Big Head, Big Heart

When I enrolled Alexis in gymnastics lessons, I have to admit I had a few ulterior motives. While the main reason I enrolled her was the hope that she would have some fun, I certainly consider it a bonus if the kid manages to somehow learn to be slightly less klutzy. I would love for her to go from having the grace of a buffalo wearing high heels to that of a tutu-wearing hippopotamus.

So far, that is soooo not working out. I swear the kid has a lead weight in her head because she winds up landing on it several times a day. Her head is abnormally ginormous (if I had permission from the other kids' parents I would show you photos from a daycare picnic which clearly shows her head is twice the width of all the other kids--she may be a blockhead, but she's MY blockhead). She has always had a big head, and will probably always have a big head. At some point in time she's going to have to figure out how to keep it above her shoulders on a consistent basis.

When the kid isn't knocking her noggin on the floor, she's on her butt. I don't understand it, I just know that she manages to fall flat on her tush at least a dozen times per day. Sometimes she's running like a madwoman and falls, sometimes she's spinning like a top and falls, and sometimes she's doing something highly recommended like jumping on the couch and falls.

If I had a dollar for each time I have yelled at her to quit jumping on the couch, I would have enough money to hire the kid a few bodyguards to protect her from herself.

The path to less klutz seems to be a bit too late. A few nights ago, the awkward buffalo was bouncing on the couch, getting yelled at, and then felt the need to prove my point by falling off. Of course her booty landed right on the edge of a puzzle box. Across her behind is a very lovely inch wide bruise.

It looks like we spanked her with a stick.

It's been two days. The bruise is pretty dang noticeable if you're changing her diaper. I'm torn on one little issue. Is the fact that daycare hasn't mentioned it because they haven't noticed it, or is it because they have met her and her klutzy buffalo ways?



(BTW, she's not There's Something Wrong Klutzy, she's A Father's Daughter Klutzy.)

Sweetly Sympathetic

Lately it seems that Alexis has been almost desperate for a pacifier. She's been crying, whining, searching, and longing for a beloved "binky." Each time she's gone on a tiny tirade, I've found it to be very VERY odd. She gave up the goods well over a year ago. While she didn't do it in a manner that could be called willingly, she survived and no one was injured. There are currently none in the house (as far as I know--those darn things breed like rabbits, though, so I expect to find them under the couch and in closets when we finally move in a bazillion years). For months now, I haven't been able to figure out why she suddenly was in desperate need of something that she hadn't cared about for so long.

In contrast to Alexis giving up paci without too much of a fight (there is a very good chance that I have just blocked the drama, just so we're clear), there is a little boy in daycare who is a few months younger than Alexis and has been fighting the war kicking, screaming, and with more dramatic flair than a bald umbrella-carrying Britney Spears. There have been several mornings that I've walked into daycare and have seen him standing in the middle of the room in the midst of a Category 5 meltdown. He's been fighting the war with dedication for weeks already, to the point that I wouldn't be totally shocked if he still is sucking on a pacifier when he gets his driver's license. He. wants. his. binky.

On Friday, Alexis and I were wandering through Wal-Mart (Side note--Dear Target, please open a store closer to my house. Love ya! Thanks.). As we took a quick glance at some clearance junk in the baby department, Alexis started in with the binky pleading.

"I want binky," she said.

"No," I replied.

She retorted, "I WANT PURPLE BINKY!"

A meltdown appeared to be just around the corner. In a rare and random moment of genius, it dawned on me that I should just ask her why shy wanted the stupid binky.

"(Insert little boy's name) needs a binky!"

What charges would be filed if we aided and abetted a pacifier addiction?

For the Mobile Flooring Showroom Tells You So

You know what I love? When my cell phone rings its extra-special and very unique ring tone that means exactly one thing:

Daycare needs something.

The ring tone needs to be the theme from Jaws because really, there is never a time that daycare calls just to say, "Hi! You know, your kid is absolutely splendid. We just adore her. In fact, we'll watch her for free for now on! I take that back, we should PAY YOU for being so kind as to allow us to be a part of her life. Is $800 per week enough?"

If only.

No, this morning's call went more like this, "Hi! Um, Alexis has some sort of rash on her back and arms and she's digging at her head." So I stopped whatever almost productive thing I was working on and made my way over to pick her up. Of course, by the time that I got there (Why does it take 10 minutes to drive the three miles to daycare but 40 minutes to walk the 20 yards from my office to the car? Am I really that popular? Weird.) the rash was gone. I could see where it had been, but any signs that the kid might be even slightly miserable had vanished in a dirty diaper-scented cloud of smoke (Seriously. Have you ever walked into a daycare center during diaper changing time? Oh.My.Hell.).

Despite the fact that the Toddler was obviously feeling as spunky as ever, I figured it was worth taking her home just to keep an eye on her (the fact that it was sunny and warm may have had a little to do with that decision). First, though, I thought it would make sense to run to the grocery store and pick up some anti-itch stuff, just in case the Toddler went all crazy and started acting like an itchy-mama again.

