Giving Thanks: Mother/Daughter Edition

It's November. The month of Thanks. Also my birthday month; you're welcome! I refuse to post every day all that I am thankful for, because no one wants to read that shit. But I do think it's important to give thanks for those with the ultimate thankless job: Motherhood.

She's been giving me the finger since Day One

I have been in a unique position the last few months to experience motherhood while simultaneously living as a daughter. Parenting while also being parented. If this is confusing, see my last post about why we are living in my parents' house. Wearing these two hats is unnatural. I only have one head. Parenting a toddler is hard enough without having to do so in a small opinion-filled bubble. At the same time, I am so thankful that I have this bubble to parent in, or else we'd be renting some random apartment somewhere waiting for this short sale to go through. How is it possible to be filled with so much gratitude and so over it at the same time?

Being in this mother/daughter tug-of-war has helped me see things from both sides. Mothers everywhere know that it's a thankless job, but being a daughter isn't always a walk in the park.

As a mother:

• You give and you give and you keep giving when you have nothing left, and your kid still says your dinner is gross. 

• You get up 10 times per night for a week straight because your kid is sick, only to end up sick yourself after your daughter coughs in your mouth. Even after you're sick and you'd kill for some sleep, you forego the NyQuil because you know you'll have to get up with her again tonight. 

• You spend so much time putting her to bed, putting her back to bed, taking her to the bathroom for the 5th time, reading one more book, and filling up her water, that your husband is asleep on the couch by the time you're ready to watch that show together.

• You miss the Monday Night Football matchup that will decide if your fantasy team wins because she realllllyy wants to watch Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood together. 

• You change three poopy pairs of underwear in under 2 hours because she insists she's not a baby and does not want to put on a diaper. 

As a daughter:

• You vent about an issue you're having in life, only to have one of your character flaws pointed out to you

• You have to justify why you refuse to put your daughter in her carseat with that puffy winter coat on

• You're in charge of fixing, updating, and functioning anything technical

• You do your laundry wrong

• You're a terrible driver

• Your life expectations are unrealistic

While being a mother and/or a daughter can sometimes feel like a big Fuck You,  in the end everything seems to balance itself out. Any grief you get from your mom is for all those years she thanklessly put up with your crap.

Of course, there are wonderful, fulfilling aspects of being both a mother and a daughter. You get a shopping buddy for life, a best friend and confidant, someone who will take care of you forever and who will honestly tell you if that dress was a bad choice.

So if you're a mom, Thank You. You don't hear it enough. And if you're a daughter, thanks for putting up with your mom. She's only crazy because you made her that way.

Constant Change

So much has happened since my last post. I realize that might be because my last post was 3 months ago, but still. Where to begin? Let's see... We put our house up for sale. A week later, the house was sold. 30 days later, we moved out. Into my parents' house. Naively, we assumed we would just find a house to buy. No. That has not happened. Somewhere in there, I moved to a different team at work. We went camping for a week. And both Trinity and I had the stomach flu. Not necessarily in that order.

Trinity has never had any sort of stomach ailment before. Aside from spitting up as a baby, she has never thrown up. How do you explain what puking is to a child who's never experienced it? When she starts crying and heaving and you ask, "Do you need to throw up?" She looks at you quizzically before her lunch ends up on your shirt. Next time, you have a bowl ready. So when you see the signs, you hold the bowl to her mouth and tell her to "puke in here." Then she becomes terrified that the bowl you're holding to her mouth is what is causing her to puke, since you put it there every time you see it coming. So she uses her super human angry toddler strength to shove the bowl away from her, splashing out all the vomit in the process, and scrambles up on you to upchuck in your hair. This would be a nightmare on a normal day, but when it's the day before you move, things are worse. All of the extra sheets and blankets are packed...somewhere. Most of your unnecessary clothes (which suddenly seem necessary) are in a box...somewhere. And then there's the impending doom you start to feel, because you know you cannot take on that much vomit and come out unscathed.

