so in love

I fell in love with my nephew Jordan when he was around Lovie's current age (3.5+). Of course I loved him when he was born 21+ years ago, but I fell in love with him around 3.5 or 4. I'm guessing that's partly due to the fact that his parents were very much wrapped up in their own turmoil and paid no mind to the children at that time. You know, because kids are so clueless and all.

Then when Jordan was barely 4 and his mom left, I took over as mom. I just had to do it because I promised myself that I would never allow a child in my life (biologically mine or not) to be poorly effected by divorce. I knew I wasn't a cure-all, but I also knew that I would do anything I could to protect their innocence.

I learned a lot from the four years I lived with Jordan... but most importantly, I learned about unconditional love and guidance and nurturing. And how children are incredibly amazing little sponges. I also realized that I absolutely had to become a parent one day. 

It's been over three and a half years now since all of my dreams have come true. Honest to god. No, it's not all roses and puppy dogs and sweet snuggles and giggles. But, overall... it kind of is.

these two & this picture ... what's not to love?

Lovie is my absolute everything, and while Jordan is "only" my nephew and not technically my child, there will always be a special place for him in my heart.

Being a mom is the greatest gift ever. I feel immensely blessed on a daily basis.

parenting and the playground

The heat and humidity has finally subsided a bit around here so we've been stopping at the park pretty much every day after work and school.

Yesterday was absolutely the most perfect day: blue skies; very little humidity; temperature cool enough for pants, warm enough to have to sit in the shade after a bit.

Just perfect.

The park we went to yesterday was one that freaked me out at first time we went because Lovie had no fear, but I sure did. Nowadays, I let her do her thing... but now she's become more hesitant and fearful. The slides she used to flock to and slide down with such glee now cause her to hesitate.

I'm not sure how I feel about this. I mean, on one hand I want her to pause to think before she just jumps into things but on the other hand, at just 3.5, do I really want her afraid of so many things? It's bad enough any little (and I do mean little) bug freaks her out, but now she's afraid of sliding?

For now, I've just been trying to encourage her to do her thing but if she's fearful, that's okay too. She can try again another time, I tell her. And that other time is generally when a "friend" she's just met and is playing with does something she was, just moments earlier, afraid of.


Speaking of friends, she played with two little girls yesterday at two separate times. I try to encourage her to talk more to kids, to tell them her name and ask if they want to play, but as of yesterday, she still waits to be approached. She loves playing with other kids and gets so super excited when someone asks if she wants to play, but, for some reason (and I'm praying she's not picking this up from anti-social me), she won't do the approaching.

Anyhow, the second little girl she was playing with before we left the park saddened me. She leached onto Lovie so hard, I thought Lovie might freak a bit. I know I would've. As soon as Lovie agreed to play with her, the girl (the same size as Lovie), took Lovie's hand.

I thought it was cute at first until I realized that it was also very awkward... especially when I saw the apprehension in Lovie. But I pushed my feelings aside and smiled and watched them from afar.

The little girl wouldn't let Lovie out of her sight and grasp. At one point, I thought the little girl had hurt her arm when she slid down a side-by-side slide and Lovie didn't--even though their hands were joined. (A year ago, Lovie loved this slide.)

As I watched them play, I continued to note how the little girl dominated their play time. Lovie was fine and she's got to learn when to say No if she doesn't want to do something with a "friend" so I just sat by and watched, while wondering "Who does this child belong to?" I saw not one person watching her. Did someone just drop this child off and go? Is that why she leached on to Lovie so hard?

I began to feel a bit uneasy. And sad.

After about 20 minutes (we had been there at least an hour at this point), I finally had to tell Lovie that it would be time to go when the alarm on my phone sounded. And when that time came, Lovie said goodbye to her friend and we walked toward the car where I noticed, for the first time, that there was another car next to it (the cars are in plain sight, this car must've just pulled in moments prior to us leaving).

"Daddy! Daddy!!" the little girl whom Lovie was playing with shouted.

A man in his 20s at most, stepped out of the car next to mine and annoyingly said, "What?"

The little girl said something else and the dad seemed even more annoyed as he started walking toward the little girl.

I loaded Lovie into the car and kept my eye on the girl and her dad and a woman (mother? girlfriend? cousin?). He was pushing her on the swings and she was covered in a big smile.

I closed Lovie's door and walked around my car (facing the playground) and sat down, and in that time, the dad was gone... yet the girl still sat on the swings trying to swing and looking in back of her and screaming for her dad to play with her.

Her dad was no longer on the playground; rather, he was in the grass area throwing a football to someone.

He looked at the girl but ignored her.

And with that, I had to pull away and leave.


No, I have no clue what the deal is with that little girl and her dad. Maybe they had just spent hours playing together and he just needed a little break.

But I get the feeling that is not the case.

And I drove away feeling quite sad for that little girl.

And a bit angry at that "dad".

the first half of three

While she's not yet officially 3.5, the past almost-five months have provided me with a lot of insight into being THREE. I think.

