact that I don't drink around them and 50% due to the fact that I'm the worst mother ever and can barely get them showered and fed, let alone teach them anything.

So as you can imagine, it was quite the shock to find out that Madelyn (19 months) had picked up Spanish overnight in her sleep. I'm not really sure where, how, when, etc.... Maybe she went to sleep listening to a "YOU TOO CAN LEARN SPANISH IN ONE DAY!" tape. I don't know.

What I do know is that all morning, she is answering, "Si" to every question I ask.

"Madelyn, do you want some milk?"

"Si...guck." Guck translates to milk in Spanish....I mean, Madelyn. Guck is Madelyn for Milk.

"Madelyn, do you want to watch Thomas?"

"Si!"

"Madelyn, am I the worst mother ever?"

"Si! Si! Usted es la peor madre del mundo y yo no sé cómo voy a sobrevivir la infancia!"

(Yes! Yes! You are the worst mother ever and I do not know how I will survive childhood!)

Okay, she didn't say that last sentence, but she has been answering all of my questions with "si" this morning. At first I just thought it was some random sound that she used. I don't even know 99% of what she is saying half the time. She has her own language. I can pick up a word or two here and there, but it all sounds Greek to me.

But then she kept on saying si....so it wasn't a random sound. It was a deliberate yes in Spanish.

I think it is clear what is happening here...

Madelyn has gotten into the Jack Daniels and drunken bilingual-ness is genetic.

That's the only logical explanation. O tal vex estoy loco

One thing is for sure, my eyes are green. That's a fact.


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Touch Nice

So Madi has officially entered into the, "I-will-hit-you-if-you-even-give-me-a-look-that-I-don't-like." stage. She's actually been in that stage for quite some time, but it appears to be in full force now.

Take a toy away from her? Be prepared to be slapped over and over again until she falls on the floor to complete the whole show with a grand finale of a dramatic tantrum. It's predictable and hilarious...not the hitting, but the tantrum.

I choose to take the calm approach with all of this because A.) I've been through it before and it doesn't stress me out. B.) Because I know it's normal and due to Madi not having the communication skills necessary to verbalize, "I freaking hate you mother!" Basically, she isn't just doing these things because she is an ass.

But sometimes she is just an ass.

And I love her. Haha

Whenever she hits anyone (thank goodness we're not biting...yet), I grab her hand to stop the hitting and say to her, "We touch nice!" And then I show her how to touch nice. I did this same thing with Savannah. It worked well. The hitting stage was short lived.

Now, there are a lot of people who favor the, "Hit-them-back-so-they-know-how-it-feels." technique to end the abusive toddler stage. Supposedly it teaches empathy because they will now see how it hurts and will show more compassion.

Two things on this technique; #1, they can barely control this hitting business. Not that they shouldn't be held accountable or disciplined, but it's really out of impulse because they are mad and cannot says, "I'm really freaking mad!" #2, I personally do not see the logic in saying, "Don't hit!" as I'm hitting them. I don't get it and I imagine it's confusing to a little person, but I'm not a parenting expert.

I will say this; Savannah bit my dad once. He bit her back. She never bit anyone ever again. Sooooo maybe in some cases it does work and maybe I'm completely talking out of my ass. Either way, do what you wish. I choose to use what I explained above.

So it's working really well with Madi and she is getting it really well. She randomly rubs strangers shoulders while she says, "Niiiiice..." I may be raising a creeper. It's fine.

Madi even touches the cat and dog, "nice" as she rubs their fur the wrong way and says, "Niiiiice touch." Once she pulled the cats tail while saying nice. All in all though, she is doing really well with this nice touch thing...despite the fact that she might be a creeper someday because of it.

Unfortunately, like many toddlers, she doesn't understand her strength or even that she has to be gentle with babies. I try not to fuss too much over her touching and playing with Nolan. Not only am I not a paranoid new mom, but also because I don't want her to think she cant love on him. So I watch her with clenched teeth just waiting for her to body slam him or something.

It will happen. It's just a matter of when...

Anyway, Madi randomly pokes at his eyes, while saying, "Niiiicee....eyes!" I try to explain that yes those are his eyes, but no we can't touch them." I didn't think I was saying this in a foreign language but apparently I am because she no comprendo. Every day is a game of "poke Nolan's eyes out." It's fine.

Then yesterday, it seemed she finally got it. She walked up to Nolan and I and didn't poke his eyes out. "Yes!" I thought. "Progress!" As anyone with toddlers knows, sometimes it seems like months of lessons that do not work and so when one does, it's like a miracle.

But, instead of poking his eyes out, she calmly (and without anger or provocation) slaps him on his head somewhat hard and says, "Niiiiceee....touch nice!" Nolan of course wakes up, and screams his face off, seemingly saying, "That wasn't a f*cking nice touch, Madelyn!!!"

Madi back up, looks up at me and says, "Uh-oh."

Then she looks at Nolan and says, "What? You okay?"

I think she's getting this "nice touch" lesson anyway....but days like that appears that maybe it's all falling on deaf ears...or maybe I'm speaking Spanish to the girl.


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