Poor sick Beeb. Guido is offering his support

Sure enough, two days later, just as I'm beginning to think I made it, IT begins. I won't go into anymore details, but it's not pretty. Luckily, I was at my parents' by this time, so my mom took care of me and brought me tea while Travis did the final cleaning on our old house. Too bad, I was really looking forward to that...

Trinity has quickly figured out that between Mom, Dad, Gramma and Grampa, she can pretty much get whatever she wants, whenever she wants it. Daddy says no? GRAMMY!! So now if she's ever denied her heart's desire, she cries like you just punched her in the face after lighting her blanky on fire. It's quite dramatic and sad. 

Naps have also turned into a battle royale. If you let her go without one, she stays awake just fine, but turns into a huge B by the time we get home from work, which doesn't bode well for the bonding. I don't get it. She used to nap just fine at home. You put her in bed, read her a book, and closed the door. Now she opens the door and runs out as fast as she can. She's thirsty. She's hungry. She needs the lamp on. She wants the AC on. She knows the monitor is on and sits in there and yells "I'M AWAKE!" She cries. She pounds on the walls. It's a terrible experience and by the time she's asleep, you need a nap too. I'm pretty sure my mom takes one daily.

To get a peek at the level of ridiculousness my life has reached, here is an excerpt of a conversation I had with my dad the other day. To set the scene, I'm on my computer in my old room that I now share with my husband. There is a pile of clean clothes on the bed, and several laundry baskets lined up waiting to be taken down to the washer. My dad comes in. 

Dad: You know what the guy from the Jersey Shore says about girls who can't keep their rooms clean?

Me: Umm...? No Dad, please enlighten me

Dad: He says that if a girl's room is a mess, their life is a mess.

Me: Well, Dad, I'm homeless. I'm living at my parents' house with my husband and our daughter and our dog. I'm sleeping in my old room. I'm 27 years old. I think that pretty much qualifies my life as a mess right now. Good thing I'm not out trolling for a guy from the Jersey Shore and trying to bring him back here.

Dad: Yeah, good thing. He would not like what he sees. 

I'm still confused. Why on earth does he know anything about anyone on the Jersey Shore? And whose side is he on anyways? Try as I might, I cannot remember why we put our house up for sale in the first place. It was an experiment that spiraled out of control. Odd as it is, I kind of miss Albany.

Little water park in Albany we liked to frequent

How cute are they? Trinity and her  4-year-old cousin. My child is a behemoth and my niece is tiny. 

Our yearly camping trip was interesting this year. It was a little easier to pretend we were homeless, since we weren't actually pretending. And we didn't bring as much stuff because we couldn't find any of it. Luckily it was a hot one, because our coats and camping blankets were nowhere to be found. Still, we managed to spend a small fortune to go live in the woods and drive the boat around the lake for a week. If I was debating on having more children, this trip really brought me back to reality. In our group alone, there were 11 kids. ELEVEN!!! Seven of them were 5 and under. It was nuts! Someone was always crying. But, with all of the other kids around, I learned something about mine. She's a bit weird. She's quiet and mostly keeps to herself. She's content in her own company and prefers to be clean. When all the other kids were splashing through the water and playing in the sand, she was sitting in her chair reading a book and eating blueberries. She showed no real interest in wanting to be with the other kids, but she was happy to hang out if they came to her. When Travis and I went out on the boat, or were floating, it was easy to ask someone to watch her. She's in her lawn chair, and probably won't move.Will you keep an eye on her? Thanks!

It took her 20 minutes to walk through the sand. She hated the feel of it.

I'm happy that she's an easy kid, I just worry about her having friends and having fun. According to my parents, I was just as weird and I turned out OK, but that does little to ease my concern. I want her to be better than me; to have more friends, more fun, and more people who like her. Good thing she's cute. That should help. A little boy gave her a flower at the park, and while she said Thank You, she didn't seem super impressed. I haven't even had the talk about standards and playing hard to get, but it seems to be a natural instinct. I'm so proud.

