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.

Good Guys and Bad Guys

Today, Sam wanted to go out on the trampoline, so it was only a matter of time before she wanted her brother out there with her. He loves to bounce up and down when she jumps on the other side ("only little jumps with little bro!" as she yells to me), but mostly, he crawls after her while she runs away from him and they both crack up and get static-y stinky hair. Sam's curly mullet looks koo-koo-ca-choo after a while on the tramp!
So, I put him on there today, and she immediately started running from him, but she also started yelling:
"Oh no!!! It's the Squirm! Everyone, everyone, run and hide from THE SQUIRM! The Squirm will get you and eat you!"

Hilarious. As villain names go, "The Squirm" may not be the best name ever, but it's far from the worst, and is certainly appropriate for Peyton. Later, I noticed he had morphed into a run of the mill scorpion. I asked Sam what had happened to "The Squirm."
She just looked up at me, Einstein hair explosion swaying in the breeze, and said "Eh. Now he's a scorpion. That's the game."

I guess that means "The Squirm" was just a guest star in Sam's playtime. Too bad.

Nutrition and You

I recently saw a commercial for Lucky Charms that touted that now, whole grains are the first ingredient (in these as well as other pretty much otherwise unhealthy kids cereals), meaning they have more whole grain than anything other ingredient in them!
That's super, but it doesn't really give me the information I need to make an informed decision as a mom. What I want to know is, how much whole grain is a kid eating if she eats pretty much only the marshmallows (and occasional accidental "other piece") and then oh so magnanimously slips those oat parts to her baby brother when she thinks her mom isn't looking, so that both the marshmallow and non-marshmallows get evenly depleted and she doesn't lose her privilege to buy Lucky Charms next time? My guess is, not much.
But, you know, it's just a hypothetical, of course. I wouldn't know too much about that in execution.**
I only feed my kids very expensive local, organic, unwashed on the farm but extra washed at home produce, and local, free range, massaged by an equally organic geisha meat-producing animals, that have only been fed corn (or not been fed any corn, I forget which answer is the right one, but whichever is right, that's what I'm doing). Yep, that's me, the queen of the healthy food movement.
Or I will be, when Hostess tries to save itself from bankruptcy and somehow fulfills their promise to make ding dongs "a healthier option." Yesiree bob, that will be a happy day at our house. I'm thinking of slapping some yellow dye #5 into a mix of butter, sugar, and shortening, and slapping it on a boxed mix cupcake in celebration. Woohoo for health!


**No, lightning didn't zap me. Why it didn't, however, I am unsure--probably because even the big guy knows how I drip with sarcasm nearly constantly.

Sour Patch Kids

Not unlike the candied kind, first my kids are sour, and then they're sweet.
The other night was going to be a busy one, and Daniel agreed to bathe Peyton before he left for meetings and basketball, if I would put him to bed when he was all jammied up.
I agreed, so I went downstairs, made Peyton a bottle to give him before bed, left it in his room where Daniel was dressing him, and then was in my room going about my business. Soon, I realized Daniel was in and out of our room too, having never come to get me to take over putting Peyton to bed.
So, I asked Daniel if he had decided to just finish the job and put Peyton to bed instead? He said he hadn't, but he thought I was just going to head in there and since I hadn't shown up (why he didn't say anything when he first saw me in our room is kind of beyond me, but it must be a man/woman communication thing), so he had just handed him a bottle in his bed and left.
For some reason, the thought of my little guy getting totally ignored and drinking his bottle in bed all alone at night upset me, so I went running in there to cuddle him while he finished, even though we don't rock him to sleep anymore and haven't for months.
Apparently, the thought of Peyton left alone for his bedtime meal was upsetting to someone else too, since I ran in to find him happily lying in bed, drinking away, while Sam sat on the floor next to his crib, reading him a story.
She looked up at me and said "You guys forgot to cuddle him and put him to bed! I didn't want him to be lonely, so I'm reading him a story." I thought I was going to cry, it was the sweetest thing I'd ever seen. I was also proud of Sam for showing him some empathy, since empathy is not exactly an emotion three year olds are usually all that great at feeling.
Of course, in typical three year old fashion, she read him a story about "Sammy the awesome turtle" followed by a book about "Sam's very favorite cars and trucks" even though none of the books were actually about her--so its good to see she's still perfectly self-absorbed in some ways.
I have to admit to totally loving my sour patch kids! Now, I just have to remember moments like these when they're being sour. Peyton, and your 3-6am chorus of talking/crying, I'm looking at you!