I made it about fifteen feet from the daycare parking lot before Alexis fell asleep, leaving me with the World's Most Critical Decision to work through. Do I just go to the store, potentially risking an awake and crabby kid who may not go back to napping? Or do I piss away $20 in gas while driving around for an hour so she can finish out that nap?

I ain't no fool. I pissed away $20. And while I was blowing three days worth of gas money, I saw this:



Say, huh? Hummana hummana, huh? Wha? I tried to ask Alexis if she understood what exactly was in that Wal-Mart parking lot, but she was too busy drooling like a rock star.



So, I ask of you, oh wise reader, what the frickety frack is this all about? I mean, I know Jesus was a carpenter, but I don't think he installed ceramic tile. Call me crazy, but I'm WAY conflumbubulatonfused about this thing.

Getting a Few Things Off My Chest

Confession #1: There is still a fully-decorated miniature Christmas tree in Alexis' bedroom. Every time I go upstairs, I see it and think that I should go down to the garage and grab the plastic tub for it. Every time I figure that I'll do it right after I do whatever it is that I went upstairs to do, operating on the theory that if I stop what I'm currently doing, I'll forget to do it. So I finish whatever, and then promptly forget why I wanted to go back downstairs. Putting away said tree is a two-minute job. Literally, it just needs put in the tub and escorted back to the garage full o' Christmas love. At the rate it's happening, though, I suspect I might as well just leave it up for next year.

Confession #2: Our living room usually looks like a bomb went off in it. I stopped cleaning up the toys or asking the Toddler to clean up her toys about a month ago. Strangely, nothing really looks different than it did when I still fought the battle. I think there might be a valuable lesson in there somewhere, but I can't seem to find it in my sleep-deprived state.

Confession #3: Treating a sick fish who suddenly became unsick, but that I treated anyway just to be safe, resulted in the death of $100 worth of saltwater fish. Now I'm the one who is sick. Project Saltwater Tank of Horrors is not going well.

Confession #4: I'm still trying to convince the Toddler that she likes NKOTB so that I can blame her when I buy the new album. She's not cooperating with my brainwashing attempts.

Confession #4: I told a bold-faced lie to a daycare teacher today. Since Shell left, potty training has gone to the crapper (horrible pun intended). The Toddler was going potty when she was at school, but hasn't since Shell's last day because no one is taking her. I tried asking nice. I tried friendly reminders. I tried back-handed remarks. I'm giving the "she's potty-trained at home" lie thing a try before I resort to drastic measures. If I don't start seeing some potty training going on at daycare, I'm sending her in underwear. Bwahahaha! It should only take a few puddles before they figure out to take her every once in a while. Why, yes, I am evil. I'll make sure they are Dora underwear so we can add a little pee on Dora's face to the shenanigans.

Confession #5: I have spent the past half hour trying to convince the Toddler to show me how she dances to Dancing with the Stars. Obviously, I forgot Rule #1 of parenting: Under no circumstances whatsoever will you have any control over your kids at any time. Yeah, I'll get Mount Rushmore moved to Canada before I get her to dance on command. This is the best I could do:



Confession #6: I totally laughed when she fell. There's a special place in hell waiting for me, I just know it.

Filling the Void

When we lost our favorite teacher at daycare, I knew there would be some speed bumps in Alexis' life. I correctly predicted that nap time would go to hell in a hand basket without a BFF there to use as a pillow. I knew she would end up going hungry much more frequently without someone to slip her some illegal Goldfish crackers in the afternoon. I figured I should expect a new round of questioning and mass confusion regarding the whole "she knows over 150 signs and isn't afraid to use them" thing. What I didn't expect is that her replacement would be a giant pain in my arse.

Michelle was replaced last night at approximately 8:00 pm in the doll aisle at Wal-Mart. (Don't send me hate email about the Wal-Mart thing, I already know it is the axis of evil, the mouth of hell, and the cause for all that is wrong in this world. The darn place is just too convenient to ignore.) We walked down the aisle as we were headed to Health and Beauty when Alexis saw her. Baby Shell.

Alexis stopped dead in her tracks, squealed "BABY SHELL!" at the top of her lungs, and picked up the ginormous, cumbersome box. "I get Baby Shell," she said. No "Please?" No "Can I?" It just was. I tried to see if perhaps she wanted to consider one of the other dolls but apparently I am an idiot because that doll IS Baby Shell and there is no other doll on this planet worthy of Alexis' attention. Alexis drug the doll, box and all, all around the store and to the front register, hugging it close and giving it smooches on the head the whole time.

So we took the Toddler and her new best friend home and learned that she planned to drag that doll EVERYWHERE, including to bed. Whatever. No big deal. Until she woke up at 6:00.

It is customary for the Toddler to wander over to our bed when she wakes up on the weekend so that she can get up in our bed and either be one with a pillow for a little while longer or be one with a bunch of crazed furry puppets. Either option is totally acceptable, just so long as it means Mr. Husband and I get to enjoy a little bit more of that thing people who don't have kids call sleep. This morning, Alexis showed up at her appointed hour grasping Baby Shell in her arms. I plopped them both into our bed and waited to see if she was going to go to sleep or hang with Elmo and Zoe for an hour.