At first? Woo dog was she kinda intense. She was constantly crying and screaming about any and every little thing and bedtime was about to put me into a mental institute. But then things calmed down and I figured that the intensity of January was a result of the holidays and her birthday being days apart; too much of everything fun, fun, fun came to a crashing halt and someone didn't know how to deal with it. That's what I'm telling myself, at least.

She's still intense, don't get me wrong. But she's also really kinda ... cool.

Unlike this article here, I don't think of her as being an asshole. Irrational at times? ABSOLUTELY.  Asshole? No way. She's three. I mean, I get the reasoning behind the author saying three year olds are assholes and appreciate the humor behind the article, but I just can't do it; I just can't call a three year old an asshole. They don't know enough to be called such.

That all said and done, Lovie's irrationality does crack me up at times. Sure, in the moment, it drives me a little batty, but once she's settled down and--rational--it's funny.

Like last night.

I told her I was making spaghetti for dinner and was slapped with a "NO! I DON'T WANT PASGHETTI!"

I made it anyway and told her it was time to eat. Of course she ignored me until I turned the TV off and then she kissed the cat and skipped into the kitchen. I pretended not to notice her reaction when she sat down to a bowl of "pasghetti." I just acted like she never screamed she didn't want it.

Lo and behold, girlfriend gobbled that shit up like she hadn't eaten in days, moaning in delight after each and every fork-full was stuffed into her hole.


Yeah, I'm not so much a fan of the screaming and dirty looks for the strangest reasons, but she's still learning so much.

I don't know. So far three is intense and irrational at times, but it's also kinda badass-fun, too.

it's gonna be okay

This child of mine. This sweet child of mine.

The beginning of this year was rough. She was turning into this ... three-year-old.

Or something.

She had this nasty little attitude about everything and it was making parenting her hard. I found myself frowning a lot instead of laughing. I found myself counting out loud and in my head (out loud to put her into Time Outs, in my head to hopefully contain myself from blowing up) whenever I was around her. Bedtimes were the absolute worst--taking up to 2 hours some nights.

But then something happened.

I'm not sure when it was or what it was--and it very well could've been me who changed--but something happened and parenting her became a joy again.

Time outs went from daily occurrences to maybe once a week to once a month. Bedtimes still take about an hour, but there isn't any more yelling.

I think the attitude has a lot to do with the busyness of December: Santa, Christmas, Rudolph, her birthday, New Year's Eve... I think things get so exciting come December, that when middle of January tries to bring about a normalcy again, she fights it because I'm pretty sure I complained about what a Pill she was early last year, too.

Well, now that we're in mid-March, we're back to Normal and I really like it here.

It (normalcy) lets me see the bigger picture and that helps us all, I think.

I know Lovie can sense my stress, my sorrow, my sadness from Oma's slow death. And it's hard for me to keep that from her and I guess it's OK not to try anymore. I mean, for months now I've tried bottling it up inside of me... but why?

We visited Oma on Saturday. I was so reluctant to visit with Lovie the past month because I didn't really want her to see Oma in such a sad state. But my mom thought that since Lovie is such a good girl (her words), that maybe bringing her by would be good. She missed seeing her and she thought Oma might really like it, too.

And she did.

Oma smiled like I haven't seen her smile since the last time Lovie was there. And so did I. Instead of feeling sick to my stomach over Oma dying any day now, I was content. And so was Oma. She had life in her blue eyes again. She looked ... peaceful. And happy.

And that's saying a lot about someone who's withering away to nothing.

Oma still isn't eating much of anything, she's still sleeping almost all day and night, and she's recently stopped taking all medication except for a pain patch she wears. She's super tired and very ready.

And now she's wearing a smile on her face.

And so am I.

These are them.

These are the times I want to cherish forever more.

first ride on a pedal bike. can't wait to see her do this outdoors with more space. like the hair? i love it. also, if you look closely to the image from behind, she's wearing boys (mickey mouse) underwear she picked out. ;)

These are the times I wish to tattoo into my memory.

sleeping beauty loves napping with mama in mama and daddy's bed. who am i to argue?

I know there will come a time when she won't be this... three.

this is my Lovie. this is who she is. right now. age 3. perfection.

I know there will come a time when she won't be so enamored with... everything.

These are the times I cherish...

the times I've waited for my entire life...

the times that make it all make complete sense.

Limbo

I'm not digging this state of limbo I'm in lately.

I'm lacking in patience.

And energy.

It's just so draining.

The waiting.

Thank god I have this sunshine to brighten my day.

 

 

Even if she's part of the limbo.

Even if she's leeching away at my patience at times.

The older I get, the more I truly do understand.

But the waiting game still... it's just SO tiring.

i love

i love watching her when she doesn't know i can see.
i love that i signed her up for something she absolutely loves to do.
i love that she tries so hard to follow along.
i love her hair and should do it more often.
i love that she's so Lovie.
i love feeling so blessed to be her mama.
i love.

