The Girl Scout Bond

As we headed into Wal-mart today, the girl scouts were lying in wait.

It was going to be a tough one.  I had the kids solo today so Daniel could work a full shift. I had to wake them up to take Sam to soccer, which was a lot more like water polo in a swamp than soccer. Sam managed to soak not only her cleats, but her socks and toes (in the 50 degree weather), and get her butt wet, since it was picture day and she ended up sitting in the soaking grass in the first row. Then Peyton decided to chime in on the fun by throwing up on himself. He still does that just a little bit after almost every meal, even though he is now officially one. He eats real food and drinks real milk, so I refuse to call this spit up, and am on the verge of slapping people who correct me when he does it in front of them. If I call it barf, they say "No, it's just a little spit up--he's a baby!" Augh!!! He's not a baby, he's one, and he has the diet of a toddler--and why don't you come over here and take a sniff or clean it up if it's just a little spit up?! One day I'm going to say that, and my guess is, there will be no volunteers. Which is a shame, because the smell of barf makes me gag, and I'd really rather not be the one handling it all the time.
Back on topic, since Peyton's clothes and our car now smelled to high heaven, and Sam had no back up shoes to replace her cleats (my bad!), even though we needed to go to the Wal-mart right next to the soccer field, I had to take them home to get changed first and then go back. I had promised Sam I would get the traditional after-soccer Jamba Juice once she was changed, which I did manage to do, considering it was now almost 11 and I hadn't had breakfast anyway. Carrying the Jamba Juice with Peyton, the diaper bag, and Sam alongside screaming that if she couldn't hold my hand she would get hit by a car and die, proved harder than I had thought it would be. It also made me re-evaluate my very rigid and possibly borderline crazy teaching of Sam to hold hands in parking lots. It's possible I inadvertently exaggerated the consequences. Still, I wasn't going to leave my Jamba in the car to melt while I went to Wal-mart!
This was my third (count 'em, three!) attempt to pick up a prescription that had been not ready twice already through the week for various flimsy reasons, so I was already cranky that I had to come back to this same location AGAIN, when it's not the closest to my house (it is closest to preschool, and silly me, I thought it would be done on preschool day, or the second preschool day of the week)!
 I was halfway across the parking lot when a car nowhere near us started to back up and Sam freaked out that they would hit her because she wasn't holding hands. I shifted the hand the Jamba juice was in to get her attention and calm her down really quickly, and that was all it took. I was trying to watch both kids and failing when Peyton grabbed the straw out of the smoothie and promptly flung it and it's contents all over both of us, the parking lot, and possibly the car we were next to (I was too scared to look). You can lick smoothie off your hands, but that doesn't help with the stickiness.  The wipes were no where reachable with my lack of hands, and Sam was sure she was dodging death every second and kept telling me to "get out of the road!"
I think the girl scouts saw us coming, sticky, stressed, and overloaded, and thought I was the easiest target they'd have all day. Normally, they'd be right, but today, I was feeling strong. Also weak. I could not, under any circumstances, let those cookies into the house today. I've been working so hard on not eating emotionally. I said "No thanks!" and wrestled Peyton into a cart. (Adding to the theme of the day, it would prove to be the ridiculous loudly squeaking cart).
As we walked into the store, Sam said "Did they say 'cookies?'"
Me: "Yes, Sam."
Sam: "But...we're not buying any."
Me: "That's right."
Sam: "Are they gross cookies?"
Me: "No. (sigh) They're fabulous."
Sam: "Why aren't we buying any?"
Me: "Because Mommy can't handle cookies in the house right now."
Sam: "I can. I can handle it!"
Me: "Sam, no you can't. You think you can, but then...well, you get a bite of thin mints and...well, it just changes you and the whole sleeve is gone. Trust me."
Sam: "Oh."

I thought that "oh" meant she got me. I thought we made a connection. I thought we were bonding over our shared helplessness around sugar.

Then in the car on the way home, Sam said,
"So, WHY can't we buy those girls' cookies?"

Me: "Because I said no!"

We'll bond later.

Obedience and Apologies

We're working on the obedience thing at our house. Always.
Last week, Sam had a particularly bad day and had pretty much moved into time out on a permanent basis. I was thinking of having a toilet installed next to the naughty step.
The next morning, Sam was being goofy and silly, and even weirder than usual--and starting all over again with the disobeying and poking of her little brother. I wouldn't mind so much if he was in a position to escape, but she waits until he's in his highchair and buckled in place to turn evil. As she was shaking her head with a open mouth full of breakfast and trying to tickle his feet while he squealed his discontent, I sighed and said "Sam, don't you remember what we learned yesterday about disobeying?"

She swallowed, smiled, put on her ridiculous "funny voice," and sang as loud as she could. "Yeeeeaaaah! It doesn't work out foooooor ME!!!!!!"

So. Um. Yeah. It doesn't. So, you know, knock it off. How can the parenting books expect me to keep a straight face and give a serious answer in the face of that response? She nailed it, in the most obnoxious and bizarre way possible. Story of Sam's life. I can't help but laugh sometimes.

A few days later, Sam decided to get a little creative. Lately, we've been keeping the TV off pretty much all the time and I've been expecting her to play on her own more often and she's been coming up with adorable new ways to play with her toys. I usually love it. This time, however, I wasn't a fan of her new game. She called it "Bowling for Buddy." From what I saw, "Bowling for buddy" consists of wheedling her newly minted walker of a brother to stand up and come towards her. She does this by saying "Come walk to me, buddy, stand up, you can do it!" and other things exactly like Daniel and I say when trying to get Peyton to walk instead of crawl. When he proudly did stand up and start his precarious toddle, Sam would take a can of Playdough and roll it, aiming at his feet and hoping to take Peyton out. Thus, "Bowling for Buddy." On the tile.

I wasn't a fan and put an immediate stop to the the game. Then I sent Sam to time out because she's been warned several times about intentionally knocking her brother over, especially on the tile floor. (Another favorite of hers is "tickle time" when she comes up behind him and yanks him down on the floor on top of her for tickling purposes. Peyton dislikes occasionally hitting his head on the floor. Oh, and he also very much dislikes her version of tickling.)
After Sam had been in time out a while I let her out with the direction to apologize to her little brother.
She walked up to him and said "I'm sorry Peyton. I didn't mean to frighten you prematurely. Muah ha ha!"

Sigh.
Sometimes, in motherhood, you can only hope for the letter of the law, because the spirit gets totally lost. In other news, Sam was thrilled to have found a practical application for a line she picked up watching You tube videos of The Haunted Mansion, so it was win-win for her at least.