Eyes

linking up with The Paper Mama Challenge

TILTW: 3/24-3/30

* I suck at life when I'm not feeling well and haven't taken but one photo this week as a result. The one shown is from Saturday night. Ugh. I also haven't blogged much.

* My husband is trying to drive me crazy.

* Donut holes are the answer. Lovie adores getting donut holes in the morning at school when one of her little friends brings some in to share. And the other morning I stopped and got some for Lovie to bring in to share (5 holes for $1, 10 holes for $1.99- why not? she only eats 1 hole and she can share the rest. i think this is brilliant and need to thank the mom of her friend who's been doing this). We had no issues at drop off that morning. No reaching for me whilst whining and crunching up her face into a scowl. Heck, I don't even think I got a hug and kiss that morning because she was so proud to walk into the room with a little brown paper bag full of sugar goodness to share.

* We're in deep in to the Why stage. She doesn't specifically say the word "why?" after I tell her something, though. No, instead she repeats the same question over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again until I supply her with an answer that's somehow more acceptable to her.

Example: (During our car rides is when most of this takes place. The girl does not stop talking from the moment we touch the car door handle till the moment we get out of the car.) "Why you stop, Mama?" she'll ask me from the back seat when the car comes to a stop.

She's still rear-facing so she can't see for herself why we're stopped so I tell her why- whether it be that we're at a red light, a stop sign, or if we're stuck in traffic. This particular instance (this week), I had to stop because of the other cars.

She didn't like the answer, apparently, so kept asking over and over over and over and over and over and over and over again "Why you stop, Mama?"

Finally I said, "Because if I don't stop the other cars might hit us."

She replies, "Oh. Cars hit us, mama?"

"No baby girl, but they can."

"Oh."

This morning whilst driving to school she comments (while the car is in motion), "The cars hit us."

I just envision her going to school and telling her teachers that the cars hit us. :)

Or my other favorite lately is that I'm trying to teach her that she can't go and pet and kiss each and every dog she sees and of course that's followed by a million "I go kiss the doggie, Mama?" because telling her No isn't good enough. So I've resorted to telling her that she can only go to a dog when she's with Mama or Daddy because otherwise the dog may bite her. Stupid, stupid me. She's been saying, "The doggie bite me!" and looking all pathetic and holding out her hand ever since.

People are gonna start wondering what kind of care we're providing her!

* Sunday is April. Already. Anyone got any good April Fool's ideas? :)

toddler rules

I think my husband is trying to kill me.

Ughs, I'm soo bloody tired. It's not even funny.

Sunday I was in bed all day because I was feverish and puked my guts out midday. Monday I stayed home from work and stayed in bed all day (till I picked up Lovie from school) because I was exhausted. Tuesday and Wednesday I had to work so no resting during the day and I feel like I'm just walking around in a haze today as a result. Because while I very well am going to bed early enough, I can't fucking get more than a couple hours of solid sleep a night.

Because my husband is trying to kill me.

Really, I'm starting to really wonder if this is what is happening.

He comes to bed after me, always has. Way after me. Like I go to bed by 9 (generally) and he doesn't come to bed for hours later. Like hours.

And when he does he hits the pillow and starts snoring pretty immediately.

Which I can generally deal with.

Unless he gets on his stomach and starts attacking his face.

RUB RUB RUB RUB RUB RUB RUB RUB

Deep groan in that gets held for so long I wonder at times if he stopped breathing.

Whooshing of blowing air out.

But it's never consistent or I may be able to somehow ignore it and drift back off to sleep... except that the RUB RUB RUB part always wakes me up because he shakes the whole fucking bed while he's doing it, while he attacks his face (nose).

I nudge him; I kick him; I ask, "Did you take a Claritin today?" until he answers me. Sometimes I will just bark, "Get off your stomach!"

It's fucking maddening. MADDENING.

So maybe he's not trying to kill me after all. Maybe he's just trying to drive me fucking insane.

Wordless Wednesday: the helmet

Puking on Sunday + exhaustion on Monday + exhaustion and work on Tuesday + exhaustion and throat on fire Wednesday = no place for writing. Happy Wordless Wednesday it is, then.