The answer was none of the above.

"Milk, please."

"I don't have any milk, Alexis. Here's some water."

"NO! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Baby Shell wan milk."

Off trudges Mr. Husband to fetch Baby Shell's accessory bottle of milk.

"Dank you!" the Toddler said as she shoved the plastic bottle up the doll's nose.

"BABY SHELL'S BWANKA!"

"Huh?"

"BWANKA! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"Blanket?"

"Yeah. WAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Off trudges little ol' me to find something to pass as Baby Shell's blanket since she didn't come with that handy accessory. I return with a little Dora blanket.

"Dank you!" the Toddler said as she tucked Baby Shell in under the blanket.

"TOP IT! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" the Toddler screamed as Meg shifted her weight two inches to the left, placing her stinky booty dangerously close to Baby Shell.

"Meg, move. Alexis doesn't want you by her baby."

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" I don't really know what the major malfunction was that time because my brain exploded before the second 'A' could find it's way out of the kid's mouth. This whole "nurturing" thing went on for over an hour. That's a whole hour that I could have spent sleeping, but didn't.

Real life Shell, I blame you. If you hadn't left the land of daycare bliss, Alexis wouldn't have replaced you, and I would have gotten some sleep this morning. I'm plotting my revenge right this moment.

Hmmm . . . this doll is still for sale . . . Perhaps Michelle's daughter would like it for her birthday.



(BTW, Michelle, this Baby Shell looks NOTHING like the other Baby Shell. For one, it has clothes on.)

A Thank You to a Special BFF

I think it's fair to say that most everyone has had one teacher who stood out from all the others. One teacher that made a difference by noticing something no one else did, understanding something others missed, or providing the right kind of motivation at the right time. A teacher that, quite simply, was better than all the others.

For me, that was my sixth grade teacher, Miss Evans. She was the first teacher that seemed to understand that being the smart kid in the class was, in nearly every way, a curse. She battled with school administration to help keep me from being singled out in ways that would only lead to mockery. She provided opportunities for each and every kid to shine, helping to level the playing field. She insisted on kindness in her classroom at all times, without making it seem she was taking sides. It's probably a silly thing to remember, but I distinctly remember her stopping at my desk one day and very discretely complimenting my hair. For the kid that was endlessly tortured by her peers, it meant a lot to hear a kind word or two during a particularly low time.

Alexis has been extremely blessed to have already encountered her own Miss Evans. While all the teachers at her daycare are fantastic, Miss Michelle has always stood out from the others. She is that someone who teaches not only with her mind, but also with her heart. She's fantastic with all of the kids, but most especially with Alexis. She's the teacher that "gets" my kid. She knows how to be Alexis cheerleader, disciplinarian, and best friend all at the same time. There's a reason Alexis talks about "Shell" all the time, and that's because she is quite simply an amazing person. I do believe she loves Alexis just about as much as I do, and that's saying quite a bit.

Miss Michelle's last day at our daycare center is tomorrow and I just wanted to take a moment to say thank you. Thank you for always being honest with me, whether Alexis was the star student of the day or the biggest brat around. Thank you for encouraging Alexis to communicate far behind her age by taking the time to not only understand her spoken words, but also asking her to teach you sign language at every opportunity. Thank you for helping to instill a sense of confidence in my timid little girl. Thank you for being that special kind of crazy it takes to work with 20 toddlers each and every day. Just thank you.

Michelle, tomorrow when I pick up Alexis, I will be in the biggest hurry you have ever seen. I'll be scooping up your BFF and running for it because I don't think I can do a long goodbye. I suspect you can't either. So, we'll be seeing you around town and you had better give us a call from time to time.

Thank you, from all of us.





(The photos are from May '07 -- Alexis' first week in the Toddler Jungle with Michelle.)

Never Satisfied

It occurred to me today (thanks, Karen for the reminder!) that I never did post Alexis' two-year portraits. Nor have I sent prints of the darn things out to family members (yet--I swear, it will happen!). The reason for my delay is that I had full intentions all along of getting another set taken. Between my brain going on spontaneous vacation and various little setbacks, two months later I still haven't gotten on the ball.

The primary setback has been that Alexis has not managed to go more than a few days without having some sort of major bruise on her noggin. She's always a walking accident, but I would prefer our less-than-annual family portraits to not make it look like we punch our kid in the face. The first bruise was a lovely little black eye she obtained while pushing a truck around at daycare. Her little feet slipped out from under her and she inadvertently ended up pushing the truck with her eye.