We are continuing our fruitless search for an acceptable house. Between what I want, what Trav wants, and the price of houses here, we may be living with my parents for a long time. And even if we do find a house, the amount we'd need for a down payment plus all of the random loan fees and closing costs is ridiculous! I need an infusion of cash, stat! Trinity is in no hurry to leave Grammy's house, and in fact demands to go back whenever we are out, even for a little bit. Someone might be a little too attached to her grandparents. Maybe it's the pool

I will leave you with some photos of her at gymnastics. She's getting so much better than when she first started. She's not naturally adventurous or a daredevil of any sort, so it's been very good for her.

Tiny Hitler

My life has been taken over by a pint-sized dictator. I'm starting to think this photo was not just a happy accident. It was a prediction of my future.

Everything can be going well. We can be having a great day. And then out of nowhere, she'll giggle devilishly and bite you. "I bite!" You get down to her level to explain why biting is wrong, like all the experts tell you to, and she whacks you in the face. How much abuse can one take? It's a natural reflex to hit back, but you stop yourself and stuff your inner rage and tell her to stand on the wall for two minutes instead. "Timeout" you call it. But she thinks this is a fun game and runs after you. Every time you walk her back, she laughs and runs away from the wall. Two minutes turns into 10 and the flailing isn't worth it and by this time she's totally forgotten about the reason she's on the wall, and let's face it, so have you. At this point, you're determined to win but you've already lost. Your wits and your mind and your dignity. Gone.

The other day I found myself Googling "How to make your child stay in timeout." This was rock bottom. Also, I'm on a short list for Mother of the Year.

What's worse is that you get some type of Stockholm's Syndrome. You find yourself making excuses for her behavior. Oh, she's just tired/hungry, you tell yourself. She had a late/short nap. This is ridiculous. She's 2 and apparently the natural human state is that of a terrorist and it needs to be beat disciplined out of her. Children like boundaries. Consistent consequences. The French call it the Cadre; a frame of boundaries where your child has freedom inside the frame, but knows not to cross that line. How do they know? Is it instinct? Are they electrocuted? Do they wear those special dog collars? Who are these French children?When I tell her not to do something, she smiles and does it with more ferocity while looking you square in the eye. She's like a miniature honey badger. If only I was French.

I won't even get into what happens when I try to talk on the phone.

It's not all bad. She's actually a good, happy kid. She doesn't have tantrums or meltdowns. She doesn't throw herself on the ground in public places. She's just strong-willed and defiant. And slightly abusive. She does what she wants when she wants. And much like her father, she doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do. I don't know if that means she's like her father, or if her father is like a 2-year-old, but they are much the same in this respect.

In other news, potty training is shitty. Literally. My mother, bless her heart, washes out underwear in the toilet if she poops in them. I throw that shit away. It's disgusting. We've moved to just having her wear training pants (the cloth kind, not Pull-Ups) and letting her pee. It's actually working. She's getting better at telling you she needs to pee, or holding it until you decide she needs to pee. Or she pees halfway and then holds it until you rush her to the toilet. Either way, there's been a clean-up on aisle three several times. She's worse than a puppy. Some people would say she just isn't ready, but she is. She's just lazy. If I put a big absorbent bag on you, you'd probably pee in it too if you didn't feel like getting up. Also, we've traumatized her so much about pooping in the tub that for a while she was afraid to take a bath. A+ parenting Ladies and Gentlemen. Right here.

On a better note, she finally realized she likes us! She gives us hugs and kisses and cuddles (on her terms) and actually seems happy to see us at the end of the day. This is a vast improvement from the partial indifference we received for awhile, so it is a welcome change. I am both terrified and excited to see the evolution of her personality as she matures. Something tells me she'll be a force to be reckoned with.

Trinity Turns Two!

First, I know it's been forever since I've blogged. I feel guilty. But this is sort of what I do at work all day, so the desire to come home and do it more just isn't there. Moving on.