Play-doh'ing

The other day we were Play-doh’ing (Lovie-ism) when Taye dropped a small ball of yellow Play-doh that rolled just under the stove.

“Ohhhh,” I taunted. “You’re fired!”

“Quick, mom,” Lovie chimed in. “Get the hose.”

 

Three is… intense. It’s awesome and amazing, but it’s also so very trying and draining at times.

But I’m beginning to truly grasp that it’s primarily the good times that will be remembered. I mean, yes, I’m pretty sure I’ll remember Lovie pissing her naked bottom while sitting in her chair because she was too darn mesmerized by the TV to sit on the stupid froggy potty chair placed right beside her, but more than that, I think I’ll remember Play-doh’ing and the urgent request to get the hose after telling her daddy he was fired because he dropped the Play-doh.

 

The good outweighs the bad with most memories. It must. It just must.

My grandfather’s been gone now for seven years. And what I remember most about him is his firm handshakes and hugs. His big rough hands. His bald, shiny head that sometimes sported a bandage or bruise from bumping it. His warm smile. His glasses. The fact that he had two pieces of white bread toasted every morning, slathered in butter and honey. The way he’d slam his hand down onto the table to get a point across. The time he told me to use only one square of toilet paper to avoid getting the toilet backed up. The stories he told every single time we saw him. His stubbornness.

Mostly I remember his adoration for his beloved wife—my Oma.

He was a strict man who believed what he believed and couldn’t really understand how others believed differently. But he was amazing. And strong. Yet gentle and warm. Especially with my grandmother.

Oma’s eyes were flooded following Ota’s passing. All of our eyes and hearts were. He passed away after waving to Oma on his way to bed when he tripped, fell to the floor, and hit his head against the corner of the wood bed frame. Just like that he was gone. There was no warning other than him telling my mom one week prior to his death that he was happy she moved in so that Oma wouldn’t be alone. One minute he was Ota, strong and sturdy and opinionated. The next minute, he was just gone.

Oma, on the other hand, is slowly dying.

I try to visit once a week now and every time I do, it gets harder and harder to watch. She’s pretty much starving and drowning to death thanks to Congestive Heart Failure, no appetite, and wanting to die. She’ll be 89 in May and she’s lived a long life, she’ll tell you. But she’s tired.

Right now all I can think about is her current state of life when I think of her. And it hurts so much to think this way. She’s so much more than skin and bones and oxygen tubes running from her person across the room to a big pumping tank of air. She’s so much more than a shaky old lady on her last leg.

She’s art, she’s beauty, she’s woman, she’s amazing and good.

I pray that once she finally passes and finds peace, my memories will be full of the wonderful times I’ve had with her. The hot chocolate she’d make us kids when we visited after allowing us to choose which Disney cup we wanted to drink from. The honey butter toast she’d serve us on mornings after we slept over. The schnitzel. The sparkle in her eye. The most adorable smile which will live through in my Lovie.

I know I’ll remember the good because she was just SO good, but right now it’s just incredibly difficult.

But that’s Life sometimes.

 

Maybe I should bring some Play-doh with me during my next visit…

Linking up with the fine folks at Yeah Write.

I DON'T WANNA!

It's not every day I say this but... I'm kinda glad today is Monday.

This weekend was kind of rough on a whole.

Lovie was really sick Friday and Saturday- feverish both days all day long. Wouldn't drink unless we held a cup with a straw up to her mouth, ate very little. Just laid around all day both days, and very needy (understandably).

Saturday I had plans with some bitches I know for lunch (and drinks) but Taye was kind enough to keep me updated by sending me pathetic texts and photos of Lovie "wanting mommy" and when I got home, all she did was whimper on top of me for about an hour or two: "Mommy" or "I want mommy" despite the fact that I was the one she was laying on.

Sunday Lovie was finally fever free and while we really should've stayed home again, we wanted to take advantage of free Disney on Ice tickets we had so off we went to see Mickey and Merida on Ice. Lovie was super tired the whole time, but did well till the end. That's when she lost her shit and screamed and cried for about two hours. My poor dad met us for the show and we were going to get some lunch afterward but instead, he went home and we went on our way.

After several hours of screaming, Lovie finally calmed down for a couple hours before it was time for bedtime and round two of Screamgate 2013 January Edition.

This morning, I stupidly picked out her Yo Gabba Gabba shirt and jeggings to wear and she lost her shit again. That's when I just walked out her room, leaving her to freak out on her own, and she howled MOMMY like she was in horrific pain. I turned around after taking in a deep breathe and calmly asked her to tell me what she wanted so we could move on with the day. She did and we did.

And now I'm at work and she's at school.

And despite it being only 9AM, I sure could go for a drink like the one in the photo above.

new beginning

On being three:

The defiance and attitude kicked up a notch. Or ten.

Blossoming curiosity, too. 

And, of course, the time-outs.

It’s like she enjoys trying my patience. 

But why not the toilet?!

 

TILTW: 12.8-12.14

*
Counting and time-outs work quite well with my perfectly well-behaved, non-whiny child.

