Two Plus
You can put on your own shoes, without any help from me.
All bodies of water, whether they be rivers, ponds or lakes, to you, are called oceans.
You like to sit with an iPod and watch “Woogies” (Movies)
You very rarely have to be prompted to say Thank You.
You are obsessed with Alvin and the Chipmunks. You always want to cuddle for certain parts of the film.
You put your hands on your hips and sigh when something doesn’t go your way.
At the dinner table, when we are finished eating, you place your chin in your hands, look at one of us and say “So….” As if you are asking us to tell you about our day.
You love bubble baths and would spend hours in there, until the water is icy cold, if you were allowed to.
You love to play doctor and give everyone shots with your little syringe. After each shot, you always say “Sorry”.
Our current nickname for you is Silly Goose. And you often say “I’m a silly goose”.
You love to twirl. You spin round and round with your eyes pointed opposite the direction that you are traveling. It is known as Psycho Eyes.
You have a new-found love for your toy kitchen. You cook things and then place them in the fridge to cool down, just as mommy and daddy do with your food at dinner.
You no longer sleep alone, but with a menagerie of stuffed friends: Bear, Monkey, Abby, Puppy and Kitty. Pretty soon there will not be room in the bed for you!
You love having your toenails painted, or as you call it, making them pretty.
Everything has dead batteries if it doesn’t operate the way you think it should.
You hug freely and often now, the sweet girl I had hoped would be on the other side of the terrible twos shining through in small flashes.
All these things, on their own, are small things. Added up, they make up who you are and why I adore you so much.
Keep twirling, baby girl.
Terrible Two
Ava has always been an easygoing girl. From birth on up, she managed to roll with the punches of most anything we threw at her. Shots? She’d cry, sure, but it didn’t last long. Drop her off for an overnight stay with Gramma? She’d look at us like, would you guys just go already?
When we started solid foods, she ate every veggie we offered. Sure, a lot of it wound up on her face or the floor, but she never refused a food.
We marveled at this child that started sleeping through the night when she was three weeks old, this child who could miss a nap and be just as sunny and cheerful as a girl who slept for three hours.
I hoped, wished, prayed that this would mean the terrible twos would not hit us so hard. It was a silly, stupid thing to think, I know.
Because oh brother, has it hit us.
One of the character traits I truly wish Ava had not inherited is my temper. I blame my German mother for the fury that sometimes flows through my veins. My mother blames my father, saying he had a terrible temper. ( I never saw evidence of this, but then again, he was ill for most of my childhood/teenage years).
At any rate, my sweet, loving little munchkin has now been nicknamed Sybil. You see one minute she’s being all adorable, sitting in my lap, playing “squish mommy’s face” and the next, like a feral cat who realized it’s sitting on a gasp! human, she yelling, kicking and screaming. The child literally turns on a dime.
When she’s pushed to the point of pure, white hot fury, her favorite thing to do is to back up slowly, and then plop on the ground. This is usually preceded by stretching her arms out in front of her, faced turning red, and shaking said arms while growling.
It looks a little like this:
Yeah, she’s cute, even when yelling.
Some days? It is the only thing that saves her. The cute.
I think in some ways I set myself up, thinking that perhaps we would evade the emotional roller coaster ride. Perhaps that is why I am having such a hard time dealing with the near constant state of animosity that Ava emits.
She asks for water. I give it to her. She throws the cup on the floor. She says “eat”. I put food in front of her. She grabs it and squishes it in her tiny, chubby little fingers until it looks as though it went through the garbage disposal.
At times, I am able to reason with her. I explain that we can’t go outside now, because it’s too cold (the mornings here can be quite chilly, even in summer), or that it’s too hot. She says “ohkay” and moves on to something else.
Other times her desire to do something is so strong or her ability to communicate what she wants to me is lacking and we both become frustrated with each other, I think.
For me, life has been overwhelming of late, and I have the gift of verbal skills. I know my own frustrations have colored my interactions with her. I seem to reach my breaking point before I ever realize how bad things are; only then do I reach out and ask for help and admit how low I have sunk.
For now, I’m working on carving out some additional alone time. Hoping that will allow me to take a step back, take a deep breath and not over react when confronted with this:
Because I really do love my daughter more than anything else in this entire world. When she’s not having an epic meltdown?
I get moments like this:
Oh Shoot!
We have most definitely entered the “monkey see, monkey do” phase of toddler-hood with Ava.
Anything we do is intently observed by her, and I can almost see her internal Rolodex filing the information away for future use.