Trinity is two! This blows my mind. We are one-ninth of the way done raising her. In an effort to escape planning an awkward toddler party, we went on a marathon of a vacation. It was a boatload of memories she won't remember packed into less than a week. Now I need a vacation alone to sit on a beach and relax. This was exhausting. 

Our vacation, in a nutshell:

Tuesday: Work all day. Start driving at night so Trinity can sleep.

Wednesday: Still driving. Finally made it to California. Take nap. Go to rock climbing gym.

Thursday: Zoo Day!

Friday: Disneyland!

Saturday: Santa Monica beach and pier. Happy Birthday Trinity!!

Sunday: Start driving. Drive all night. 

Monday: Home. Pass out.

Disneyland blew her mind. Can you imagine being a toddler, thinking you have a pretty good understanding of your world, and then all of a sudden BAM! you're in Disneyland and it's a whole new dimension. Hell, Disneyland blew MY mind. Overstimulating is an understatement. Since we have terrible parental judgment, we thought a good first Disneyland experience would be Toad's Wild Ride. Based solely on the fact that it had a short line. As we got closer to boarding the ride, I see a sign that says you ride a motorcycle "careening through the stormy streets of London" I turn to Travis to voice my concern, but it's too late. We are whisked away on this dark, jerky ride with loud screams where random things pop out at you. By the end, Trinity was screaming "OUT!! OUT!!" We made up for it by taking her on the Tea Cups next, followed by It's a Small World. Hopefully she's not traumatized for life.

She talks now. Actual words. She can tell you about her day and communicate her needs. Most of the time I understand her, but sometimes she goes off on these tangents that I can't translate. Unfortunately, she also has no filter and ends up saying the most embarrassing things in public.

From the mouth of Beeb:
In a public restroom: "Yay! Mommy Pee Pee!" followed by "Oooh blue panties!"
"I toot toot! I'm amazing!"
As I'm trying to swiftly and secretly change her diaper in a dressing room: "Stinky poopy stinky poopy!!"
As I'm dressing in said dressing room: "Mommy's boobies!"
As we walk into a friend's house: "Mess!"
When a baby cries in public: "Cry baby! Cry baby!"

She calls my mom Debbie. Debbie is not my mother's name. For the longest time, she had no name for my mom, which really hurt Mom's feelings, being her daily caregiver and all. But then one day as we were riding in the car, she starts looking at my mom and yelling for Debbie. "Hey Mom, I think you're Debbie," I told her. "Am I Debbie? I'll be Debbie!" she said. She was so excited to finally have a name. Now she longs for her nameless days back. Trinity is always yelling Debbie!! Debbie!! from every room in the house. I think she is trying to call her Grammy, but her Gs come out as Ds. Guido is Deedo. Here is an example of Debbie. Also, she reads.

Her birthday was very close to Easter this year, so instead of giving her presents for her bday (isn't Disneyland enough?!) I saved it for Easter. It was fun this year, since she could play along with egg coloring and hunting. I haven't decided what to do about the Easter Bunny. Same with Santa. I feel like it's a weird creepy lie that parents tell their kids to keep them in line. It's mean to take advantage of your kids' trust and get your jollies by making them believe these weird creatures bring them presents if they're good. But I also don't celebrate these holidays for any religious reason, so why the hell am I hiding multi-colored plastic eggs filled with jelly beans?? I'm honestly not sure. Because I lead an empty, consumer-driven life? Also, she looks cute all dressed up.

I will leave you with my favorite Disneyland picture. 

Christmas in the air, baby on the wall

So far, every age has been my favorite. At three months, when she started smiling at us. At six months, when she was laughing. At nine months, when she became more mobile. At 12 months, when she started walking, and ever since with her expanding vocabulary and communication skills. 

This age is not my favorite. This age is exhausting and terrible. She's increasingly finicky and opinionated. If she doesn't get what she wants, she melts into a blubbering limp noodle. If she gets what she wants, but not EXACTLY the way she wants it (i.e., her water in the pink cup instead of the purple one), she melts into an unreasonable, inconsolable terrorist. 

