Monday, April 26, 2010

Ignorance is Bliss vs. Knowledge is Power

After I got out of the shower and got dressed today, I couldn't find Sam in any of the usual places.
When I let out a loud "Where are you?" (Our family's equivalent to Marco Polo--guaranteed to garner a response from Sam) I heard a muffled "He I Yam!" from behind her bathroom door.

"Hey Sam, what are you doing in there?" I asked with a little bitty flinch.
"I cleaning da bafroom!" she yelled and poked her head out of the small crack that she could open the door, due to the piles of towels, toys, and of course, a few dirty clothes she had gathered behind it over the course of the last 20 minutes.

Then I was faced with the eternal question: Do I ask her to show me what that means (to her) and risk being entirely grossed out or confused further? Or, do I just let that one slide on the basis that the diaper genie is still closed and the toilet is shut (so there's a chance, however slight, that her "cleaning" does not involve the use of toilet water). Do I really want to know what made her decide the bathroom was in need of cleaning if there are no visible floods?

I figure sometimes ignorance is bliss. I'll throw that pile of towels in the washing machine as a preventative measure, and enjoy not knowing the rest of the details.

Besides, usually she tells me when something really gross happens. Like on Saturday, when she came running up to me and said "Help me, Mommy! I drop my milk! My sippy cup!"
"Where did you drop it, Sam?"
"In the potty!"
As I watched it float around in there, I finally understood the true meaning of the "toss" part of "Take and Toss sippy cups." The fact that she came right to me instead of fishing it out and putting it back in her mouth makes me proud, however. Sometimes, it's shocking how much parenting makes you reset your standards.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

I'm So Freakin' Zen!

So, if you're wondering what has happened to all the political outrages and well-worn soapboxes at my are not alone. This blog has certainly take a turn toward the mild, and there is a reason why.

Several months ago, as I've mentioned before, I was diagnosed with migraines, and my most common migraine trigger is stress, especially accompanied by chaos. As an example, helping out in the nursery on Sunday is pretty much guaranteed to lay me out for at least a day afterward. Because of this, and because I would also like to limit the amount of narcotics I need to take to control the migraines once they strike, my doctor has wisely advised me to avoid stress. No, I am not kidding.
Where do doctors come up with this garbage? They're doctors for crying out loud, you'd think they of all people would understand that life comes with a gigantic amount of unavoidable stress, right? They just toss that out there like it's as simple as popping a pill every day. Oh, sure, no more stress, I'll just go live on the moon, but I'd better not stress about having enough oxygen up there...
Oh wait, is that stress rising? Chilling out now.

Anyway, since I am not able to quit being a mom, or wife, or you know, actual human being living in an world full of other actual human beings, and--oh goodness--other drivers, I have had to make some serious and rather minute decisions about where to eliminate my stress.
So I quit watching my favorite "scary" TV shows. No more "Law and Order: SVU" or "Criminal Minds." To my surprise, my recurring violent nightmares have almost entirely stopped (I am not being sarcastic here, because my nightmares were never about things I saw on these shows, I never assumed there was a connection. Seriously, now I look back and feel like a moron).
Next, I gave up the news. Honestly, I've never been more at peace. Sure, I might be a tad behind the eight-ball when something major happens, but Daniel will always call me and tell me to hop online and look it up when there's a major catastrophe (like a volcano in Iceland). What I don't miss, even a teeny bit, is the local news feeling the need to report every incident of child abuse, neglect, or molestation. I don't miss things like "There is a violent burglar terrorizing the valley, stay tuned at ten to see if he's near you, and what you can do to make sure your home isn't next!" I don't miss Fox reporting on American Idol results as if it is actual news. It's not news, it's what happened on your station five minutes ago--it's TV. Let it go. I don't miss political pundits on both sides making me feel like the earth is five minutes away from imploding if we don't all vote no on Prop. 428. Disclaimer: This was a made up prop, because as I've just said, I don't watch the news. If it turns out to be an actual number, please don't vote no just because I told you to. Do your research.
I feel so much better about life in general. I'm not saying I've totally checked out of life outside my home, but I'm finding ways to get my information without the yelling, the bias, the noise surrounding it. It's not for everyone, and the world most definitely needs people to stay checked in and fight the good fight on the issues, but for me, having to find a way to let some things go or be crippled by blinding pain--it's been nice to let go of this one. Getting fired up over every little thing is exhausting, and I have to pick my battles now. It's a bit of a shame that I had to develop an obnoxious, painful, and all around sucky medical condition to make that change, because I am really enjoying trying to find more zen in my life.
It's also made my blog a little boring. Sorry. I still do get all rankled up and preachy from time to time, but it's usually about unavoidable things that are also so personal I don't have the right to vent on the internet about them. Therefore, a little boring. Sorry again.
Please don't worry, I'm still me. When I can find a way to be better at getting all riled and stating my mind without having the issue follow me around and chew at my insides until my head is throbbing, I will be back and better than ever. Until then, try to enjoy my observations on Sam's exploits and maybe take a look at this adorable puppy.

