To my loving husband on this Thanksgiving weekend...

Nanny Nanny Boo Boo! Two years in a row!

For those of you who thought this would be one of those gushing posts about how much more fantastic my husband is than yours, you are missing two key pieces of information:
1) That's just not my style, and never has been. You must be new here. Welcome.
2) My husband is a Sun Devil, and I'm a wildcat. This is the weekend we taunt and ridicule each other until my throat is sore.

It's okay honey, I still love you, even if you went to an inferior school academically, and well now it's proven--athletically. Sorry about your luck.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Famous last words, right?
Well, chalk another one in the parenting book up to "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Today, I decided to buy Sam some Pampers diapers instead of Luvs, because I had a coupon. For the record, I hate Huggies, and I think it translates to "cleaning up pee for hours" or something like it in Klingon. We buy Luvs because they're cheaper than Pampers but I figured with a coupon, I'll try the other "best" brand and just see if they're better. Luvs work great, but they do smell disgusting and chemical--I'm immune to it now, but it took months for my nostrils to adjust.

It wasn't until after the Pampers were in our cart that I realized they had an Elmo on the box, and remembered that Pampers diapers have Sesame Street characters on them. When I asked Sam if she wanted to wear Elmo diapers, to say she was excited was an understatement. The kid was stoked. She loves her some Elmo, but you already knew that from last week.

I thought her excitement about the new diapers was a plus--silly Mommy!
She was so happy about her Elmo diapers, that we opened the box right away to look at them, even though we still have some Luvs left. Since her diaper was wet, I figured she could have one right then and there.

What I did not count on was Sam spending the entire day obsessed with trying to look at her diaper's artwork--which is of course, unfortunately placed. She didn't want to wear pants to cover them up (luckily we were home in the evening and her clothes got dirty at the park, so I didn't care about an afternoon in diapers). Once she figured out there was a teeny Abby Cadabby on her backside, she nearly made herself dizzy trying to check out her own tush. After I asked her to stop yanking on her diaper while it was on, she tried to take the diaper off to get a closer look (apparently the tabs covered Big Bird). That met with major Mommy resistance, so she settled for finding a stash of clean diapers, and taking out every last one to carry them around. Finally, the topper came when Daddy came home and Sam greeted him by pointing at her crotch and yelling "Daddy!!!! Cookie!" to proudly display her Cookie Monster.

It would seem that one lousy coupon has opened a box of worms I rather regret. Not to mention, it's going to be a bloodbath when I have to switch her back to the cheap diapers after this box is gone. She doesn't give a flying fig about Blue's Clues, and she won't give up her Elmos without a fight.

Thank you very much, diaper-character marketing guys, you're absolute geniuses. You've turned my toddler into a weapon of brand-power. Now back away from our house slowly--I'm a Republican, so you know I've got weapons too.