And she hits! Oh. My. God. The hitting. She's outta control. Nothing helps. Not ignoring it, not timeout, not acknowledging her frustration, not using my angry voice. I'm about to just slap her back each time. I know it's terribly hypocritical and ineffectual to teach someone not to hit by hitting, and I really don't feel like being abusive, but it's all I have left. The weird part is that most of the time, she's happy when she slaps you. She will gladly walk up to you, seemingly innocent, and then bam! You just got slapped. We're hoping it's just a phase, but meanwhile, we are living in fear, and she lives on the wall. I'm hashing out a plan to set her up on a playdate with other children, in hopes that when she hits one of them, they will take her down to China town. Of course, this requires someone else's child to be the sacrificial lamb, but it's a cruel world, and I feel like this lesson is better taught by someone other than me.

Here is an illustration of how big of a turd she's been lately, as evidenced by our holiday photo shoot.

The Devil's child.

At first, this one seems cute until you really zero in on her face. Then you see that it says, "I'll effing cut you."

In other news, we acquired our Christmas tree this weekend. It was an all-day event. This tree really kicked our ass this year. First, I knew it would be super muddy and realized as I was bundling up the wee one that she has no shoes to accommodate the messy terrain. So we made a quick stop at the local Wal-Mart, all bundled up in coats, scarves and hats. Of course, they did not have normal plastic rain boots for toddlers, and the plain pink snow boots were not available in her size. That left us with Disney princesses or Dora. Stuff with big characters all over it gives me anxiety, but I was really starting to sweat, so it needed to be a snappy decision. We went with the princesses because they lit up when she walked, but they went up to almost her knees and had no give, so when she was thrown off balance, she just toppled over.

The 10 layers she was wearing probably didn't help

When she fell down, she just laid there because she couldn't really bend any of her limbs. We were there for the normal hour or more on a quest for the most perfect tree. It began to rain. We were all soaked. Beeb was soaked and muddy. The two of us were non-committal about every tree. In truth, probably any tree would've been just fine. And then Trinity comes up to me and says two words that no mother wants to hear, especially when you're stranded in the woods: "I poop."

 Uh oh. Shit just got real. Literally. So I yell to Travis, "We gotta get outta here!" and he instructs me to just pick any tree so we can go. I start to panic. I don't want to ruin Christmas. And then, in the farthest corner of the lot. I see it. The tree I want. He bends down to start sawing, and I scream "NO!" What if it's not right? So I do a quick feverish scan of all the other trees, and then come back and declare this one The One. Trinity thinks it's hilarious that Travis is bent down underneath a tree, so she decides to help.

 Every other family at the tree farm grabbed a tree stroller, so you could wheel your tree back to the tractor after sawing it down. Not Travis. Why? Because Travis is a man. This seems to be his excuse for all his other gross and annoying habits as well. This tree is bigger than any other tree we've ever had before, but he still thinks he needs to carry it back. Being that we are in the far corner doesn't help, but he heaves it onto his shoulders and huffs and puffs it all the way back to the tractor pick-up area. He is now sore, and probably bruised. But still a man.

Princess Poopypants

She smells terrible.

We board the tractor with a few other families, and Trinity starts to get vocally angry that no one has helped her out in the diaper department yet. So she refuses to sit down, and starts screaming "I poop! I poop!" I'm sure the other riders were like, "Oh, that's what that smell is." So as Trav goes to pay for the tree, I take her back to the truck to change her diaper and realize I didn't bring wipes. I do however have tissues since her nose has been runny, and by some miracle that makes me almost believe in a god, I find a water bottle to create makeshift wipes. Let's just say it was still a horrible experience. 

We get the tree back home, and it doesn't fit in the part of our house where we usually put our tree. So first we have to trim it. Then it doesn't fit in our tree stand. So Travis fashions something out of wood blocks and other random wood pieces to weigh the stand down. It doesn't work. The tree topples over. He finally gives up and sends me out for Wal-Mart trip # 2 of the day. Don't judge me. It's like 2 minutes away and really convenient in times like this. I find the daddy of all tree stands and bring it home. We finally get it all set up, and I start decorating, and we run out of lights before I get to the top. I feel so defeated. This time Trav runs out for Wal-Mart trip #3. This is some type of record I'm sure. Wal-Mart does not have the lights we need. Poor Trav. Now I have to wait until he can get them from work on Monday.