Future Lyricist?

As I've mentioned before, Sam is a total music sponge. She hears a song once or twice, and then it's chorus is permanently embedded in her brain and she can sing all of it within about 10 listens. Even the words she doesn't know the meaning of, she manages to at least mostly pronounce correctly by ear. This is why I have to be so very vigilant about avoiding her overhearing songs with any sort of bad words in them--Thank you All American Rejects for your constant radio play of "Gives You Hell." Sam repeating that song at a family party is so the last thing I need, and I've managed to get recognizing the song and flipping the station down to less than a handful of notes!
Here's a short list of songs we've overheard her singing to herself just in the past couple weeks:
"Man in the Mirror" by Michael Jackson (including the whispered "Make that change!" at the end).
"Firework" by Katy Perry (although I should note that she always says "maybe you're a firework" instead of "baby you're a firework," which I kind of like better. It's like "well, maybe you're a firework, but maybe you're not, I don't know everything about you" and I find that funny because it's so much more cynical.)
"Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osbourne. Yep. I don't know whether to blame Megamind or that Honda commercial with the family in the van, but Sam's shouting of "Going of the rail-els on a crazy train!" is pretty common at our house. Also, rails is a two syllable word. Who knew? "Ai! Ai! Ai!"
"Jar of Hearts" by Christina Perri. She knows every word, and she sings with so much of her soul behind it, that I really can't help but wonder if she does know someone who "is going to catch a cold from the ice inside [his] soul." Hmmm, maybe I should check on that preschool love pentagon of her, Owen, and every other girl again.
"Someone Like You" by Adele. Yep. I better make a call and check in with Miss Carly on the state of Sam's love life!
This is just a few of the songs we hear her singing, but I think my favorites are when she goes rogue and makes up her own ditties. A few nights before Christmas, she was getting her jammies on, and accidentally pulled her undies down with her pants. I told her that her undies needed to stay on and instead of yanking them right back up, she yelled "uh oh," turned around, started dancing, and sang (to the tune of Here Comes Santa Claus)
"Here comes bums, here comes bums, right down your eyeballs lane!"

Hey, I never said she was classy, but she sure is pretty clever.
Who knows, maybe she has a future in song parodies? Move over, Weird Al, a three year old is on your turf!

That's dessert talk, honey

Tonight at dinner (hot dogs at Sam's Club--yes, I'm a nutritional giant among moms!), Sam blurted out a question. We're used to that. What we're never used to is the kind of things rattling around in her head at all hours of the day.
"Hey guys. Wouldn't it be super weird, if it was raining eyeballs!?"
Daniel and I agreed that would in fact be super weird. The weirdest.
Then Daniel decided to ask her a follow up question. "So, if it were raining eyeballs, do you think that they would bounce like bouncy balls, or splat?"
Sam thought for a minute and said "They would bounce, unless someone stepped on them, and then they would squish flat! Squish!!!"
In unison, Daniel and I asked "Like grapes? Ewwww."
Sam was very proud of her dinner conversation and ability to gross us out, and laughed like a lunatic while continuing to eat. Peyton, for his part, blew a snot bubble and threw a toy he'd been sucking on onto the floor--which Sam promptly returned so he could continue to lick it.
Parenting--its not for the squeamish.