I'm So Freakin' Zen!

So, if you're wondering what has happened to all the political outrages and well-worn soapboxes at my house...you 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.

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.

She Doesn't Run the Show

When returning from a test drive at a car dealership, Sam embarrassingly announced to the salesman "I want to buy dis big car! I wuv it! I buy it!"

You should have seen the guys eyes light up--like the sale was in the bag. You could see his mind thinking "I can so use their daughter's desires against these vulnerable parents."

Too bad for him, we're utterly heartless. Sam may love that "big car," and as suckery as we might be when it comes to small toys and cute shoes, we absolutely refuse to make a major purchase like a car, because a two year old tells us to. Seriously, who would? Anything involving financing, and Sam's opinion goes out the window.

Bummer for the car guy, I guess. We did end up getting a car, just not from him. Not for a lack of trying on Sam's part. To be fair, she "wuvs" riding in anything other than our car, and always asks "I buy it? I ride it!" so she can ride them whenever she wants. This goes for tricycles, bikes, rolling toys, other people's cars, and yes, even shopping carts. Particularly the flat ones at Home Depot. Maybe if he sold those instead...

Be Careful What You Wish For

Lately, Sam has been talking our ears off. By our, I pretty much mean Daniel and me, because if anyone new so much as asks her name, she will burrow in my shoulder and occasionally shoot them confused glances. I know all kids do this at some point, but I get tired of the "oh really?" looks I get if I tell someone what Sam has said lately. I can't blame them for thinking I'm exaggerating or making it up while she stares up at them, slug-like. So, I've been wishing that she would pipe up on occasion. I don't expect her to have a full-blown conversation with total strangers or anything, but just to answer some polite questions would be nice.
Be careful what you wish for.
On Monday night, I had an unfortunately timed world's worst migraine, and had to go to the doctor very first thing Tuesday morning, which conflicted with Daniel's unfortunately timed early morning jury duty. He couldn't find a way to call them since none of the phone lines opened until he was already supposed to report, so I ended up dragging myself and Sam to the doctor (luckily, it's a block away and the most severe pain had subsided so I wasn't a hazard on the road). What she saw there must have changed her life.
Now, she will tell absolutely anyone who will hold still long enough, "At da doctor...Mommy get a big shot. IN DA BUM! In da BUM!!!!" It's the most hilarious thing she can possibly thing of.
She told the entire extended family last night. She says it over and over in the car, and anytime we pass the doctor's office (which is luckily located right next to the main exit of our neighborhood so it happens a lot). She tells people on the phone. I'm straight up nervous to take her to the store, not wanting to have to talk to a cashier about the state of my health or bum.
Sheesh. Hey, Sam, remember when you didn't talk to anyone? Uh, can we go back to that? Just until you don't feel the need to tell strangers about the shot in my bum? Besides, the nurse said it was my hip...why can't you seem to remember that part?

What My Days Consist Of

So, Daniel has been bugging me lately about never blogging. At which point I always point out that I'm am too busy to blog. Then, he says something along the lines of "You blogged more with a newborn and no sleep than you do now." This is a "clever" way of saying "So what do you do all day?" because it doesn't involve his face getting slapped, but is essentially the same question. I give him credit for trying really hard to be sweet, tactful, and avoid getting slapped. What a guy! As a side note, I have to point this out about newborns: although I thought I was so incredibly busy at the time, in reality, newborns sleep A LOT. Just not at night, or anytime you really want them too. So, yes, I had more time to blog as a sleep-deprived zombie mom than I do now. Figures that you never appreciate the stage you're in.
Anyway, all this has gotten me thinking about what I do actually do all day with a nearly two-year-old 24/7. Here is a brief index of where my time goes:

Answering the following questions: "what's that?" 1000 a day.
(not to be confused with) "what's that sound?" an additional 1000 times a day, and "Daddy at work?" 500 times a day. There's also always "Go to park?" and/or "Go outside?" and/or "Watch (Incredibles/Nemo/Yo Gabba Gabba/Up/Elmo)?" at least 500 times a day. Each. Additional random questions throughout the day?

"Essercising" as Sam calls it (or "physical and psychological torture", as I call it) 30-60 minutes a day.

Begging Sam to use her "indoor voice" as she greets people and objects at her favorite stores, 50 times per trip to "Ta-get!" or "Spouts!" (target and sprouts)

Saying goodbye to inanimate objects including but not limited to: the TV plus whatever shows/characters were most recently on it, bananas at the store (why???), every stuffed animal we own, keys, the bathroom and stepstool after washing hands, and leftover Halloween cardboard cut outs of Elmo, Big Bird, Cookie Monster, and Oscar the Grouch (each individually) when we pull out of the garage. Total time of goodbyes--uncertain, but we rival the Von Trapps. "So long, farewell..."

Cleaning up after the annoucement "I have pee-pees." I have since learned this does not always mean "pee-pees." Always bring the wipes or planning on a super-lighting dash back across the room. Total time: Too much of my day, but really, any time is too much. I hate diapers, and I wish she was totally ready for potty training, which brings me to...

Standing around awkwardly while Sam sits on her potty seat forever doing nothing but singing while unrolling and ripping tiny bits of toilet paper. Total time: Feels like infinity. Actual time: 5-10 minutes. I'm trying to let her lead the way, so if she asks to go potty, I'll let her sit. Unfortunately, she only seems to understand "the throne" in the way it applies to royalty (namely "will you fan me and peel me a grape whilst I sit?"), and not it's more practical uses.

