For the first time last night, I attempted to have a deep, meaningful conversation with my 3 year old daughter. She’s been acting out, refusing to go to bed at night and having meltdowns at school.
I tried to casually and calmly asking her if something has been making her upset lately. She said no.
I said her the teachers have told us she’s been having a bad time at school and I asked if something was bothering her.
She said, “Zach bit me two times. But, that’s it. He doesn’t bite me anymore.”
I said, “Well, you also seem to get very upset about what you’re going to wear for the day. Like, when we tell you that you can’t wear a certain dress… ”
She responded, “I LIKE dresses!”
Me: “Alma, we just want you to be happy and it seems like things really bother you.”
Alma: “Look at the puppet on the shelf! What’s inside this drawer?”
It’s kind of like when I asked her the other day what she wanted to be when she grows up. Her response… “A mommy… and a pumpkin.”
I asked again last night just for shits and giggles and was met with a resounding, “LADYBUG!”
I might as well ask her opinion on the privatization of social security.
Needless to say, our heart to heart did not prevent another major freakout session at bed time.
She demanded a single braid using two rubber bands so she could “look pretty like a fairy.” When I told her no and shut the door, she transformed into some kind of shrieking beast. She seriously sounded like she was screaming in tongues. I expected to open the door to find her crab-walking across the ceiling, spewing green vomit.
My sweet girl has been swallowed up by a chupacabra, one with an insatiable desire for dresses, braids and milk after brushing her teeth.
We’re at the point where we’re trying to teach her that you can’t always get what you want.
In turn, that means we can’t get what we want. (which is really just to watch Juan Pablo get chewed out by some angry Aztec-looking lawyer chick for saying, “It’s Okay” too much on “The Bachelor”. Lofty goals we have.)
Does anybody have a floral-print straight-jacket that doubles as a dress? (but with absolutely no purple… at least not today)
Whenever my husband tells me he’s going out of town on business, my stomach sinks. I feel pressure under my tongue like I’m going to vomit. I expect it’s similar to how I would feel if I were to find out I was expecting a third child.
Ok, maybe not that bad… but close.
I know it means I will inevitably be late for work, arriving frazzled, in border-line meltdown mode. That’s how I feel when I am 5 to 10 minutes late, even if I work through lunch. You can imagine how I feel when I’m actually out sick. I was racked with guilt when I was in the hospital with MRSA.
I am not normal.
My life is planned down the second.
Alma demanded braids this morning. That’s all it took to ensure I was 5 minutes late. Hard to believe? I frequently have to decide whether to pee before work or arrive on time.
My “lunch breaks” are spent buying milk to store in the work fridge and canceling all of the appointments I can’t make because I can’t even use a vacation day to see a Doctor. I’m just so valuable.
So valuable that I could create a daily list of criticisms longer than my grocery list. We have two kids. It’s a long-ass list.
I see the sunrise on the way to work. I watch it set on the drive home. I know, I know… there are people who would say, “Be grateful you have a job.” Oh, I am.
It’s so awesome to be able to afford to enjoy absolutely NO time with my children or husband.
Well, I do have my weekends. This past weekend was a blast. We had a party to celebrate our son’s 2nd birthday. I ate too much, drank too much wine and had to delete all pictures where you could see my arms. (Not a fan of my arms right now. I have “drink too much” arms. Not even lugging around a 30 pound kid can cure that.)
Birthday parties are a blur. Afterward you question whether you were rude to anyone, did the food taste good and WHAT HAVE WE DONE BY GIVING OUR TODDLERS CAKE AND CHOCOLATE??
Nothing compares to post-birthday party meltdowns.
Sunday, we took the kids to a state park to enjoy the great outdoors. Nothing great about my daughter demanding I carry her for miles through snake-infested woods, sweating my ass off and constantly having to stop so she could throw sticks in the river.
My son had a blast. He’s a future hiker.
Alma… she’s a future shopper.
She spent an hour before leaving crying hysterically because we wouldn’t let her wear a white lace skirt and light pink church shoes to go hiking.
I knew we made a mistake when after just a couple of minutes of walking she started saying, “I’m sweating. My knees hurt. I’m hungry.” Her “knees” hurt?
Yeah, that’s a new thing. “I can’t walk up the stairs because my knees hurt. My feet hurt and my arms and my toes.” She’s a classic bullshitter.
The day at the park started out with us saying, “Maybe the kids will be ready soon to try out camping.”
It ended with us saying, “Let’s never leave the house again.”
We’re terrified to even go out to eat anymore.
HELP, we’re being held hostage by two very small people with astonishing strength and an inability to communicate effectively!!
You’d think all of the action of the busy weekend would wipe the kids out and they would sleep like logs.
My daughter slept like a log, if you picture a little blonde log rolling out of a bed at 2 a.m. and screaming incoherently, “I don’t want i! I don’t want it!” (I have no idea why she was saying that)
Throw in the fact that this weekend one of the dogs snatched away a piece of bread packed with the other dog’s medication and then proceeded to projectile vomit around the house for an hour and you might begin to understand why I have “drink too much” arms.