Now she's sporting an even bigger bruise on her forehead. I find this bruise particularily fabulous because while I know it happened at daycare, nobody seems to know how. I'm pretty funny about that whole thing where nobody knows how she managed to get a bruise on her forehead the size of a dollar coin. And by "funny", I mean PISSED. When she got the black eye, I honestly just figured that's the kind of thing that happens. It was no big deal because THERE WAS AN EXPLANATION. This time, all I know is that it happened in the first hour she was at daycare, before her favorite teacher (and BFF) arrived. That teacher was right there with me, all sorts of ticked off that a kid managed to whack her head without anyone knowing what happened. There's no doubt she screamed bloody murder when it happened, so it's not like it could have gone unnoticed. The most annoying part is that the owner of our daycare is out on medical leave, so I can't go throw a fit to the appropriate party. (And yes, I did just write that entire paragraph for no other reason than so I will remember to throw a fit.)

Anyhoo, just as soon as this latest proof that my kid is a klutz (or got smacked by another kid, which is actually what I suspect happened) starts to fade, there will be family portraits and there will be more two-year portraits of the Toddler. Hopefully this all will go down before she turns three.

(BTW, you can tell me these portraits are fine, but I won't be able to hear you as I have my fingers shoved in my ears to block you out. Her hair was a hot mess that day, and that's that.)

Snarkette

If parenting is a series of premonitions of what is to come, and paybacks for what you've done, I am in BIG trouble, Mister. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel I'm pretty sure it's actually a train that is about to smash me into a million pieces. The Toddler? She has an incredible sense of humor. It's absolutely amazing how she manages to find funny in just about anything. In a few years, I guarantee I am going to be her straight man because I am about as funny as a diarrhea-filled diaper compared to her.

At home, she loves to play tricks. She slams doors in faces, hides behind curtains, steals important things (I wonder where she learned that from?), offers you a bite of her food only to quickly snatch it away and stuff it in her own face, and generally makes us laugh all.the.time. The other day when she called Meg special? Both Mr. Husband and I busted out laughing. So, of course, she keeps on saying it. Over and over. Just so you know, after 10,453 repititions, it's still funny.

If she says something when we're in public and manages to garner an audience, she'll keep her her one woman act going. Earlier this week, she and I were walking around the grocery store saying lines from Dora like "Swiper no swiping" and "Oh, maaaan!" When a fellow mom chuckled at Alexis' version of "Oh, maaaan!", Alexis proceeded to follow her around the store, repeating it again and again.

I'm always hearing about how funny she is from her daycare teachers. They'll tell me stories about how all the kids were playing in the tube/tunnel thing and somebody poked a head in and yelled "Boo!", scaring all the kids the point of tears. But my kid? She's got tears streaming down her face because she's laughing so hard she can't breathe.

Sometimes to entertain themselves, the teachers will throw little scraps of paper or foam at the kids as they run around like the crazy little people they are. All the kids get mad, except one. My kid. She thinks it's hysterical. So now she's the only one they use for Toddler Target Practice. She's perfectly content that way (as am I--we like to use her as our target when we're throwing the Bulldog around so it's good that she's getting extra practice at dodging oncoming projectiles). (Don't hate on the teachers, BTW. Think about what you would do if you spent 40 hours per week locked in a room with 20 toddlers. I'm shocked they haven't resorted to throwing the kids out the window as a means to entertain themselves. I would.)

Today, Alexis took it to a new level. She has started snarking on the other kids. One little boy is pretty new in class and he's having a rough time adjusting. As such, he's spending a good part of the day crying. Today, Alexis pointed at him and said, "He's waa-waa-waaing" all dramatic-like and then busted up laughing. Now, I don't know how old I was when I started with the snarkiliciousness, but I don't think it was two. She is going to be a master of the art form in no time, I'm sure.

Take a Little Ride on the Short Bus

- I discovered a new pattern last night involving the Toddler bed: Lights On--Toddler gets in and out of bed 50 times by herself. Light Off--Toddler cannot get in or out the bed by herself. I feel like I should stand at the lamp and flip it on and off over and over just to see what she will do.

- You know it's been a rough week when I am ecstatic--ECSTATIC I tell you--that Alexis only woke up once last night. Even more exciting is the fact that the wake-up call came immediately after a thump loud enough to wake a Daddy. OK, so it's not cool that she fell out of bed, but it's totally cool that a little rolling and crashing was the only thing that woke her up. (She was totally fine, not a single mark anywhere.)

- This is NOT right:



While some people are running around all excited that it was in the mid-60's the past two days, I am not one of them. It's going to get cold again. It is, after all, January and Pittsburgh we're talking about here. It's going to feel 300 times worse when it happens than it would have if the temperature had just stayed steady. Ever go on vacation to the beach in the middle of winter then return home to freezing weather? That is what it's going to feel like. I'm not looking forward to the cold wind slapping me in the face and reminding me that I live in the North.

- Since a few of you asked a little while back, the new job is Training Manager for a big, international construction company. It's a new position and involves building the department from the ground up. Since I know you're curious, I think it's OK to reveal that I look smokin' in my hardhat, steel-toed boots, safety glasses, and bright orange vest. Especially when I'm up to my knees in mud. I'm headed to the World Trade Center work site next month; I'll try to get a picture so you can see just how big of a dork I can be.

