Emmersen has a pretty adventurous appetite. Most occasions, she is not opposed to trying new things. Luckily that leaves me (the cook) with options come dinner time. Rather than being stuck preparing the typical, kid-friendly mac n' cheese & chicken nuggets, she usually consumes whatever it is Clay and I are having. However, sometimes her food flexibility takes five and the meal that I place in front of her is a no-go.
Last night, was meatloaf night. In my defense, this is Kitchen Sink Meatloaf, not your grandmother's meatloaf. This meatloaf is made for the sweet tooth - cranberries, maple syrup, pistachios & some cheddar cheese. I've made it many times before and usually no arguments, just full mouths. Well, to accompany this little meal, I made green beans & sauteed new potatoes. Again, the basics. I call Emme to the table and confidently place her plate in front of her. I sit down and dig in.
Emme is just sitting there, elbow propped on the table with her cheek cupped in her little hand. Her other hand pushing her fork around her plate. Her expression would have made you think she was contemplating some heavy problem, like how to convince me she should have chocolate before bedtime :) So I said, "Buddy, what's up? Have a bite of your dinner." She looked up from her plate, head still leaning against her hand and said, "I don't want this. It smells like armpit." Well... okay then.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
I feel pretty, oh, so pretty
Sometimes I wish I had a pad lock on Emmersen's closet. The sound of her closet doors popping open makes me cringe. That sound indicates a stand-off between mother and daughter is about to commence. And it won't be pretty.
My darling, Emme, is a three-year-old fashionista who is obsessed with dresses. The girl has a closet FULL of clothes that even I am jealous of. From her Mini Boden skinny jeans to her Crewcuts vintage cardigans to the coveted Burberry kilt with matching polo top, her wardrobe is crazy cute. Emme even got to "shop" on line with me before the start of the school year to pick out some fun, yet, suitable tops & leggings she would be proud to wear. But somewhere between Disney Princesses & Barbie, Emme got it in her little head that girls only wear dresses. When I asked her why only dresses, she responded she needs to feel "pretty". Insert my grumble here.
I am a stereotypical SAHM who runs around in yoga pants, hoodie and a baseball hat. When Emme catches me wearing make-up she assumes I am going somewhere very special and usually comments on how "pretty" I look and undoubtedly asks if I will be wearing a dress. Just the other night, I was freshly showered and Emme commented that she liked my pj's. She rubbed my arm and said she liked my soft skin. Then she said she liked my hair. Sweet, right? And then my darling daughter looks at me and says, "Mom, we can get you some make-up and I can help you get a dress so you can be pretty." Excuse me?
Well, this morning started out like most. Emme & I have a little one-on-one time before Delaney wakes up. We have our morning coffee (me) and warm apple juice (Emme) and talk about our plans for the day. Then it comes time to get dressed. It's 30 degrees outside and I suggest some leggings and a coordinating top. Emme's brow scrunches together, arms crossed over her chest..."But I want a dress!" Too worried about waking Delaney, I compromise and hand her a long sleeved dress and leggings. No takers. She wants a sleeveless number. Fine, long sleeved t-shirt underneath. Nope, she doesn't want the t-shirt because she won't look "pretty". After some arguing, Emme is sporting a striped sleeveless dress (with a long sleeved shirt underneath), polka dot tights and pink Uggs. Great! A win/win situation. I go to tend to Delaney in the next room. Not two minutes after I leave the room, I hear Emme's closet doors pop open.
After dressing and feeding Delaney, I head back to Emme's room. She has taken off the boots, tights & long sleeved t-shirt. She put the sleeveless dress back on and is now sporting pink flip-flops. She is wearing a Hello Kitty necklace around her neck and a feathery tiara on her head. Yea, not gonna happen, sweetheart. It's a struggle to get her back in the original attire. Finally dressed, we head out the door.
As I am buckling her in her car seat she says to me, "Mom, look at my dress. I do look pretty today." So flustered by all the "pretty" talk I hiss, "You know, it's not so important to be pretty. What about being smart?! And strong?!" and I close the car door. Then I shake my head and remind my self, I am talking to a three-year-old.
Oh, Emmersen, you drive me pretty crazy and can make me pretty mad, but I pretty much can't help loving you. XO, bud.
My darling, Emme, is a three-year-old fashionista who is obsessed with dresses. The girl has a closet FULL of clothes that even I am jealous of. From her Mini Boden skinny jeans to her Crewcuts vintage cardigans to the coveted Burberry kilt with matching polo top, her wardrobe is crazy cute. Emme even got to "shop" on line with me before the start of the school year to pick out some fun, yet, suitable tops & leggings she would be proud to wear. But somewhere between Disney Princesses & Barbie, Emme got it in her little head that girls only wear dresses. When I asked her why only dresses, she responded she needs to feel "pretty". Insert my grumble here.