Her favorite phrase at the moment is “I try”. Yes, baby girl, you can try. And most of the time? She succeeds. She can put her shoes on all by herself. Getting pants on is still a work on progress.
The hardest part for us has been curbing our rather blue language. After so many years alone in the house, we are trying to get used to saying fudge instead of fuck, shoot instead of shit, so on and so forth.
And then? There are the moments when something happens and it flies out of my mouth before my brain has a chance to censor the words.
Normally, when I take my jewelry off each evening (earrings, two rings, a watch and a bracelet) I place them on a shelf in the bedroom that is out of Ava’s reach. Being two, small and shiny objects naturally hold great attraction for her. But last weekend, I sat on the sofa, tired after a really long day, and without thinking, placed that pile of shiny temptation on the sofa table. The next morning Ava and I were playing on the sofa when she spotted the goods. She made a lunge for them, and I turned my head to see what she was after. Without even thinking I yelled “OH SHIT”. And promptly knocked the whole pile to the floor in my fervor.
Ava jumped down from the sofa and was under that table in mere seconds. And all the way over to the table? She was repeating “oh shit” “oh shit”. Great. Unfortunately, I was laughing too hard to correct her and by the time I stopped too much time had passed. So for the moment we let it go.
The next morning I was putting a diaper in the diaper pail when I accidentally ripped the lid off completely. This time my brain managed to redact the bad words about to fly forth and with Ava behind me I exclaimed “OH SHOOT”. And of course that was repeated. I am hoping that SHOOT sticks in her head, while SHIT does not. At least until she’s an adult. Then I will have fun watching her try to curb her potty mouth in front of her kids.
Will The Circle Be Unbroken
Last night I handed out the first real punishment of my parenting career. To say I did not like it would be an understatement.
We had a pleasant enough evening to start off with. Dinner was pretty uneventful, and afterward I decided it was a good time to treat Ava to her first ever bubble bath. I started up the water and poured in the bubble making goo. Immediately we saw bubbles. This made Ava a very happy little person. Squealing and giggling commenced. We got in and had about half an hour of frolicking, blowing bubbles and dumping cups of water over each other. Then it was time to get out. And the trouble started. She didn’t want to get out. Never mind that the water was getting cold and the bubbles were pretty much gone. Except the ones that stuck to my ass – and why is it that always happens? Nary a bubble in sight…except for one’s derriere? But I digress. Protestations at leaving the tub commenced. Drying off? No thank you. Getting on a fresh diaper? Nope. Putting on pajamas? Nooooooo. What she did want to do was: turn the tub water back on, fill up the plastic cup with more water and dump it everywhere, pour soap into the tub in the vain effort to create another bubble bath, and in general be unruly. After the 3rd time she wouldn’t do what she was asked I had enough. Jammies went on, and she went straight to bed. Normally after bath time we have about 15 to 20 minutes of cuddle time, during which we usually watch Caillou and “discuss” the episode. We skipped the Caillou part last night. Let me just say that it was not well received. Anyone passing by our home last evening, upon hearing the wailing and sobbing that was being emitted from Ava’s room would have immediately called 911, certain that we were beating this child to within an inch of her life.
The sobbing and wailing did not last long, as it happened. Within 20 minutes or so, she was asleep. No, it didn’t scar her. I, however, was left to brood about it all night long, and a good part of today. I know she’s 2 and she doesn’t even remember last night. I know that this is the first of many times I am going to have to punish her in some form or fashion. What sucked was that in punishing her, I had to punish Darin and I as well. We got no cuddle time. We got no soft kisses and sweet goodnights as we put her to bed, as we do normally.
I keep flashing back to my own childhood. Having my stereo taken away, or being grounded for something I did, or said. I remember being so upset, thinking my world was OVER and OMG, I HATE YOU, HOW CAN YOU BE SO MEAN TO ME? I remember thinking my parents must not love me, for how could they be so cruel? I remember being told that I could not, after all, go to the Motley Crue/Poison concert in Memphis with my cousin. I don’t recall what I did to be kept from going, but I do remember feeling as though my reason to live had been taken from me. My father, in his quiet way just told me that we were doing this for my own good, and one day I’d thank him.
