I was stuck in a McDonald's yesterday with Park, waiting out the tornado warning. All I could imagine was dying in a tornado with people knowing I fed my daughter McDonald's! What can I say, it's right around the corner from gymnastics and it's an easy, although hopefully not weekly, fix. I had no idea tornadoes were so rampant in this area. I was really scared, but I tried to remain calm. Park was as calm as ever, systematically working her way through her fries and Chicken Mcmuggets, while holding on to the Bat Mobile toy that came with her Happy Meal. I guess God works it out that way - when you're ready to riot, they are calm and when you're calm, they're ready to riot! So we just waited it out, me with one eye on my child and the other on that bathroom door in case we needed to make a break for it!
Still waiting on potty success. I dragged it with us to a friend's house for Easter dinner and it ended up becoming my Easter Bonnet. I figured I might as well get some use out of it. I have to go read some books on this. I work better with a step by step guide to do something and not theory. I am stunned that Park, who picks up everything so fast, is clearly reluctant when it comes to the potty. I have to bargain, beg and cajole her into staying on the potty. She has no inclination to tell me when she has to go and will gladly allow me to sit with her for ten minutes, get up, put her diaper back on and promptly go to the bathroom. I fear she'll be three years old before she gets this right and yet, I don't want to pressure her; so I wait, and wait and wait...
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Training Mommy
Day One of really trying to potty train my daughter. She has peed on the carpet, the bathroom rug, the side of the sideboard in the dining room - and basically everywhere except the potty. Larry really wants a dog, but I told him I can't deal with a puppy until my daughter is house-broken! I really can't understand how people do it. Some say to put her on every hour or half-hour - tried that - Parker just howls; some say let her go commando and pee anywhere - Mommy just howls, others say, we'll know when the time is right - well she's almost two and a half - isn't it time yet? Sometimes she will flat out tell me she does not want to go ("I'm dry"), or when I ask her if she will tell me she has to go she flat out says "No." I think she's got this thing with the potty - they are at a stand-off and she's not budging.
Every woman I know was trained before 18 months! What's happening today or at least with me? Is it that we're all working too hard to dedicate the time or have the disposable diapers made it too easy to get comfortable with our kids carrying loads behind them? I tell you, I almost cried with joy when I put on those beautiful big blue and green spotted Target diapers a bed time - I knew I had at least until the morning before I was peed on again.
Every woman I know was trained before 18 months! What's happening today or at least with me? Is it that we're all working too hard to dedicate the time or have the disposable diapers made it too easy to get comfortable with our kids carrying loads behind them? I tell you, I almost cried with joy when I put on those beautiful big blue and green spotted Target diapers a bed time - I knew I had at least until the morning before I was peed on again.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
A Hairy Situation
I was one of those Moms who SWORE she would never braid her daughter's hair. I clearly remember as a child, when one of the big girls in our grand parents Gary, WVA neighborhood, took me and my sister to get cornrows. We loved her and looked up to her like a big sister - and she'd happily let us tag along wherever she went. That day she decided to change up our hair. My father grew up in the segregated south and I guess had clear opinions about showing your "blackness." Dad's a good guy but he obviously carries those experiences and opinions with him to this day. Well, his horrified reaction on that day sealed my opinion. We immediately had to take the braids out of our hair and I never had braids again.
Flash-forward 30-some years and here I am, the mother of a beautiful, fuzzy-headed two-year old girl. A little girl, not with the thick, silken tresses of her aunt Dee, or the equal parts kink and curl of her mom, or even the beautiful long ebony ropes of her cousin Eliza. No - when asked to describe an actor with my daughter's hair so a friend could get a visual, I responded "Yaphet Kotto." My beautiful little girl who makes my heart burst with love, has a head of hair that mommy can't manage!
All of those mixed feelings about my Dad and his obession with "hair, ethnicity, etc." came back to me. Was I projecting the same thing on to my daughter or was I simply being realistic? Her fuzzy, sandy brown locks are simply hard to manage. When I wash it, it shrivels up to cotton ball status and takes more than a few carresses and nudges to mold it into a form I am satisfied with.