**
I still hate potty training.
***
I missed writing this week, but I enjoyed being kinda crafty as exemplified here and here.
****
I need to make Lovie another blanket for the car. I knitted her one before she was born- it's super thick and was awesome for covering her in her infant carrier. Now that she's like a big kid, the blanket barely covers her legs in the cold car. It's been a while since I've knitted but it may be time to pick it up again.
*****
Less than two weeks till Christmas and only two weeks one day till Lovie turns three.

HOLY CANNOLI!

******

day 11 NaBloPoMo: last night at dinner

My 79 year-old dad upset Taye last night at dinner out when he told him that we spoil Lovie. This isn't the first time my dad has said this and while most things my dad says (which is way too much) rolls off of Taye, this time, Taye got a little upset.

"I understand you 'have to say things' that are on your mind but you need to understand that sometimes that won't make people very happy," Taye apparently told my dad whilst I had stepped away from the table with an unruly Lovie who was overtired and wanting to go home.

"Children shouldn't be an inconvenience," my dad allegedly told Taye.

"You're right," Taye responded, very offended. "Maybe if some people like your other children didn't act so inconvenienced by their children, their children wouldn't be so screwed up. My child is not an inconvenience, she's our responsibility."

Apparently that silenced my dad- the tidbit about his other children being inconvenienced by their children.

Thing is, hearing my dad say Lovie is spoiled, doesn't really offend me much because I know he's not referring to her being spoiled in a matter that she gets absolutely whatever she wants, that she can behave in any way she wishes. No, he means she's spoiled by our love and attention. I'm certain that's what he means because guess what? She absolutely is spoiled by our love and attention.

Because as Taye told my dad last night, she's our responsibility and we're so incredibly blessed and honored- every day (and even through the unruly behaviors)- to be her parents.

So yeah. She's spoiled. Rottenly so. And it won't ever change.

day 10 NaBloPoMo: reason

For a while now I've been one of those nut jobs who believes that things happen for a reason. Even when I miscarried in 2008 and endured the darkest days of my life, I believed there was a reason in the end.

This year has been full of so much change in Lovie's life. So much growth. All good, necessary stuff, but a lot of it, nevertheless.

Last night I got a taste of the reason behind all that change when I spent half the night on the floor in her room beside her bed.

At about 1AM I heard a bunch of commotion and because I had to pee, I was able to wake more completely. Good thing because moments later, Taye brought in Lovie wearing only a pullup. She had puked everywhere, the poor thing.

She didn't have a temperature and wasn't really complaining about anything, she just puked. A lot. Everywhere in her room (somehow even the room darkening shades got hit!).

So she laid with me in bed for a bit. A long bit, actually. I know I fell asleep telling her spooky stories. And then she started tossing and turning and whining and ... more puke. Blech, blech, blech.

Again, she didn't complain much, just puked and got it over with.

Because I needed to change her into her third set of jammies for the night, we ended up back in her room where I laid on Gigantor Bear- a five foot stuffed bear I picked up last year from Costco. The rest of the "night" I laid there on Gigantor Bear while she slept in her bed beside me. She tossed and turned a lot. And when she wasn't tossing and turning, I was resting my hand on her to make sure I could feel some breathing.

It wasn't a fun evening but could've been oh so much worse. She never had a fever, she just puked several times.

This morning she seems perfectly fine.

What "reason" did I come to terms with last night regarding all the growth and change from this past year? Had she still been in a crib, it would've been one helluva a long ass night.

The Hunger Treat

"I WANT TO GO TO DA HUNGER TREAT SUPAMARKET TO GET BANANAS!!" Lovie screamed and cried, kicking her legs against the back of the passenger seat of my car as we drove home from school Friday afternoon.

After a minute of screaming and me not reacting, she quieted down and I soon heard heavy breathing coming from the back seat. I nonchalantly sat more erect in my seat to sneak a peek through the rear view mirror and saw this:

I chuckled and noted that it had been well over a year since she's fallen asleep on our way home from school... and I also noted that it explained the absolute freak out over wanting to go to the Hunger Treat store.

WTF is a Hunger Treat store anyway?!

Haha this kid cracks my shit up on a daily basis... Hunger Treat is, I believe, a combo of Halloween and Trick or Treat and means either one or both of those. She's hooked on Hunger Treat lately:

"I wanna watch the Hunger Treat Umizoomi." (OMG this damn episode of Team Umizoomi- "Ghost"- has been played at least ... AT LEAST... 10 times this weekend and we weren't even home Saturday!)

"Look at the Hunger Treat ghost-es!"

"We go to Hunger Treat today, Mama?"

Other than Hunger Treat, this chica is really into feeding the ducks over by the river we live a block and a half from. We went last Sunday for a walk (she "rode" her bike), so we went again yesterday with some crackers that have sat untouched for quite some time with the sole purpose of feeding the ducks.