Proud to be a Street kid

On Tuesday, Sesame Street will officially turn 40. According to the AP, Tuesday's episode will be the 4187th time "Sunny days" will be "Sweepin' the clouds away." Yeah, right. I think we hit 4,187 times hearing that theme song on our last road trip. They must mean "officially."
Now, 40 years after Jim Henson's "good idea" that TV could be used to educate and entertain became a reality, Sesame Street is shown in 140 countries worldwide. According to CBS Sunday Morning, that makes it "the longest street in the world," made even more remarkable by the fact that each country's version of the Street (or Plaza, or Takalani, etc), is not an English translation of the American show. Each country has individual characters and plots, and is aimed toward the needs of preschool children in that country--which is why a muppet on the South African version of Sesame Street is HIV positive, like a large percentage of the children there. Plus, of course, it's all put on by Sesame Workshop, which is nonprofit. As if I needed another reason to love Sesame Street.
So, while the media, and world, and even almighty Google pay homage to the home of Big Bird, Telly Monster, Grover, and company, I must admit that it's just not enough. I would be an ungrateful fan indeed, if I didn't take a moment to explain what Sesame Street means to me.
Like many children, I was raised on the Street called Sesame. Unlike many children, however, I probably had exposure to Bert, Ernie, and the gang for a longer period than my preschool years. My brother is nearly 5 years younger than me, and my sister nearly 12, making me one of the few teenagers in my school who knew about Elmo's daily happenings. Just as one of us grew out of it, another child was just discovering the secret zen of Oscar the Grouch. Heck, I logged a lot of babysitting hours, and was more than happy to let Zoe (my sister's favorite Muppet) share the load from time to time. A lot of what happened on Sesame Street has stayed with me over the years. Even though he died about a month before I was even born--thanks to reruns, I can't even talk about Mr. Hooper without getting choked up. You really have to hand it to Sesame Street for being willing to tackle head on an issue like death in a way that preschool children could understand. The fact that they pulled it off so well is nothing short of a miracle.
Although my rhythm is questionable, and I've got a lot more to move these days, I can still "Do the Pigeon" and "The Batty Bat." Thanks to my repeated viewings in my early years, my mother involuntarily shudders if anyone mentions the words "Follow that Bird."
Today, I'm proud to say that I'm raising a Street kid. Sam loves watching Sesame Street every day, and can name all the characters (except The Count, who is named only by a loud "Ah Ah AH!"). There's no way she would know all her letters by now if it wasn't for us singing the many many alphabet songs I learned on Sesame Street, and loudly sounding out the letter of the day along with the TV. One day, as we headed home from somewhere to "go watch Sesame Street," some nosy parent chimed in with "I never watched Sesame Street, and I don't let my kids watch TV either."
I don't know any other way to say this, but you were deprived. And your kids are deprived. Sesame Street is fan-freakin-tastic.
Part of what makes it so great, is that while it's educational, it throws in laughs for adults who are inevitably stuck watching episode after episode of their kids favorite shows. I know I get more laughs than Sam out of "Law and Order: Special Letters Unit" trying to find a missing M, or "Meal or No Meal," when the banker (Cookie Monster) tries to get contestants to trade a healthy balanced meal for varying amounts of cookies. In all reality, I doubt Sam really knows or cares who Jamie Foxx is, his appearance is all for me. I'll take that over Dora any day of the week and twice on Sunday.
So I'm grateful for Sesame Street. When it comes to educational programming, the original is still the best. In fact, my devotion to Sesame Street is so deep, that we decided to combine Sam's abiding love for Elmo with my excitement over the 40th anniversary this Halloween. Here we are at a trunk-or-treat with the scenery we made, Daniel as Bert, me as Ernie, and Sam as Elmo. We also piped classic Sesame Street songs from the windows of our car (and house on Halloween). Because we're just that proud to be a part of the magic that is Sesame Street.
Happy Birthday, Sesame Street! We love you!

Let's all hope she's smarter than she looks...

Sam has officially decided that I am in fact, an idiot.

Although I'm not surprised that a daughter would turn on her mother like that, I must admit, I thought I had at least a decade before the whole "my parents are stupid" thing came to pass. Boy, was I wrong. Eighteen months, and she's just done with me.

It all started with my personal nemesis, the leftover Halloween candy. Now, I love it, but I'm trying not to eat it, and this year, I have the added joy of keeping it away from Sam. She isn't generally allowed to have candy, but with the bowl out there, and a sweet tooth she's developed (I blame G and Grams, not myself, by the way), it's constant begging. Still, I can't bring myself to throw it out, because it's only been a few days since Halloween and we bought a ton of candy--it feels like I'd be tossing little dollar signs into the trash. And I just can't do it. So I have a couple pieces now and then, and send Daniel to work with little piles, and sometimes I let Sam have a treat.

My favorite candy to give Sam is Smarties, because they are low fat (yes, high sugar, but most candy is high fat and high sugar, so I figure this is better), and I can control how many little tablets she can have. Plus, they're too small to be taken out of her mouth and played with, and even if they are removed, they aren't sticky--a lesson I learned from the affectionately named "Tootsie Pop Incident of 2009." So yesterday, I let Sam have some Smarties.

As soon as the last Smarty (is that the singular?) was gone, Sam was pointing to the bowl on the counter and saying "More? More? Mama...More? Puh!? (please)" If she had been saying "Mine" she would have sounded just like those seagulls in Finding Nemo. She just kept doing it.

I crouched down and looked her in the eyes in a way that would have made Supernanny proud, and said "Sam, I know you want more, but you have had enough candy today, and you can't have any more right now. No more candy." I thought it was odd that Sam just looked at me and cocked her head to the side, instead of erupting into a full-blown screaming tantrum--which is her new favorite activity upon being told "no." As an added bonus, tantrums now come with added stomping, completely for free!

But she didn't scream, stomp, or lose the ability to stand on her legs. Instead, Sam walked to the garbage can and opened the lid. She sighed as she reached inside and I exclaimed "Sam, we don't play in the garbage." She looked at me like "I hope you're smarter than you look," and pulled her arm out of the trash with something in her hand. I hate it when she gets garbage back out, but this was particularly embarrassing, since I was chatting on the webcam with my sister and dad, so I had witnesses to my kid's most disgusting habit. I was just hoping she wasn't getting a dirty diaper to show G her "poo poos." There's precedent. Sam, however then came over holding the empty wrapper to the Smarties she had just finished, held it up to me as close to my face as she could reach and said "More mama. More. More."