- Alexis loves to sing. I mean, really loves to sing. Every moment that she spends in the car is a moment that she spends composing beautiful music. Sometimes she sings along with whatever I have playing on the stereo. The girl does "Maneater" WAY better than Nelly Furtado. Since she seldom convinces me to listen to crappy pop music, she frequently relies on her favorite Signing Time songs for material. But lately, she has started to sing kid songs she learned at daycare. I'm a big fan of "Circle, Circle Little Star" (please don't tell her those aren't the real words--I adore her version), but the tune she sang today was the BEST. It started out as your standard "Wheels on the Bus." She got the first and second verses right, but when she got to the third verse, she proved herself a genius by doing a little substitution for "baby":

"The Daddies on the bus go WAH WAH WAH
WAH WAH WAH
WAH WAH WAH
The Daddies on the bus go WAH WAH WAH
All through the town."

Truer words have never been sung by a one-year.

The Perfect Recipe for a Miserable Evening

For this recipe, you will need:

A room big enough to hold 75 people
Approximately 40 Toddlers (be sure to grab a good assortment of 1, 2, 3, and 4-year olds)
A heaping mound of parents
A handful of siblings
Several dozen grandparents
A few cousins
A smidge of aunts and uncles
A touch of neighbor's sister's ex-husband's dentists
Anybody else that I may have missed
68 camcorders
3 dozen cupcakes
2 dozen cookies
4 dozen bottles of water

Note: Be sure to start cooking this recipe at 5:45. You need to make sure that all of the people are good and hungry before you begin.

Preheat the room to 75 degrees. Add in all of the people, making sure to pack them tightly; most should be standing shoulder to shoulder and unable to see anything other than the head in front of them. Place the cupcakes, cookies, and water on a table way at the back of the room so that they are nearly inaccessible. Next, separate the toddlers from the parents. That should trigger some of the toddlers to start screaming and crying. Next, move the toddlers to the front of the room and try to get them to sing a song or two. Stir, then repeat. You'll notice a lot of jostling and shoving amongst the camcorder operators; this is normal. Once the room temperature reaches 80 degrees, take two aspirin because you'll have a massive headache.

The end result:



Credit for this recipe goes to Crazy Daycare Owner Lady

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly of the Return to Daycare

Alexis made her glorious return to daycare this week after a too quick 3-week absence. It didn't take long for things to turn right back to the way they were.

Because of a change in schedules, I have been bestowed with the glory that is the morning drop off. There's a very good reason I don't do drop offs--I can't take the pain. On the first day, Alexis gave me a super-sized dose of pain by ripping my heart out and tearing it to shreds. In other words, she had a total and complete meltdown and made it real obvious that she wanted to stay with me. Her teachers swear that she calmed down shortly after I left, but her tears haunted me all day.

And then came Tuesday, and she no longer cared that I was alive. She cheered when we pulled into the parking lot and took off running once we were inside. I didn't even get so much as a kiss goodbye. And that's how it continued the rest of the week. I'm glad she likes school and all, but would it kill the kid to at least say goodbye? I'm not looking for another meltdown, but I bet there's a middle ground in there somewhere that would leave me feeling loved, but not too loved.

Alexis learned a few new things at school this week. First the good--she learned to count all the way to 8. You could have knocked me over with a feather the first time I heard her do it. Now I keep making her do it over and over because I still can't wrap my brain around the fact that my little tiny baby who just a year ago still couldn't walk, suddenly knows how to count. I feel like I should throw a "She Can Count!" party, but maybe that's a bit overboard.

The other thing she learned is that merely saying "No" when asked a question is really not quite enough. You should say "No way" just so that you make sure that your parents know just how ridiculous their questions about what you want to eat, whether you need a diaper change, and what you want to do really are. And the sassier you say it, the better.

I'm guessing that the same kid that taught her the art of sass is also the one that breathed on her and shared his/her grimy little toddler germs. Oh yes, it took a mere three days before the daycare-induced runny noses returned. By last night, a little bitty cold had grown to a full-sized cold.

I have previously mentioned that Alexis like to take everyone down with her when she's sick, and she did a masterful job of it last night. She ended up in our bed after several trips back and forth between the rooms to tend to her crying. I really have no concept how the child survived her first few weeks of life given how completely stupid I become in the middle of the night. Bringing her to our bed was dumb in and of itself, but then I managed to stay oblivious to the fact that she had a fever for hours. Other Moms I know check their kid's temperature the second they sneeze. Despite the restlessness, whining, and crying (oh, and the fact that her forehead was hot--duh!), I just couldn't seem to figure out what was going on. Then it took me an additional hour or two to realize that I could do something about the fever. I finally stumbled around the dark house, bumping into walls and falling down stairs, for ten minutes in search of the elusive baby Tylenol which was located in the medicine cabinet (where it belongs). I administered it it to one pissed off Toddler and she was able to sleep soundly for the four hours that followed. She woke up a new woman and you wouldn't even know that she was miserable for the greater part of the night. Unless, of course, you look at the bags under my eyes. They tell the story like you wouldn't believe.