While on the bridge, I handed the camera off to Taye to ask for some pics of my girl and me and... you know, I'm so damned fortunate and blessed. Taye takes such good photos and even if I'm tired, old, fat, white-haired,

tired, old, fat, WHITE-haired!

it just doesn't friggin matter when it comes to Lovie.

she gets a kick out of pulling the strings on my hoodie

she thinks she's a great tickler. :)

And it shouldn't matter to you, either.

Take photos of your kids, but take photos of you with your kids, too!

Confidence

Here's the thing: I'm not a perfect person by any shape of the imagination. Never have been, never will be. And that's OK. That's a part of who I am. But I'm also not a person who really cares much about what other people think or say or do. I mean, of course I care, especially when it's affecting me or mine, but if I can't change something, I don't really put much energy into it. (It's taken me an insane amount of time to truly live my life like this because, again, I'm not, nor have I ever been, perfect.)

 

That all said and done, I've never been one to really worry about my Parenting.

 

Again, I'm not a perfect person and this holds true in every single aspect of my life including Parenting. But just because I'm not perfect at it, doesn't mean I can't rock it. And frankly...

 

I'm a Rockstar Parent.

 

I love being a Mama. I love it with everything I have, everything I am. The moment she was placed into my arms, I knew that parenting was what I was meant to do in my life.

 

And I kick ass at it.

 

I'm not saying I know everything about Parenting. It doesn't mean I'm some expert. It doesn't mean I don't read books and blogs and articles and comments on Parenting. It doesn't mean I can't afford to learn more about Parenting.

 

But it does mean that while I don't really give a shit what the Joneses are doing, I do care about what kind of parent I am- and that's a damn good one with the confidence to say so out loud.

1.) Share something your child taught YOU about parenting.

Tales of the Spoiled one.

Lovie was never the snuggling type of baby. I mean, she loved being held when she was itty bitty but once she got a taste of rolling around at about 3 months old, she seemed to always be super content doing her own thing.

Sitting by herself at 5 months was the bee's knees of course... until she started crawling just before 7 months. Then she never sat still and rarely sought comfort in a lap or someone's arms.

It wasn't till she was about 13 months old- after walking for several months- when Lovie finally started to slow down a little bit. All of a sudden she seemed to love to snuggle- especially when she was tired or sick.

I ate it up.

I still eat it up today even though she's inching her way toward THREE (just four months and one day, people!).

Every single time we're together, she finds her way on top of me.

 

 

Even if Taye and I are home at the same time and sitting on the couch or if we have guests, mine is the lap she always chooses.

 

She jumps on me, she lays on me, she sits on top of me, she sits right next to me, she slides down my legs, she wraps her arms around me, she looks me in the eyes when she tells me something, she smiles at me, she laughs with me...

 

"Sometimes I wonder if she's too attached," I tell my husband.

 

"She loves you," he answers, looking down at his cell phone.

 

"Well, yeah, I know that and I'm really not complaining."  And I'm not. Really, I'm not.

 

She doesn't freak out (much and/or usually) when I leave her at school. She leaps into my arms most days when I pick her up. She just really seems to like to be around me as much as I love to be around her.

And I'm so damn grateful for that.

 

But then my dad will tell me that I'm spoiling her, that I give her too much attention. And I think about nephews and nieces and how they were raised. I think about the fact that I have no real concrete memories of being a kid before my parents' split.

 

And I realize that if snuggling with my child, if listening to my child, if conversing and laughing with my child, if guiding and nurturing my child, if feeding and bathing my child is spoiling, then hot damn is it gonna get stinky up in this joint.

 

things that make my hair gray

Sitting on the couch together watching TV like we do every evening, Lovie pops her head up and asks for more milk, smiles big, and lays her head full of tight curls back on my chest. I rub the beads between my fingers and tell her she’s got to get up for a minute so I can fulfill her request. She sits up and I leave her there on the couch, alone, completely trusting that I’ll return.  
 
I’m her provider of food and clothes, rest and shelter, love and guidance; I'm her Mama. When she sees something new, she always asks, “Mama! Did you see it?” When she sings to a song on the radio, she demands, "Sing, Mama!" When I cuss at another driver on the road, she scolds, "Mama!"
 
She's my world, the air I breathe. My life.
 
I remember updating my Facebook account days after first being home with her to include a quote: "This is what it's all about."
 
I meant her.
 
She's the reason I was put here on the earth…the reason I lived the shitty times…the reason I kept going. This became clear the moment she was placed in my arms.
 
I imagine that every parent feels this way, right? I mean…they must.

My mom was barely 18 when she had my sister. The first four years of my sister's life was spent with my grandparents. After my mom met and married my dad, my sister moved in with them and my dad adopted her. My parents then had my brother, and years later, me. We lived the American Dream in a suburban bungalow. When I was 9, my parents split and my mother morphed into a partyer. I became the parent while both my siblings escaped by joining the armed forces as soon as legally possible.
 
By her mid-20s, my sister had her first two kids. When they were pre-teens, she left them with her soon to be ex-husband, seeing the kids when it was convenient for her. Years passed and she remarried and had a third child whom she left when he was 11. She still has a relationship with all of her children (and a grandbaby), but, again, she’s flying solo these days.
 