And cornrows? Why they have become my best friend. It's one of the few things I can do to make her hair look neat and organized. My friends and family are amazed that I can even braid hair - and though not an expert by any stretch, my daughter does look adorable when Mommy is done. It's one of the looks in my style arsenal that includes braids, fuzzy pom-poms, an occassional twist and plenty of big, giant bows, that are becoming her trademark!
My father's reaction - why he thinks she's the most beautiful, smart, amazing little girl he knows, along with her cousin Eliza. Strangely, he doesn't see fuzz, he only sees love. Every picture sent is greeted with an awe of admiration and wonder. She is his grandchild - and she is perfect.
And maybe that's the lesson. When I look at my daughter the biggest thing I see is love; how she makes my heart so happy; how every day I thank God for bringing such a perfect little angel into my life. The fuzzy hair, the temper tantrums, the strong opinions on clothes and shoes (at two!), the still occassional late night wake-up calls, the never taking a nap on Sundays, are all part of the wonderful things that make her who she is.
I love them all and I accept them all - now, please pass the hair grease!
Flash-forward 30-some years and here I am, the mother of a beautiful, fuzzy-headed two-year old girl. A little girl, not with the thick, silken tresses of her aunt Dee, or the equal parts kink and curl of her mom, or even the beautiful long ebony ropes of her cousin Eliza. No - when asked to describe an actor with my daughter's hair so a friend could get a visual, I responded "Yaphet Kotto." My beautiful little girl who makes my heart burst with love, has a head of hair that mommy can't manage!
All of those mixed feelings about my Dad and his obession with "hair, ethnicity, etc." came back to me. Was I projecting the same thing on to my daughter or was I simply being realistic? Her fuzzy, sandy brown locks are simply hard to manage. When I wash it, it shrivels up to cotton ball status and takes more than a few carresses and nudges to mold it into a form I am satisfied with.
And cornrows? Why they have become my best friend. It's one of the few things I can do to make her hair look neat and organized. My friends and family are amazed that I can even braid hair - and though not an expert by any stretch, my daughter does look adorable when Mommy is done. It's one of the looks in my style arsenal that includes braids, fuzzy pom-poms, an occassional twist and plenty of big, giant bows, that are becoming her trademark!
My father's reaction - why he thinks she's the most beautiful, smart, amazing little girl he knows, along with her cousin Eliza. Strangely, he doesn't see fuzz, he only sees love. Every picture sent is greeted with an awe of admiration and wonder. She is his grandchild - and she is perfect.
And maybe that's the lesson. When I look at my daughter the biggest thing I see is love; how she makes my heart so happy; how every day I thank God for bringing such a perfect little angel into my life. The fuzzy hair, the temper tantrums, the strong opinions on clothes and shoes (at two!), the still occassional late night wake-up calls, the never taking a nap on Sundays, are all part of the wonderful things that make her who she is.
I love them all and I accept them all - now, please pass the hair grease!
The Community Meeting
I had a feeling it was a bad idea to bring my daughter along with me and my husband to our HOA meeting last week, but a neighbor said she was bringing her twins, so I thought "Surely we can manage one if they can manage two." Well, the meeting was held in an auditorium (think echo), and while being fascinated with jumping in and out of the chairs, she hit her her head and asked me, quite loudly to "spank the chair." Chair spanked, we moved up to the back row as not to disturb guests. At some point I must have raised my arm, as my daughter immediately asked "Mommy, what's that under your arm?" I knew I had a little five o'clock shadow going on as I rushed to get dressed that morning but thought no one would notice - wrong, a three-foot tall "inch high private eye" has the perfect view! I immediately said "It's deodorant." Calling my bluff, she said "Let me see Mommy," and I had to post my unshaved arm pit against the wall so she could examine it - over and over again. Finally she asked to see my breasts and proceeded to pull at my top and my bra for closer inspection. At that point, I got up and left my husband to attend the meeting. As I picked my daughter up and tried to hold my head high, I knew that a room full of 500 people now knew that I a) have occassionally spanked my daughter, b) don't shave as often as I should and c) have a child obsessed with my breasts." I think I shared enough with them for one day. And my neighbor with the twins? She never showed up - smart woman!!!
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