So close, yet so far away. 

 Let's hope the rest of the Christmas season goes a little smoother. Happy Holidays everyone!

18 Months! No! Mine!

She's finally all mine! er.. I mean ours! 18 months and no more baby payment! She is all paid off. I no longer have to come up with little snarky notes to write in the "For:" line on the check. Now I want a new car. I've earned it.

18 months is exciting because I can finally stop sounding ridic by telling people her age in months. A year and  a half is so much more respectable, though my reprieve is only one month long. I'm at a loss for what to do with 19 months.

18 months is also apparently when the language explosion happens. She says and understands things that I've never taught her. It's amazing what she's picked up on her own. The Only Child Syndrome has started as well, much to Trav's chagrin. She's very aware of what's hers and what's not. For a while, everything was "mine." She'll point at things, grab things, and run away with things, yelling "Mine!" I'm impressed. I don't know when she's ever heard that word, since she's never around other children and does not have to compete for toys. My parents don't say it to her, and Travis maintains that he's never said that word in his life, which might be true. He is disturbed by this and tells her not to say it. I just tell her that of course it's hers. Who else would it belong to? Now instead of everything being hers, she will go around and point to things and say "Momma's" or "Dada's." I'm proud that she understands the possessive use of words, and I find value in her knowing what belongs to her and what doesn't.

After stealing these balls, they became hers 

I'm very excited about her language development, if you couldn't already tell. Something else that I've found interesting is her use of the word "and." "And" is not a word that you just sit down and teach children, but she seems to have picked it up. If she's naming things off in a series, she will say "and" before the last item. For example, we ask her what she wants to take to Grandma's every morning. She says, "Lamb, Book, and Night-Night" (her blanket). How does she know to do that? I'm mystified. Baby Genius!

What I'm not so excited about is "No." Here's a typical conversation with Trinity:
- As she's stuffing her face with food -
Me: Do you like my chicken?
T: No
Me: Well you sure ate a lot of it
T: No
Me: Would you like some more?
T: No
Me: OK, are you all done?
T: No
Me: Well let's go take a bath
T: No
Me: Do you know what no means?
T: No

Ahhhhhh!! It drives me crazy. The weird thing is that, while she can say "Yes," she chooses not to and instead says "ooooooh" all excited when you actually say something she agrees with. She's a weird kid.

I'm getting tired of typing. Here's some pictures.

Trinity loved her first trip to the ocean

Guido did not

Probably my favoritest picture ever

If this doesn't melt your heart, you're a cold, sad bastard

This is how be we both feel about potty training

Oh, something else. My dad cut her hair. I'll say it again in case that didn't sink in. My DAD gave her a HAIRCUT! WTF?!? He watched her by himself for half a day when Travis and I went to the Duck game this last Saturday. Sometime during those few hours when she wasn't asleep, he thought, "hmmm what should we do?" Well, the little hair clips must have been too complicated. Pulling the hair to one side and pushing down on the clip was just too much. The only thing that made sense to him at this moment was taking out a pair a KITCHEN SCISSORS from the knife block and CUTTING HER HAIR! I think he must have tried to be professional and wet it down beforehand, because it shrunk up and now she looks like this:

I spent all day Sunday trying to figure out what happened to her hair. I didn't know if it was new hair that was trying to grow in, or if she just slept on it weird. I didn't think my dad giving her an impromptu haircut was even an option. Finally I gave up and called to ask if he did something to her hair. His response was that he only cut a couple strands, and he didn't think I would notice. .... I have no words.

We're going to pretend this didn't happen. And then we are going to document her "first" professional haircut with the saved locks of hair and everything. This better not ruin Christmas pictures!