Pictures Really Do Tell the Story

There are times when I walk into daycare and really, really wish I had a camera handy. For example, every time that I have ever picked Alexis up during nap time. I quite simply cannot wrap my brain around the fact that they get 20 one, two, and three-year olds to nap simultaneously AND for more than ten minutes. A photo of that would allow me to stare at the image over and over, as if I were admiring one of the seven wonders of the world. That is certainly one of the wonders of my world.

Other times it's OK that I don't whip the camera out because the image of what I see is permanently seared into my brain. The time I walked in on Barbie time immediately comes to mind. There were at least 30 naked Barbie dolls laying in a pile, many of them decapitated or missing a limb. Their clothes were scattered over a four-mile perimeter. It seemed the toddlers were taunting the naked Barbies with thoughts of being fully dressed. One toddler would start to put an article of clothing on a Barbie and another toddler would grab that Barbie from her current keeper, causing some sort of dismemberment. Then the second toddler would start to dress Barbie, only to have a third toddler come along and rip Barbie away. The end result is an image I won't soon forget--a pile of vacant-eyed, skinny, blond, dismembered, naked dolls with permanent smiles affixed to their faces.

Then there are the times when I walk in and am immediately told, "You have to see this picture." Camera phones are a handy invention. Last week a camera phone provided the evidence I needed to see that Alexis has taken her pleas for a brother or sister public. Behold Exhibit A:



Now, I can already hear Grandmas and Grandpas across the country saying, "Well, give the girl what she wants. Bring on more Grandbabies!" Let's get one thing straight right this second. No. No. No. and No. I am not so far gone from those many months of pregnancy misery to have forgotten just how miserable I was. Also, I am 100% aware of the fact that nobody gets this lucky twice. Alexis is undoubtedly an "easy" child. That won't happen again. I imagine that our next child (should there ever be one--a very, very long time from now) will be the polar opposite of Alexis. That thought alone is enough to make me start looking for the best bridge to launch myself from that will almost certainly guarantee an escape from the horrors of a less-cooperative child.

So Alexis has been not-so-subtly hinting at her desire to have a baby in the house. Her current strategy is to demonstrate just how helpful she could be. She carries her dolls around all over the house, giving them bottles to drink, changing their diapers (well, sort of--usually they just end up naked), giving them lots of hugs and kisses, pushing them in the stroller, and even feeding them.



Even I will admit, it's a pretty good strategy. But it ain't gonna' work. So Alexis, please focus your energies elsewhere. You can have all the babies you want in about 30 years.

Your Toddler Will Self-Destruct in 24 Hours

The rules were not made to be broken. They were made to help daycare maximize their profits while minimizing the amount of time spent actually caring for a child. Our current daycare (and I say "current" because I know the clock is ticking on that situation) has mastered the art of money for nothing. Case in point, Alexis can only be there 10 hours before "excess fees" start kicking in. And they kick in at 10 hours and 1 minute. There's nothing that fuels road rage quite like insane traffic coupled with $5 being ripped from you pocket ever few minutes. Well, maybe the knowledge that part of your daycare fees are supposed to cover meals but you have to pack a lunch nearly every day anyway. That'll surely bring a smile to your face.

The latest and greatest example started out innocently enough. When Alexis woke up yesterday morning, it was obvious that she wasn't feeling well. She didn't have any symptoms per se, but she was clearly not all together OK. I debated for a minute then decided she could very well just be tired. That kid loves to sleep. I mean REALLY loves to sleep. Lately, she's been loving it so much that she's been waking me up two or three times a night to tell me just how much she loves it. "MUMMMMMMMMY! MUMMMMMMMMMMY! MUMMMMMMMMMMMY! Good night!" We had that little exchange at least five times Sunday night, so tired really was a possibility. As a final test, I took her temperature. A perfect 98.6, so off to school she went.

It lasted a total of two hours. Then came The Call. Fortunately for all parties involved, Alexis' favorite teacher was the caller and I happen to trust her completely. So when she said Alexis was crashing, I knew it was time to pick her up early. Before I could get there, her temp escalated to 100 degrees. Oh, and she threw up all over her favorite teacher. A sign of true love, I know.

Anyway, when I got there she was passed out asleep in the corner. Considering there were 19 screaming toddlers running to and fro about less than three inches from her face, I took that as a sign that she was in rough shape. I took her home and before I could sit on the couch, she was sound asleep in my arms. So we bonded over a lovely little nap.

She woke up less than two hours later and immediately declared, "Cracker?" I took that as meaning she was hungry and not making a rather inappropriate reference to my pale skin. I handed her a cracker then ran for cover. Remember, she had thrown up all over a teacher; I wasn't about to suffer the same fate. But the first cracker ended with a second cracker and then a third and then some milk. And nothing happened. Other than Alexis running all around the living room like a maniac, that is. Apparently a two-hour nap was just the trick she needed to resume normal activities. She stayed fine and dandy for the rest of the day and even survived a few hours alone with Daddy.