Of course, I grew up and realized that my punishments were for my own good, and while I may not be “thanking them later” I do understand now, as a mother, why they had to be doled out. I see battles in my future. I know I’ll have to pick which ones are worth fighting over. I see me butting heads with this girl. This strong willed, stubborn and so-like-her-mother girl. I see her yelling the same things to me that I said to my parents: “I hate you! If you loved me, you’d let me go!” I see her thinking that I’ve shattered her world because of something I’ve taken away. I’m hoping to come up with something better as a response. Something to help her understand that sometimes, you don’t always get what you want, and it’s ok. Life will go on. I want her to learn from her mistakes, not just be punished for them. I will love her enough to say “It’s okay” when she tells me she hates me , “Because I love you no matter what.”
Dear Avacakes: The Better Late Than Never Edition
Dear Avacakes,
When I began my last letter to you, I meant for it to become a regular feature here. Alas, as with so many things I begin with the best of intentions, it has not turned out that way. But I’m here now, and so I will attempt to cover all of the delightful little changes since my last letter to you.
Your speech is improving and you have a definite mastery of the word “No.” Do you want to eat dinner now? “No.” Would you like some peaches instead of applesauce for the 15billionth day in a row? “No.” Ready for nite-nite? “NO”. Come on, let’s not color on the walls, but on this lovely paper Mommy bought you. “No”. On the flip side of that you’ve learned the word “help”, and it’s delightful to have you bring something to me when you can’t figure it out on your own and say “help”. The one word I had hoped would take you longer to figure out (both the word and the meaning) is the word “hurt”. No matter how much I may want to wrap you up in cotton wool and protect you from the world, I cannot. Even at the tender age of two, you’ve learned that some things give you owies. At least this time it was cleared up with a cream and some hugs. The harder hurts, the ones of the heart that I know you will experience later on, will not be remedied so easily.
You acquired a new skill over the weekend, one that has me scrambling to find those door knob covers that were purchased so long ago in preparation for this day. After months of me trying to get you to twist the doorknob instead of just gingerly shaking it, on Friday you managed the “twist and pull”. Overcoming my horror at the fact that you can now open doors was a burst of maternal pride that had me clapping and yelling “Yaaay!”. So much so that you actually took a bow.
I love watching you imitate your favorite TV characters. If Caillou puts his finger on his chin while contemplating something, so do you. If he growls while pretending to be a bear, so do you. You also imitate pretty much everything Mommy and Daddy do, too. After watching me brush my teeth one morning, you took your own brush, ran it across your teeth and promptly spit on to the floor. You seem to have missed that whole “Spit in the SINK” part, but that’s ok. You’ll figure it out.
You are going through a shy phase right now. It started with you hiding your face when encountering a strange man, particularly an older man. That has pretty much led to an aversion to any and all strangers now. The first sign something is wrong is that you will go completely still. Then you will look down at the floor, unblinking. If by chance one of us misses these early cues, the next clue, screaming and crying will surely alert us that a stranger is nearby, and GASP! trying to make eye contact with you. Never fear, little one. Mommy or Daddy is always close with a warm hug and some reassuring words to make it all better.
One habit our little family has a longstanding tradition of is sport belching. Yes, Ava, you come from the classiest background. Burps in our house are rated, according to hang time, bass and volume. It is also the habit of your father and I, once the burping and judging of said burp is over, to look at the burper and say “pig!”. Rather hypocritical, I know, based upon the aforementioned point scale. However, none of this has escaped your notice. If either your father or I burp, you are quick to look at us, grinning and say “PIG!”
The enthusiasm you display for picture drawing now is much more than those tentative first swipes of crayon on paper. Now it’s bold strokes, strong swirls. You have a penchant for purple and yellow, and to my chagrin, black. Thank heaven for washable markers.
Sometime in the last month you decided that baths are the work of the devil and you’d rather shower with Mommy, thankyouverymuch. So each night, we hop in and you squeal with delight as the warm spray hits your tiny little body. I have to fill up your green plastic cup with water, over and over. You dump it all out and hand it back, asking for “more”. Or sing, “more, more, more”. (thanks Andrea True) Once we’ve cleaned you from head to toe, you hold up your arms, grinning, as I pick you up and hold you closer to the water. You open your mouth wide, and take in as much water as your little mouth will hold. And then, with an evil little smile….spit water all over me. Even though you’re shivering, we still have to chase you down to dry you off once the shower is over. Nothing delights you more than prancing around naked, your tiny little bottom wiggling as you run through the house.