Favorite post

Recovering from some sort of stomach thing that dominated my life yesterday, I've been laying in bed all day today (sooo tired despite being in bed all day yesterday- argh!) linked to the outside world via my phone, and the Twitter is where I learned of today's interesting link-up:

For their anniversary, they've asked us to link up with them our favorite posts. Psshaw. This one wasn't so hard for me to think about. I write a lot and it's all from my heart and pretty much unfiltered, but the post that came straight to mind as my favorite post is I'm Fat written in August of 2011. There's even a picture of how fat I am. Yay. But seriously, I wrote that post for many reasons- mainly as a way to scream at the top of my lungs that it's possible to be of an "abnormal" size and still be happy. And it's possible to be fat and still have a toddler and teach that toddler to love who she is and not what size she is or what color her skin is or whether or not her clothes come from Nordstrom's.

There are so many pressures on us to be perfect beings despite all of us knowing damn well perfection isn't possible. Just live life, man. Live life to the fullest. For today. Because tomorrow is just not guaranteed, sadly. 

So again, here's my favorite post: I'm Fat.

TILTW: 3/17-3/23

* Lovie now knows what the word Surprise means and was pleasantly surprised the other day when she got her bike. The pink one. She's taken to it right away and glows anytime she gets on it. I can't wait to see what she does when she can get outside and ride it (still waiting for the helmet).

* Lovie is proving to grow sweeter and sweeter every day. And it still amazes me and takes my breath away when she does or says something sweet. Like the other day when she told me she loved me during our morning commute to school. And that she wanted to give me hugs. Or how she gets so excited to share donut holes with a couple of her friends at school in the morning. Or that she gets upset when another baby or child is upset and just wants everyone to be happy and have fun. What a heart she has at 2 years old. My goodness can some adults really learn a thing or two from her.

* I still cannot say enough good things about the Yeah Write community and all the tremendous writing and feedback that goes around during the weekly link-up. But more than that, for me personally, I adore the way it's sparked my writing juices again. I've been wanting to write more (and have for the most part), but the fact that I'm now actually thinking about writing before I sit down and write? That's awesomesauce to me.

What about you? Any awesomesauce enter your life this week? ;)

a Once Upon a Time story

Once upon a time, there was this little girl with this mop of curls who loved the color pink and bikes. Oh how she wanted a bike. A pink bike.

She pouted and did everything in her 2 year old power to look as pathetic as she could anytime she saw bikes and would spend hours (maybe not really hours) telling her Mama and Daddy that she wanted a bike. A pink one.

Her Mama and Daddy wanted to get her a bike but her Daddy, being the research-everything-to-make-the-best-buy-and-decision type of guy, needed to research for the perfect bike and helmet to buy. Once the decision was made, an order was placed and the waiting game began.

Then one day the bike showed up and Daddy was home to put it together while Mama told the little girl, upon picking her up from school, that she had a surprise for her when they got home.

And so they entered the home and there was Daddy with a bike. A pink one. Just for the little girl.

The little girl, with a smile washed over her face, approached the bike, climbed on, and started riding (inside the house despite the 85 degree temperature outside because the helmet still was to come).

"Look at me!" she said over and over again. "I ride a bike!"

Until bedtime she "rode" her bike here and there between eating dinner and watching Olivia. And this morning, when the little girl was leaving for school with her Mama, another smile washed across her face when she spotted the pink bike leaning against the wall.

"I ride my bike," she told her Mama as they walked out of the house with smiles on their faces.

And the little girl and her new pink bike lived happily ever after.

The end.

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pssst, if you'd be so kind, how 'bout voting for me- #37- in this week's awesome yeah write competition. you can vote for four others, too. go on and check them out- there's some awesome reads!

she takes my breath away

i know she kinda looks mad here but the sun was in her eyes and she was concentrating walking on this ledge and catching up with a little boy she befriended... taken 3/20/12 at the park

About an hour ago, while driving Lovie to school before driving myself to work, I got stuck behind some jackhole going 10 under the speed limit. So I honked my horn. All while the Wiggles played in the background.

Lovie didn't say anything. We live in the city and I guess she's just used to honking horns by now.

A minute later, when said jackhole wouldn't speed up or move out of the way (a friggin semi passed us!), I mumbled something negative under my breath. I don't even know what I mumbled, to be honest, and while it probably did not include a cuss word, the tone in which the mumble exited my mouth would let even a foreigner know I wasn't happy.