Apparently, the only way she could fathom me telling her "No" was that I was too stupid to understand what she wanted. So she had to dumb it down a few shades to get her point across. She must have been shocked when after this obvious tutorial, I still said no, because that's when the crumbling, screaming, and stomping started. Because, not only was she not going to get her coveted candy, but Mommy is obviously not as dumb as she looks.
Bummer breaks, kiddo.

Daddy or Mommy's Girl--it's a toss up

Today, Sam went to the doctor.
She is in the 98% for her height and 56% for weight.
Way tall and kinda skinny.
Talk about stats that have never, ever, ever, in my entire life applied to me. I was there when she was born, but I can't help but wonder sometimes where she came from. Not to mention, she's still pretty bald, completely opposite her monkey-looking mommy's baby pictures.

Just when I was trying to figure out if Daniel's genes are really that much more powerful than mine in every respect, she held up a W flashcard to the doctor and said "Wha! Wha!"
He looked at her and said "What did you say?"
I said, "She telling you what a W says."
Doctor turns back to Sam and says: "How would you possibly know that?"
I said, "Sam knows all the letter sounds--if you count that 'Q says Quack.' It obviously doesn't actually, but that's what she thinks so we go with it for now."
Apparently that's good for 18 months. Sam responded by holding up an H card with a Hat and saying "Hah, Hah, Hat!"

Then it hit me--Sam is a know-it-all!!! She may be a little beanpole, but she's all mine after all! If she ever yells at a guy for buying booze at the grocery store, and reminds him not to drink and drive, the circle of life will be complete (and yet another generation will mortify my mother).

So, you're saying this is a big deal?

I saw a commercial the other day that I just didn't get. It was for those new Purex sheets that go from the washer and dryer with the soap and stuff already in them. Sure, it's kind of a cool idea, I'll listen. The lady in the commercial went on to say something like this:

"I mean, I'd take a small improvement to my day, but this makes my life a thousand times better!"

My first thoughts went something like this: "Um. Okay. Really? A thousand times better? Do me a favor and let's NEVER trade lives, okay?"

Soon, however, I saw the light. This can not possibly be a insane marketing ploy, this must be true! They wouldn't say it if it wasn't true! Firstly, laundry is in fact--despite the near magic washing machine and electric dryer--the worst thing that has happened to me or anyone else in the world--move over AIDS in Africa. I can not tell you how many times I have cried myself to sleep over the burden of being able to afford decent clothes that I am nearly crippled by the responsibility to keep clean. The weight on my soul is crushing. Also, while I'm pointing this out--if I were to change just one thing about how I do laundry it wouldn't be the pre-treating, the sorting, the folding or hanging up of clean clothes, or the touching of other people's dirty skivies. Oh, no! It would be to eliminate the 10 seconds it takes me to fill the little cup and downy ball with soap and fabric softener, and the .5 seconds it takes me to reach up to the shelf to grab a dryer sheet and toss it in the dryer with the clothes. Ten point five seconds saved equals a one thousand times better life.
Who wouldn't take that deal?
Besides, the fact that it will take an extra hour of overtime to pay for the difference in price between the liquid and the 10.5 second saving miracle sheets, is my husband's problem, not mine.

Thank you so much, marketing world. You have once again offered some much needed perspective and shed light on a true tragedy--ten second increments of precious time going utterly wasted.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go watch some more commercials. I hope that one with Kelly Ripa tossing cookies to kids while closing the dryer with her toes comes on so I can get even more cranky!

Not it.

I'm not usually a fan of making up increasingly lame excuses to justify behavior. If you believe something is right, just do it, and don't make up a million dumb reasons to make yourself feel better. If you have to make up a million justifications to feel better, maybe you aren't making the right decision after all.

Today, however, I thought of a perk to going back to work putting my kid in daycare that suddenly doesn't seem like a lame justification at all.

It would be really nice to be able to assume someone else taught my kid to yell "Me Nakie!!!!" and run around the house like a lunatic, and leave it at that. Because as of right now, I honestly don't know where she got it...and she pretty much only hangs out with me...and I have no memory of yelling about nakedness. Plus, she was fully dressed at the time, so I really have no idea what new concept got completely twisted around in that little mind of hers. She's definitely coming up with weirder and weirder words and things these days, and when Daniel looks at me like "where did she come up with that?", so far my only response is to defensively shout "Not it!"

There has to be a better, more adult way, to shift the blame for my bizzare toddler.