I’m constantly amazed at your sweet spirit and generosity. You will gladly share the last bite of anything with us. Sometimes you will stop playing and run over and embrace me for no apparent reason. I hear you say “hug” softly, as you put your arm on my shoulder and gently pat it with your hand. Any other child your age, upon finding a bag of cookies, would dive in and eat as many as possible before being caught by the parent police. Not you. You put it back where you found it, come running to me and take me to the cookies. You hand me the bag and hold up one finger, indicating you’d like “just one”. How can I say no to that?
I’ve learned a lot about life by watching you change from a baby to a little girl. My heart swells and explodes with pride and joy every time I look at your lovely face. Some days, I’m not sure who is learning more, me or you. What I do know is that each day with you is a gift. I can’t wait to see what the next day brings.
Why My Future Grandchild has a Yellow Lump on Her Head
For a long time, Ava paid absolutely NO attention to television at all. Unless it was a commercial. Then she’d stop whatever she was doing and race to the television.
And then we had Elmo. I think she got her first real dose of him from watching the tail end of Sesame Street at her Gramma’s house. For months, she and Elmo carried on an intense love affair, during which she would try to hug the television in an effort to hug him. So we bought her an Elmo Pillow with Arms. So he could “hug her back”. She carried that pillow with her everywhere…for about 3 days. Then we purchased Elmo Live! Elmo sings, talks, tells stories, gets kicked in the head by mom and NEVER SHUTS UP. Even when he’s knocked over, he still talks. Again, the novelty wore off after a few weeks and now Elmo sits quietly in the corner of our family room, waiting for someone to turn him on again to be loved.
Because somewhere along the way, Ava discovered Caillou. If you are not familiar with Caillou, let me explain. Caillou is a bald, 4 year old boy with a sister named Rosie. He loves to whine, complain and be the boss of everything. For some reason, my daughter is completely and utterly enthralled. She dances to the theme song. She imitates any and all hand gestures and movements she sees. She laughs. She gets mad for him when he doesn’t get his way. She takes the tv remote and points it at the tv while looking at me and saying “Caillou”. We watch it every night before bed.
The other morning, I heard her stirring through the monitor. Usually we’re greeted first with some thumb sucking, then some deep breaths. Then usually a “Hi!” or “Dada!!” (which is D’s cue to get her morning cup of milk ready) But on this morning what we heard was a leetle different. “Hi! Caillou!!”…. “Caillou!!”
Very first thing in the morning and she’s already thinking of Caillou. Ok, so maybe this isn’t the match I would have made for her, but she’s clearly in love. And who am I to get in the way of love? So I did what any sensible parent would do. I went to a photograph morphing site so I could see what my future grandchild is going to look like:
She is clearly going to need some plastic surgery to fix that whole forehead thing. And a little help in the eyebrow dept. But I’m sure we’ll love her all the same.
All in the Details – For Layla Grace
My circle of friends on twitter is in pain today. For months we’ve all been watching, waiting and praying that a little girl with cancer would beat the odds. For about the last month, we knew she was going to lose her battle. Today, a sweet little girl, not much older than my Ava has flown away to be with angels.
I chose not to follow updates from her parents. Too fresh on the heels of Maddie’s passing and dealing with Ava’s own issues, I felt it was too much for me to handle. I come off as a real asshole a lot of the time, but since having a child, I’m a big old softie when it comes to kids. I still tear up thinking about Maddie. I don’t know if that will ever change.
Many of my friends do follow Layla Grace. Through their updates, I was seeing the down hill progression anyway. Some days I would close Twitter altogether, shut down Facebook and log off. Too much. Too much pain.
Today in the course of discussing our shared grief, my friend Becky asked this question:
I started thinking about that. Why did I have to excuse myself to the restroom and lay my head on the cool wall while I cried and sobbed after hearing Layla had passed away? Why did Maddie’s passing hit me so hard? It’s not just that as a mother, I can empathize with the fear and heartache. But with blogs and Twitter, we are afforded a glimpse into the daily lives of people in a way that we’ve never experienced before. We see the big things, jobs, houses, marriages, divorces, birth, and death. But we see all the little things in between. Things that normally we would only know about someone if we knew them in real life.
We hear about how a day is spent. We read about likes and dislikes of minute things. We learn about favorite colors, hated foods. What makes someone smile. The kind of music enjoyed. The details. The details that make us all unique. The details that, when all put together, form a picture of a person that allows us to be drawn in. The details that make us feel the person we are reading about is familiar. We begin to care. We even begin to love.
So truly, is it any wonder then, that as a community we grieve so hard for people we never actually laid eyes on, never touched, never spoken to. We don’t need those things to form a bond or develop emotions.