Awe, so adorable, but I bet it pees on the carpet like crazy. Whoops. Well, like I said, still me.

Friday, April 9, 2010

A Few of Her Favorite Things

Sam and I went to Target today to pick up a few things. Namely, a birthday present for her cousin, and a few more I claimed were for her cousin that will actually appear on her birthday. I love having a kid young enough to shop in front of like that. Anyway, after picking out presents for her cousin (and her) we went over to find some more big girl underwear for Sam. I have recently discovered that when someone pees in every pair they wear, a seven pack does not last long at all.
*And before someone jumps all over me about the fact that if the kid is peeing in every pair they may not be ready for potty training, let me just say, I know, I KNOW. But--when you ask a kid if she wants to wear big kid pants instead of diapers and she says "Yes, PEEEEEASE, Mommy!" and promises "No pee pees on Elmo! I go potty," what are you really supposed to do? Tell her you don't believe a word and slap a diaper on her? So, we talk about not peeing on Elmo, or Abby, or Zoe, until I'm blue in the face, and she'll go quite happily dry for several hours while I ask repeatedly if she would like to sit on the potty seat and she says no, and then---puddle. It may not be "right" but it's how we roll right now. I just can't bear to say no big girl pants when she loves them so much. She loves the underwear, she hates sitting on the potty seat right now. C'est la vie.
Anyway, after looking for a ridiculously long time around Target for the big girl pants that weren't big enough for a school-age kid and finally finding them next to the burp rags and infant washcloths (seriously? Does that make any sense at all?), Sam completely glommed on to a package of underwear featuring Brobee from Yo Gabba Gabba. "Mommy, I want deese." That would have been great--except for the fact that they were for boys. I'm for gender equality and all, but it seems to me that boy underpants are structurally very different and would just cause even more confusion. After trying to pitch Dora, Princess, or Minnie Mouse undies all of which were made for girls, and to no avail, I finally discovered a package of Yo Gabba Gabba underwear for girls! Only one packet left in her size--was this a post-Easter underpants miracle? Apparently, yes. Sam fell in love with her new "big girl pants."
Of course, I live in toddler world, and in toddler world, even a good thing, like finding a quality pair of underpants, has a major downside. Like a kid so attached to her packet of undergarments that she doesn't want to hand it out at the checkout counter. And when she finally does, announcing to the check-out person "Hurry up. I buy them!" repeatedly (luckily, the check out person only communicated via writing or ASL, so I didn't translate Sam's rude prodding). Then she insisted on removing them from the bag and carrying them out to the car, staring lovingly at them and saying very loud things to make me happy like "I no pee pees on Todee, mommy!" Of course, she also would periodically wave them over her head and announce "I pee in da potty!"
She insisted on eating her snack with her underwear perched on the table next to her (classy!). And when I told her that if she was going to wear them, I would have to wash them, she snuck away with a pair after begrudingly handing me two of them. She then proceeded to have a tantrum/vigil weeping in front of the washing machine crying "I want my gabbas back! Wash fast, Mommy! My Gabbas! I wear dem!"
So, my daughter's new best friend in the world is an item of clothing. An embarrassing item of clothing to be seen with in public at that.
Parenthood is an absolute blast. Really and truly, because while this loud and obsessive love of underwear is embarrassing for me now, just think how embarrassing it will be for her in a few years when I bring it back up. Sweet, sweet revenge for all the puddles I've cleaned this week.
Muah ha ha.