My brother was a daddy by 23. Several years later, his wife left the boy with my brother and the two became inseparable. About eight years later when the boy started becoming rebellious, my brother allowed him to live with his ex-wife. My brother then moved thousands of miles away and it’s been years since he’s even talked to the boy, now 20.
  

I know these lives are theirs and not mine, yet I still can’t help but wonder if I will follow this same path. I pray daily that it stops with me.
 
It must stop with me, I think as I sit back down next to my lovebug. “Thanks, Mama!” she beams, taking the sippy cup from my hand and laying her head full of curls back on my chest.

Letting Go and Growing

I'm not a fan of seeing awake babies with pacifiers in their mouths... especially when said babies can walk and talk. It really bugs me when I see this. Always has, always will. It's a pet peeve of mine, I guess.



rare photo of binked-up Lovie before bed, 4/2012

That said, on our way out of the hospital with a 3 day old baby doll in my arms, we finally gave up our ideals of a pacifier-free baby and begged the nurses for a pacifier; Lovie wouldn't stop crying unless she was on my breast or had a pacifier. (This all plays into why I gave up breastfeeding- turns out I was starving Lovie with my lack of milk which is why she was always crying {always} when she wasn't nursing.)

By the time she was 6 months old, Lovie pretty much only had a pacifier during naps/bedtime and in the car. I even had her daycare providers follow this and it wasn't really ever an issue.

The closer she got to turning 2, the more I wanted to get rid of the pacifier all together. She was always very attached to it at night and I was afraid it would carry on for years and years and start negatively affecting her teeth. Still, I let her have it at night and naps at home only (at about 20 months old, her daycare teachers were able to stop her from having it during her naps so I followed that with removing it from car trips, too), and I started telling her the Binky Fairy would come and take her binky soon to give to a baby who needed it since she was such a big girl. We talked about this a lot. A lot. And then she turned 2 and I decided to wait a week because nothing says "Happy Birthday" like taking away something that comforts you.

The thing is, when it finally came down to doing it, the thought of taking her comfort away from her really tore me up. So we decided to give it another six months. After all, it's wasn't like she was 12 and still with a binky; another 6 months should be OK, especially since she only was using it for sleeping.

Well, last month, one of her favorite teachers came back to school with her new baby girl and Lovie was smitten. And one morning she woke up and said she wanted to give her binky to the new baby- she put the binky in a box and everything. (She was down to just the one binky and I told her that it was the last one- she had chewed through two others prior and yet this one was still in tact for months and months.)

We took the binky in a box to school, but since the teacher and the baby weren't there at drop-off, I conned Lovie into allowing me to bring it later in the day when I picked her up (because I was terrified of Lovie changing her mind and then causing so much havoc that her teachers give her the binky). But when I picked her up, the teacher and baby had just left.

I didn't know what to do. The plan was we give the binky away and meet Daddy at Target to pick out a new toy. I called up the hubs to tell him I still had the b-i-n-k-y and we decided to still move forward with the plan like we gave the binky away. We met at Target and Lovie, after an hour of looking at and playing with toys, picked out a pink (of course) cash register toy.

We got home and played with it for a bit before getting ready for bed.

Not going to sugar coat it: that first night, especially, was AWFUL. She cried and screamed and flopped around like a fish out of water for an hour before settling down.

The second night took about half an hour, but with much less screaming and crying.

By the third night, Lovie was fine without the binky. She would ask for it- just before bed- but we'd ignore her or just tell her it was "all gone now that you're such a big girl." We used lots and lots of praise when telling her how big a girl she was, but we did so without EVER mentioning the binky. Even that first night of horror, we never once said the word.

It's been about a month now and the binky is definitely a thing of the past. She might say she wants her binky on rare occasion but, again, we just ignore it or tell her it's all gone and life just goes on. Bedtimes aren't as magical as they were when she had her binky (she's back to stalling stalling stalling), but they aren't anything like that first night without her binky.

Honestly, I think this has all been harder on me than anyone else. Lovie's my one and only. I'm so proud of the little girl she's turning into, but it's also so hard to let go of the baby stuff. Like the binky.

I think that's why I haven't really pushed her on potty training. I certainly don't want her in diapers in a year, but I also just am in no hurry to move her on in her childhood. This is a big reason why I'm grateful she's still cool with being in a crib.

I mean, I'm super proud of her- she's truly amazing and incredibly smart and funny and just such a character. And she really is such a big girl in so many ways- she eats with a fork, she drinks without a lid (meals at home), she remembers everything, she talks up a storm. I know she'll always always always be my baby... but still, it's hard sometimes... this letting go and growing thing.

Bossy

Earlier last week, Lovie had a black eye when I picked her up from school. I mean, it wasn't a BLACK EYE but it was a black eye; it looked like her eye lid and just below her eye was scratched.