This morning when she woke up, I carefully inspected the toddler for any signs of illness. There were none to be found anywhere. But it didn't matter because the daycare owner called us, as we were walking out the door to go to work/school, and said something along the lines of don't you dare bring your kid here because blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, contagious, blah, blah, blah, fever, blah, blah, blah, 24 hours, blah, blah, blah, threw up, blah, blah, blah, goodbye. I think somewhere in there I tried to argue about 21 hours being awfully close to 24 hours, but I can't really be sure. It might have just been in my head because getting a word in edgewise with that woman requires something akin to a miracle.

So Alexis spent the day coloring, watching Signing Time (over and over and over and over), sliding, running around in her play house, and generally being a really, really healthy and hyper kid while I stayed glued to my laptop. Of course Alexis couldn't get kicked out of school on a day when I could just take the day off and enjoy her company. No, instead I got to work even more hours than I would have if I'd been in the office. And I got to stew over the fact that I was paying someone to watch her for the day while she sat three feet from me. Perfect.

She Doesn't Need Us :-(

Lately I've been running into more and more reminders that Alexis has a life away from us. Obviously, I understand that while she's at daycare she's going to be exposed to things and people that we don't know about. But it's still throws me for a loop when I hear her say someones name that I don't know. For example, she introduced me to Tyler at daycare today. This weekend, I was downright shocked when I started to sing "If you're happy and you know it" to her only to learn she already knows it. She's got all kinds of little hand motions that go with the tune. I had no idea. And then there's the fact that she has started to say parts of the alphabet. I was just starting to think about trying to teach it to her. Apparently daycare has been doing it for a while.

Probably the most blatant example of her learning things from someone other than me and Daddy is her mad phone skills. It's no secret that no adults in this house are known for their telephone using abilities. I'm thinking that the fact that Alexis is real good at carrying on a phone conversation is evidence that somebody in her world is a pro. I'm guessing that someone has red hair and adores Alexis, but that's just my guess. (BTW, the quality of this video is horrendous. I apologize for that, but it didn't occur to me to turn on more lights when Miss Chats-a-Lot decided to sit still and carry on with her invisible phone partner.)



And now, it's time for y'all to try to guess what that sound is in the background. You're only hint is that it pretty much never stops at our house.

Finding Joy in the Pain of Others

1. Picture the scene . . . I'm walking out the front door on my way to the car. I glance over and see this neighbor in his front yard with his hose. He has one white knee sock pulled all the way up; the other hovers just above his laced black shoe. His Richard Simmons shorts cover just enough skin so that I'm not blinded, but his worn until thin t-shirt makes evident that he is turning into a hunchback. He's turning knobs both high and low trying to turn on the water. For some reason, the hose refuses to yield said water. He turns more knobs. He slowly draws the hose nozzle to his face and peers inside the tiny little holes. He turns another knob. Water sprays all over his face. I speed to the car, mouth covered, and close the door so that he cannot hear my laughter. I fight the urge to jump back out of the car, run over to him, and laugh in his face. But I really, really wanted to. I deserve a cookie, no?

2. Daycare has reported that Alexis now feels the need to ask "Who's that?" each and every time she sees a person. I can tell you that she already knows every one's name; I've heard her say many of their names. The fact that there was a tiny bit of annoyance seeping through the teacher's voice as this was reported leads me to believe that somebody needs to grow some thicker skin. I think I find enjoyment in somebody being so easily annoyed. Actually, I know I do.

3. Last night Alexis was watching Signing Time while Daddy cleaned the upstairs bathroom (Yes, women, my husband cleans bathrooms. Stay away from him--he's mine.) It got to be time to switch to the Steelers game. Listening to them yell at each other "It's Signing Time" "It's Steelers Time" "Signing Time" "Steelers Time" "Signing Time" "Steelers Time", well, that's just plain good fun.

Best Phone Call Ever

I still hate phones, but daycare just called me and I must admit, I'm so glad they did. For that call was the most amusing of amusing calls of all time.

Me: Hello? (Much hesitation in voice because wise and cherished caller ID already warned me it was daycare -- that can't be good.)

Daycare Owner Lady: Hi Burgh Baby's Mom. It's Daycare Owner Lady. Nothing is wrong with your baby.

Me: OK. (Much confusion in voice because if she's not sick, then this really can't be good--did she beat somebody up for touching her Play-Doh?)

Daycare Owner Lady: Can you pick Lexie up by 5:00 today? We're calling everybody because babies are throwing up all over teachers and teachers are a mess and we need to close early so that we can clean up and can you pick her up by 5:00?

Me: No problem (Still confused--I always pick her up before 5:00. Is there some sort of traffic disaster in my future that will prevent me from driving 11 miles in under 1.5 hours? Is there? Because if so, I'm leaving now. Oh and there's a little annoyance in my voice as well because I'm thinking "Freakin' frackin' don't call my kid 'Lexie' for goodness sake, you can call her Lex, Alex, Ali, Kinnley, A. Mac, or Poopsy for all I care, just don't call her Lexie. Grr.")