"What's wrong, Mama?" Lovie asks from the back seat.

Is she not the sweetest thing ever? My lord I am so blessed.

"Oh nothing, sweet girl," I replied. "Just that some people really shouldn't be allowed to drive."

"It's OK," she said. Then, after a couple seconds she said, "You know I love you, Mama."

I nearly cried.

Honest to god every time I hear her say she loves me, I nearly cry- even though she generally only says it after I say it. Still, my heart nearly explodes. Every single time. But to hear her tell me this just because she wants me to be happy? It takes my breath away.

"Oh sweet baby girl, I love you, too. So, so much!"

"I wanna give you hug," she continued.

What is going on here?!? Wow.

"Oh honey, me too," I answered. "We're almost at school and as soon as we get there, I'm gonna give you lots and lots of hugs and kisses."

And I did.

And then she didn't want me to leave and the teacher had to come carry her away as she kicked and screamed and reached for me.

But she loves me and I love her and she's the sweetest thing in the whole world and by golly, life is damn good.

not a Robot so a Bitch?

Something ridiculous happened the other day: I purposely made my sweet, 2 year-old girl cry.

What kind of mother does that?

Don’t answer; I know the answer already! And that’s not at all who I am...the type of mother I am.

When I PMS, it’s something fierce. I get extremely irritable and uncomfortable. Lately the cramps wrap around my body to my back, too. This is when I want nothing more than to rock myself in a dark corner of a room with all the shit food I could jam down my pie hole.  Honestly, the PMS gets so bad that I tend to shy away from people to avoid evil looks or comments that I may emit. But my kid? My sweet little 2 year old girl? I can’t really stay away from her.

So Sunday- after playing at the park, eating lunch, and napping- Lovie was playing with some play-dough in her high chair (the only place I’ll allow her to play with it- strapped in and play-dough in site). And I joined her. Make a snowman, Mama? Make a house? Make a dog? Make Zoe? (the cat)

At one point I was making a dog and she went to grab for the play-dough to Make a big circle and I barked, “NO!”

I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t say it quietly. I barked at her. 

Like a fucking mad dog. 

A bitch.

She quickly took back her hand and looked down at her play-dough and I thought I was going to vomit from disgust.

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME THAT I WOULD BARK AT MY GIRL OVER FUCKING PLAY-DOUGH?!?

“Honey,” I said, still squishing the dough. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to yell like that.”

She wouldn’t look at me.

I touched her silky soft chin and told her again, very gently, how sorry I was.

When our eyes met… well… I’m honestly not sure how I held the vomit inside. But I did. And instead, I let the tears out as hers rolled down her sweet round cheeks.

“Please don’t cry, baby girl,” I said, “Mama didn’t mean that; I’m really so very sorry.”

She looked so unbelievably sad...and hurt.

And it was because of me- her mama.

Shortly after, she cheered up- we both did. Daddy gave her a bath and got her dressed for bed. We all watched Bubble Guppies- Lovie on her little chair, me sprawled on the couch with my phone playing Words with Friends, the husband trying to download more episodes.

After a minute she looked back at me and got up and climbed onto the couch to sit with me. Like she does every single night.

I sat more upright so I could get my arm around her as she folded into me. Every so often she’d gently lay her head on my breast or tummy. I scooped her into me more closely so that she melted into me. 

My Lovie and me.

That’s the mama I am- the one she leans on whenever she needs, the one she snuggles with every night, the one who reads her favorite stories over and over and over again, the one who sings silly songs with her...

Not that mean bitch who wouldn’t let her play with the play-dough.

It’s one thing for my child to be upset at me because we have to leave the park, but for something like barking at her? Hell No. It’s unacceptable. And it will not happen again. It can't. We both are better than that.

I mean, I totally get this kind of stuff happens with parenting. We're not friggin robots, we're human beings and sometimes even the most patient (of which I absolutely am not) lose it sometimes. And I know... I know she won't remember this one incident. But the thing is, I have a feeling if I just let it go and not really acknowledge it, I'll fall back on these same excuses again and again and my behavior will snowball. And she will start remembering and probably start behaving in the same fashion. Then what?

It's just something I really don't want to find out. And besides all that, she deserves more from me.