I looked for an incident report in her cubbie to no avail. I wanted to ask one of the teachers about it but, as usual, the place was a friggin zoo (she's still in Toddler room which is supposed to be 18 months to 2 but they're always months behind in moving the kids). So I let it go like I often do when I see marks on her (since she's 2 and all). I asked her what happened and she hadn't a clue. Then I asked her if someone scratched her and she told me,"Laney" (fake name) "did it." (This poor girl gets blamed for everything yet she and Lovie are BFFs!) I let it go.

The next day brought a new scratch and this seemed to be the theme for the week. I trimmed her nails two days in a row in case I didn't trim them good enough the first time. Still, another scratch on her face the next day with no incident report.

Finally when I had a chance to ask about it on Thursday, I did. The teacher (main one) said she didn't know of any incidents. And I figured Lovie would've screamed out if someone was bugging her. So we both told her to be sure to tell Miss Jane (fake name) if someone hits or pushes or scratches or bites her, etc. I don't want her to be a tattle tale but every single day is too much.

Friday when I picked Lovie up, she saw me from across the room and ran to me, like normal. Miss Jane was sitting across the room reading to the kids. She got up and came over to the door to where the cubbies are and looked through them and then proceeded to tell me Lovie had a bad day. She was being very bossy and assertive to the other kids- in the morning especially- and an incident report was written against her.

A part of me was surprised; in the 2+ years we've been going there, we've never encountered a problem where Lovie is the problem child. I'M NOT SAYING SHE'S PERFECT just that I was definitely caught off guard. A little. A bigger part of me wanted to shout, "Well good for her!!" I mean, really, the kid is coming home with scratches and a black eye every single day (the scratches- not the black eye) and the day after I bring it up, all of a sudden, she's the problem child?

I didn't say that, of course. I just looked at Lovie and noted no new scratch marks and asked if she was OK. I mean, I couldn't very well punish her hours after the fact... could I? I don't even know what she did other than "be bossy and assertive" to which I say... SOUNDS LIKE SHE'S TWO TO ME!

I kid. Sort of.

On the way home, she wanted to stop off at the park and "play wid my friends." I debated for a second if I should allow it and then went ahead and stopped at the park. For the second day in a row we were the only ones there. Then another girl, near 4, came with her dad and they, too, played in the sandbox. The girls saw each other but kept to themselves until the 4 year old finally picked up her stuff and plopped down next to Lovie, declaring "I want to play with you."

Lovie looked at her and they sat together and did their sand thing for about half hour.

It was super cute. ISN'T IT SUPER DAMN CUTE?!??

I guess she got all her bossy assertiveness out at school before taking it out on me this morning when she shouted, "NO, I DON'T LIKE JEANS!" as I tried getting her dressed.

Can't wait to hear how her day went today. I hope better, I really do. But not as much as I hope they moved her up to the early preschool room where she belongs with the rest of her peers.

******************************

So I typed this all up and never hit Publish because I didn't finish writing it till just before going to pick Lovie up from school; I figured I'd wait to see what transpired. Well... guess who had another black eye when I picked her up today? Her daddy is not very happy. Miss Jane came up to me to tell me about it first hand, and handed me an incident report. This black eye is worse than last week's (that went completely undetected by anyone). And... I'm kind of pissed. I know this stuff happens- these are young children together all day long. But... after one full week of marks and a second black eye... well, how should I feel? 

Do you believe in Magic?

I do.

Especially if it’s 1-2-3 Magic- the book about “Effective Discipline for Children 2-12.”

*To be crystal clear- these are my own words, my own thoughts. I’m in no way, shape, or form affiliated with the writer of, nor the actual book or publishing company, etc of 1-2-3 Magic. They don’t know me. They don’t know I’m writing this. They didn’t give me the book to review. They don’t know me from Adam. I’m nobody to them.*

I have a 2 year old (end of December). At her 18 month checkup, her pediatrician suggested we pick up 1-2-3 Magic for an approach to disciplining our Lovie. She’s always been pretty much ahead of the game with all of her milestones and he said we could start implementing some of the ideas from the book if we felt we needed to, despite the age stated.

We didn’t get the book right away but we didn’t really need to; Lovie’s always been a pretty easy baby. Or else we’re extremely patient? If you know me at all, it’s not that I’m patient.

After getting the book when she was about 20 months old, I read it pretty quickly. It’s not long and it’s a quick read. I love all the examples provided and I love that there is reasoning as to why something might or might not be working.

Still, we didn’t really have any use to put it into practice. So the book sat and Lovie turned two. And, just like that, she was starting to test us more. But still, she listened to what we were saying and, since we were both always on the same page and very consistent, we never had to really put her into a time out or discipline her more than stating that something was dangerous. Yes, really. She’s that good of a kid. Yes, I know how crazy lucky we got it. Thanks, though.

But then bedtime would roll around and … by the time we’d leave her room, I was exhausted.