Daycare Owner Lady: Oh, good because it's really just such a mess here and wow the teachers are really just a mess and kids are throwing up all over the place and . . . (There was more, but my little brain lost the ability to focus on the run-on sentence and promptly shut down.)

Awesome, for -oh- so many reasons.

1. If I have to get puked on, everyone should get puked on. Yay!
2. Nobody bothered to tell me this thing was going around daycare last week. So take that! teachers and Daycare Owner Lady who didn't think it would be appropriate to tell me the flu was making the rounds. It circled right back to you, now didn't it?
3. That was the first time Daycare Owner Lady called and I actually got more than three words in. I consider that a personal victory.
4. My kid is not one of the sick ones. Oh wait, that's because she already had it. Darn.
5. The call came at 11:00 am. That's lunch time at daycare. Picture the scene as 50 maybe 60 kids all sit down to eat lunch then they start to get sick, one after the other. While I really do feel bad for the kids, that is still an awesome little image in my head.
6. There will likely be lots of absences at daycare tomorrow. Yay! More attention for Alexis!

Back Away from the Play-Doh and Nobody Gets Hurt

Daycare sends a report card home with Alexis everyday that outlines her activities, eating, etc. About a month ago, I started to see "Play-Doh" under activities along with some comment in the margin such as "loved it!" or "really enjoyed!" The first time I thought they were a bunch of crazy people for intentionally introducing 20 kids under the age of four to Play-Doh. The next time I saw it I wondered if Alexis perhaps was eating the Play-Doh and that was why she liked it so much. The third time I asked and was told that the kid "love, love, loves Play-Doh!" So I bought her some. And it sat around for a week or two collecting dust because I didn't feel like putting myself through the level of supervision that Play-Doh and an 18-month old requires.

Today, I got brave. I cleared a place on the easy-to-clean wood floors and broke out the red and blue Play-Doh. Alexis and I discussed the pretty colors for a few minutes then I tried to show her how to squish it. Wrong answer. I was not supposed to squish the Play-Doh. Once she stopped lecturing me, I noticed that the point of the game seemed to be to just hold the stuff in both hands and look around to make sure that no one was trying to take it from you. When a cat had the audacity to try to sniff the Play-Doh, she promptly (and loudly) informed him to BACK AWAY FROM THE PLAY-DOH. Then she set up a barricade, creating a ten-foot barrier between herself, the Play-Doh, and the rest of the world. Jasmine tried to cross the barricade and is now cowering in the corner, shaking with fear.

At some point in time, I'm going to have to cross into enemy territory and try to separate the Play-Doh from it's guardian. If you don't hear from me for a few days, please send in reinforcements. Maybe try calling daycare, because obviously they have a very different definition for "loves it" than I do.

That's My Boy

The son that I never knew I had (and whose name I don't know) took his stalking to a whole new level today. When I went to pick Alexis up from daycare, he promptly ran over to me, wrapped his little body around my leg, and would.not.let.go. He essentially had to be pried off of me so that Alexis and I could leave. I really wish I could remember when I gave birth to him.

Rant, Rant, Rant, and Rant Some More

As if it weren't enough that Alexis has been channeling her inner Linda Blair as of late, now we have the lovely and concerned citizens over at our friendly neighborhood daycare piling on the misery. I'll just say this: She's teething. It hurts. She's pissed. Deal with it. Don't call me fifteen times asking if she can have Tylonel (HELLO, I drug her before I send her to school as to avoid these calls). Don't make Daddy feel like a poop sandwich for leaving her while she is screaming, crying, and throwing herself against the glass door pleading him to not leave her. I'm pretty sure she's doing a sufficient job of making him feel bad without your help, thank you very much. And one more thing, our daycare payment is more than our mortgage payment. Therefore, I feel it is inappropriate for you to complain when she's clingy and wants held. Hold her and shut up already! Dude, just because she's usually Little Miss Independent and is, IN YOUR WORDS, the best-behaved baby you have, doesn't mean you can expect us to keep her out of daycare when she's having an off day. I could swear I have mentioned that when she's not feeling well, she insists on taking everybody down with her. If I, a first-time parent, can handle a teething child, then I'm pretty sure an experienced professional like yourself can figure it out. Darn it.

And if you think I seem a little wound up, you should have heard Daddy at 6:30 this morning. Yowzers.

Good Fun

You know what sounds like a whole lot of fun? A lice outbreak at a daycare center! Just imagine the fun and games that little discovery would lead to . . . there's the joy of having to bring in a nurse to check all the kids and teachers, the exciting need to wash every single blankie and cot, the fun chore of washing every stuffed animal and putting it into a plastic bag, the pleasure of calling the infected kids' parents to pick them up, and the overwhelming enjoyment found in writing a letter to all the other kids' parents.

Not to worry, our kid doesn't have enough hair to provide a comfortable hiding place for the little bugs. But I bet there are a whole lot of teachers that can't stop itching their heads tonight.