Providing snacks: 30 minutes, including convincing Sam that the fruits and veggies are better (hah!) than Nemo fruit snacks again, muscling her into eating two apple slices and some jicama and then breaking down and getting out a pouch after 100 rounds of "Nemo now Mommy, PEEEEASE! I eat a apple!"

Trying to get her to stay in her "big girl bed" for naps: 1hr 30 min. Unfortunately, 2 days ago, Sam figured out that my "magical Mommy power" that will make her stay in her bed isn't, um, real. That sucks. She will try anything to stall her nap, from the standard, "Water, Mommy?" to the truly creative Samism, "I watch Crebidles first, Mommy?"(Crebidles is The Incredibles, and I've got to give her props for thinking she can make a deal like that, and gain nearly 2 hours with zero benefit to me.) Thank heaven she's afraid of the dark and will not get out at night, and keeps the barganing to a minimum. So far.

Ignoring begging and/or tantrums: 1hr.

Playing toys, puzzles, playdoh, painting, learning letters, numbers, colors, and being a horsey: Total time: several hours a day.

But that's not all. Every so often, I clean a few things, like other people's underwear and toilets. I prepare a couple meals a day. The fact that they are not tasty (and they aren't) is not the point. I also find time to write occasionally, just not always on the blog.

The funny thing is, other than the diapers (okay, and the exercising!), I really wouldn't want to spend my time any other way. Even if I have to say goodbye to Elmo every stinking time we leave the house, and people look at us funny when we talk to the bananas in the produce aisle!

I Think My Torch Went Out

Those who were reading my family blog in 2008, might be surprised that I have not yet blogged about my excitement for the upcoming winter games. Nor have I decorated my home in the standard opening ceremonies red, white, and blue streamers and balloons. In fact, my pro-America cheering and trash-talking of late has been downright non-existent.
So what gives with the dousing of the Olympic torch I normally carry?
Frankly, I have no one to blame but myself, and it's a little embarrassing.
Starting when we got home from Utah after New Year's, I started my Olympic fever. Humming the Olympic theme to myself anytime I do anything remotely challenging, dreaming about Bob Costas, thinking up mean Canada jokes (which I was going to need more of than usual, seeing as the games are in Vancouver), and planning which events to Tivo so I could replay any figure skating falls over and over until it stopped being funny (oddly enough it never does). I was totally ready by the end of the first week of January.
Then I planned to get my DVR all set to try to record the opening ceremonies to make sure I didn't miss them in case some unforseen delay...but I couldn't find them in the program guide. I searched through all sorts of things looking for them, NBC, Vancouver, Ceremonies, Olympic Games...nothing. Finally, Daniel came down as I was getting super frustrated and yelling at the TV.
"I can't find the opening ceremonies anywhere!!! I want to make sure we record them!" I yelled.
Daniel looked at me like I was crazy and said "Well, yeah, the DVR only works for two weeks out."
"Yeah, and the 12th is only like four days away. They start on the 12th, right?" I asked, feeling pity that I had to explain that four is less than fourteen to my poor, ignorant husband.
"The 12th of February, honey. The Olympics aren't until February." He explained as nicely as possible, also probably feeling bad about the fact that he was married to a moron.
Whoops. I had missed the Olympics by a whole month!! How did I totally not realize that?
Embarrassed, I said "So all those commercials they've been running lately...?"
"...all say February. Yep. Every last one of them." Daniel finished for me.
Holy cow, I'm losing my mind.
So now that the Olympic Games are in fact approaching (for real this time), I find myself lacking my usual gusto, because, I've already done all that. I'm finding it very hard to work up the same level of excitement when last time my flame was doused by embarrassment.
Now that the Olympic torch is getting nearer the stadium, it's time to reignite my passion. Uh, anybody got a light?

Tons of Fun

You know you're having a doozy of a day when going to the dentist and finding out you have to get a cavity filled (for the first time since you've had permanent teeth), is not the low point.

Yesterday sure was pleasant. In fact, I was actually looking forward to my dental appointment, because I knew I would get to lie down for at least 30 minutes. I'm not saying my standards have dropped or anything but...sheesh.

Sunday was fine, we didn't take Sam to nursery because she had a fever for a few hours on Saturday, but other than classic toddler sniffles she gets the week after nursery every time she does go, she was totally happy and playful. But that was Sunday, and yesterday was Monday. Sam has developed what we think is a sinus infection that only becomes horrifically awful if she lies down--when her nose drains into her throat and makes her cough until she gags and nearly barfs. This then causes a panicked overreaction (I know, someone in my family, overreact? Crazy!) where she whimpers and cries to be consoled from her near-puke experience. The beauty of the whole thing is, since it pretty much only effects her while lying down, the only sleep she gets is when I hold her upright in a chair while she flips and flops like some sort of sea creature out of water (we're wary of moving her into a big girl bed because she still covers some serious mileage scooting all over her crib while sleeping). Yesterday, we were running on less than 5 hours of sleep and a 20 minute nap. Of course, once she gets over the hump of being exhausted, she feels okay standing up, runs around in ridiculous circles yelling and screaming with nothing but a minor stuffy nose. Plus, we're stuck in the house, because in case its a cold and not a sinus infection or just teething sniffles as previously thought, we're trying to keep her away from people. She's so tired she's throwing weird tantrums (for example, yesterday she wouldn't eat anything but kept demanding a piece of cake), and just cried for hours if she wasn't in the middle of a manic episode.

So, when can I get back in that cozy dentist chair again? Bring on the drill, I'll probably sleep through it.