I began to dread putting her to bed. It usually wasn’t too bad if it was just me putting her to bed because I didn’t stand for (all) the stalling she did, but regardless, it got to the point where I would just walk out of the room quickly after saying my good nights and I love yous, and she’d be left screaming and jumping up and down and crying out for me. And the nights Daddy was there in time for bedtime, he would stay in the room to settle her down but usually, an hour later, she’d call out for one of us or shriek with glee as she continued to practice her jumping. (There were several times where I actually went to bed and fell asleep before her. And I have to get her up at 5:30 in the morning during the week so her lack of getting a good night’s sleep was causing major havoc in our morning routine, too.)

I was spent. And I started dreading… dreading… bedtime.

I’m not sure what it was- maybe out of sheer desperation- but I decided to pick up 1-2-3 Magic again one day, remembering that the author touched on bedtime. I quickly skimmed over to the bedtime routine and read the section, “Going to Bed- And Staying There!” several times.

I tagged the pages I wanted the husband to read and told him we would be taking the plunge that night and to just follow my lead.

We were all sitting on the couch watching Nick Jr. and it was nearing 7PM- Lovie’s bedtime Sunday through Thursday. The show Olivia was on and I told Lovie that when it was over, it would be time to brush her teeth- something I tell her every night.  I also sounded the alarm on my cell phone. Lovie looked at me like WTF? And I told her that the next time she heard that Beeping sound, it would mean that we had to stop whatever we were doing and go to bed.

When the show was over, I turned off the TV. Lovie started with the usual whining and begging for another Olivia and refusing to brush her teeth. I explained again that Olivia was over, that we’d watch again tomorrow, and that it was now time to brush her teeth and get ready for bed. She started playing with some cars or something. We kept repeating it was time to start getting ready for bed and eventually got her into the bathroom to  finally brushed her teeth.

Then we went into her room and, like normal, Daddy sat on the floor near her two large stuffed bears, I sat on the chair next to her bed. Lovie started opening books or something. I sounded the alarm again and reminded her that the next time she heard it, it meant it was time for bed. I told her we could read, sing, play, drink water, go to the bathroom until the Beep Beep Beep but once it sounded, she had to go to bed.

She just looked at me. Daddy just looked at me.

“Do you want to read a book?”

“No!”

“Do you want me to sing?”

No answer. So I started to sing (thankfully- I love singing bedtime songs normally with her in my arms but I didn’t want to push the issue).

Lovie played with some blocks and kind of ignored her dad and me. I reminded her again that when the Beeping sounded it was bedtime, and asked if she was sure she didn’t want daddy to read a book. She got a book and brought it to her dad to read.

A minute after they read, the alarm sounded. It was 7:15PM.

We all jumped a little. I really should put a clock in her room.

Lovie and Daddy looked at me. I grabbed my cell phone from the bookshelf and stood up and looked at my husband and, with my eyes and mind, told him to stand up, too. He obliged.

I scooped up Lovie and gave her a million kisses and told her it was bedtime. She turned into a floppy, out-of-water fish. Daddy snuck in a couple kisses and I laid her in her crib. (Yes, she's still in a crib. There's more info in the book about if your child is in a regular bed and gets up out of bed- info that we will most definitely practice should Lovie do this once she moves out of the crib.)

She immediately stood up and asked for water and I, laying her back down, told her she could have more in the morning and reminded her the Beeping sounded and it was now bedtime.

“Sweet dreams, baby girl. I love you. Night Night,” I said with my hand on her belly gently.

I then … walked out of the room and into the living room to look at the clock on the cable box. It was 7:17.

I turned back around and saw my husband standing beside me. We just looked at each other, saying nothing.

“Really?” I finally said. “It’s that easy?”

Husband looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and went on his computer. I stood there for another couple minutes and listened. I heard nothing coming from down the hall where Lovie’s room is. Nothing.  I went back to the husband and said, “Why haven’t we done this sooner?”

Again, he just shrugged.

Since that very first night, it’s been the same thing (I extend the alarm a half hour on weekends) every single night. Except, after a full week of doing this, the whole routine started going even smoother because once she became used to the alarm, she started wanting to sit with us before it sounds as we read and sing (which for us is so ... blissful, really). She doesn't flop around when I scoop her up for hugs and kisses before laying her down; there's no more jumping in the bed; there's no more shouting out for us once we leave the room.

This shit is MAGICAL.

A month ago, it would take HOURS before she’d fall asleep.

A month ago, I’d leave her room wanting to scream and pull my hair out.

Bedtime has been dreadful this year (literally- it’s like a switch went off in her in January)- up till I studied the Bedtime section of the 1-2-3 Magic book a couple weeks ago.

And now... It’s Magical. Bedtime is magical! It’s enjoyable. It’s relaxing. It’s the way it should be.

* To be crystal clear- these are my own words, my own thoughts. I’m in no way, shape, or form affiliated with the writer of, nor the actual book or publishing company, etc of 1-2-3 Magic. They don’t know me. They don’t know I’m writing this. They didn’t give me the book to review. They don’t know me from Adam. I’m nobody to them.*