We will all remember and grieve in our own ways. For me, writing is what I do. I examine, I process, I think.
Today I am thinking about Layla Grace and her family. I wish for peace and comfort. I pray that this is the last time I have to wish for that.
Soar high and free, Layla. Your pain and suffering on this earth are at an end. May the sun always shine on your face and you feel nothing but love and joy in the next life.
How Long Before She Demands Perrier Water With a Twist?
I discussed a while back my challenges with getting Ava to eat. We went through about three weeks with her eating very little at all. I know all toddlers hit that “Hell no I don’t want to eat, I have better things to do” stage. However, Ava was losing weight. That became a concern.
I turned, as usual, to my Twitter gals, who plied me with ideas for us to try. After discovering that my little non eater was nursing a stomach virus (that she passed to me, thankyouverymuch) we worked on getting her over that and then tried to tempt her with new, exciting and previously forbidden foods. Anything in an attempt to get her eat. Chocolate chip waffles. Fish sticks. Macaroni & cheese. Chicken nuggets. Most of it was still turned away, except for the waffles, which turned out to be a big hit.
And then? Once day she must have decided she was hungry, because she just started eating again. Huh. Okaaaay, then.
What I find odd about this kid is the choices she will make. Last night she wanted nothing to do with the Mac & cheese (which I have gotten her to eat on a few occasions) and instead gobbled up a plate full of smoked salmon and pear slices.
Let me repeat: She chose SMOKED SALMON over Mac & cheese. What 20 month old do you know that does that?? She has also professed a love of blue cheese, salad, lemons (yes, you read that right) and beans of any kind, shape or form.
Things she won’t touch: Hot dogs, bologna, chicken nuggets, fruit juice, burgers, fish sticks. Pretty much if it’s a typical “kid’s food” she won’t touch it.
Also, after months of her pushing away any homemade food that was placed in front of her, we finally found victory with my beef stew. She picked around the meat, but loved the carrots, potatoes and celery. She liked the broth enough to turn the bowl up and slurp the last of it. Success!
We put Ava on the scales and she has gained back all the weight she lost, plus another pound. Which is awesome to say the least.
My only concern, considering her current eating habits, is how long before she demands only lox & bagels for breakfast, insists on eating on the fine china and turns her nose up at “domestic water”. It seems I’ve bred a little food snob here. But as long as she’s eating, that is just fine with me.
Guest Post – 20 Years From Now
My brain’s well of interesting topics to discuss has temporarily run dry. I could blather on about something stupid, or make a list of things that are pissing me off right now, but instead I put out a call for a guest post for today. As usual, my awesome friend Jenn came to the rescue. She normally writes here about her beautiful daughter, her self-proclaimed geek hubby Bil and other topics she feels strongly about. She’s funny, sweet, an amazing mom and a super smart lady. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did.
I’m taking a break from being a shit disturber over at my site today to completely ruin and trash Jenna’s site. Because she’s awesome like that and lets me hide out here and stick my head in the sand. *La la la! I can’t hear you.*
It’s not that I want to stir the pot. I just always seem to end up on the ‘other’ side of discussions. Maybe I am just argumentative (am not. are too. am not – Oh, yeah, and I talk to myself. I blame my mother).
Speaking of blaming parents… I always like to hypothesize about what my kid will blame me for 20 years from now. Will I have done too much? Not enough? Will it be the toy I didn’t buy for her. The party I didn’t let her go to. The boyfriend that I insisted was a loser until she realized that I’m right (and don’t we all hate it when our parents are right? I’m in my 30′s and it still pisses me off)
I’m not delusional enough to think I’m going to do everything right and she’s going to love me when she’s 14. Partly because I don’t plan on letting her smoke, drink, and do drugs at that age. So there goes my mom coolness factor right out the window.
And you know what? I’m pretty OK with that fact.
I hope I can teach her to be independent and have her own thoughts and not follow the crowd. And I hope that when she doesn’t agree with me, she says so (respectfully…ha!), and we can have a dialog about why she just needs to do what I say anyway.
Most of all though, I hope I can teach her to be happy. Because there seem to be a lot of people in this world who struggle with that. Who, when they do find themselves in a good situation or a loving relationship, think they aren’t worth it and do everything they can to subconsciously undermine it.
I want her to know that she’s wonderful, and smart, and beautiful. And I hope she never doubts for a moment that she’s all this and more.
If I can do that, then I don’t care if she blames me for what ever trivial things will come up. Because, I’ll be able to look at her and know I’m an awesome mom.
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