I am a stereotypical SAHM who runs around in yoga pants, hoodie and a baseball hat. When Emme catches me wearing make-up she assumes I am going somewhere very special and usually comments on how "pretty" I look and undoubtedly asks if I will be wearing a dress. Just the other night, I was freshly showered and Emme commented that she liked my pj's. She rubbed my arm and said she liked my soft skin. Then she said she liked my hair. Sweet, right? And then my darling daughter looks at me and says, "Mom, we can get you some make-up and I can help you get a dress so you can be pretty." Excuse me?
Well, this morning started out like most. Emme & I have a little one-on-one time before Delaney wakes up. We have our morning coffee (me) and warm apple juice (Emme) and talk about our plans for the day. Then it comes time to get dressed. It's 30 degrees outside and I suggest some leggings and a coordinating top. Emme's brow scrunches together, arms crossed over her chest..."But I want a dress!" Too worried about waking Delaney, I compromise and hand her a long sleeved dress and leggings. No takers. She wants a sleeveless number. Fine, long sleeved t-shirt underneath. Nope, she doesn't want the t-shirt because she won't look "pretty". After some arguing, Emme is sporting a striped sleeveless dress (with a long sleeved shirt underneath), polka dot tights and pink Uggs. Great! A win/win situation. I go to tend to Delaney in the next room. Not two minutes after I leave the room, I hear Emme's closet doors pop open.
After dressing and feeding Delaney, I head back to Emme's room. She has taken off the boots, tights & long sleeved t-shirt. She put the sleeveless dress back on and is now sporting pink flip-flops. She is wearing a Hello Kitty necklace around her neck and a feathery tiara on her head. Yea, not gonna happen, sweetheart. It's a struggle to get her back in the original attire. Finally dressed, we head out the door.
As I am buckling her in her car seat she says to me, "Mom, look at my dress. I do look pretty today." So flustered by all the "pretty" talk I hiss, "You know, it's not so important to be pretty. What about being smart?! And strong?!" and I close the car door. Then I shake my head and remind my self, I am talking to a three-year-old.
Oh, Emmersen, you drive me pretty crazy and can make me pretty mad, but I pretty much can't help loving you. XO, bud.
Friday, January 20, 2012
icing on the cake.
My mom saves everything. I mean, everything. My folks basement could have qualified for the show Clean House up until about a year ago. However, I have come to appreciate her desire to hang on to the things that "just might be worth something some day". For instance, I get to laugh at Emme as she prances around the house in my old dance recital costumes and ballet shoes that are about three sizes too big. Or I got the enjoyment of watching my daughter don cowboy boots with every outfit last summer because my mom saved my boots that I wore obsessively at three years old. My kiddos even get to play with a cookie tin full of McDonalds Happy Meal toys circa 1985-1990. But the latest treasure was discovered in one of my mom's kitchen cabinets.
It was the first real snow of the season and my girls and I were hanging at Nan Nan & Pop Pop's for the afternoon. Of course Emme had full reign of the house and was taking full advantage. "Nan Nan! Nan Nan! Come play with me, " Emme beckoned. After a while I think Nan Nan got tired of climbing up and down the stairs and offered an activity the two of them could do that did not require parading around the house or playing with the dozens of preserved Barbies and Barbie Dream House.
In the kitchen, my mom digs through a rarely used cabinet and uncovers the latest prize. A white box with faded purple letters reading "Wilton" is placed on the kitchen table and Emme's little hands can't open it fast enough. "Oh my goodness! Are they just for me?" Emme exclaims as she pulls out a miniature mixing bowl, a miniature cupcake tray, a miniature cookie sheet and two miniature round cake pans. Then Emme hands a small white packet to my mom and asks what it is. Oh. My. God. Cake mix?
Seriously, the box of child size baking supplies had to be at least 20 years old, probably more. I'm horrified. The mixes have to be way past their expiration date. A closer look at the packet reveals there is no expiration date. Not a good sign. My mom asks my dad what he thinks. "Oh, it should be fine. It's vacuum sealed. We had that kind of stuff in Vietnam. It will be good for 100 years." Two against one, let the baking begin.
Emme has a ball mixing the Devil's Food Cake batter with her miniature whisk. She even helps Nan Nan grease the miniature cake pans. Now, the true test...tasting it. I urge my mom to taste it first. She dips her finger in the dark brown, lumpy batter and gives it a go. With a shrug, she gives it the O.K. Emme dips her little finger in the batter and smiles, "Mmm." Next she wants me to try it. Honestly, it tastes awful. It tastes, well, old. The cakes get baked anyway.
Emme prepares a packet of chocolate frosting that tastes equally disgusting, but is delighted all the same. Once she has the cakes frosted, it's time to eat these creations. She takes a bite and looks less than impressed. I try it. Only one thought comes to mind, moth balls. The cake tastes like moth balls. No expiration date does not mean it's good for a long time. No expiration date means the stuff is too darn old to even require an expiration date in the first place!
So, what became of the remainder of Emme's little cake creations? Nan Nan threw them out back to her beloved squirrels :)
It was the first real snow of the season and my girls and I were hanging at Nan Nan & Pop Pop's for the afternoon. Of course Emme had full reign of the house and was taking full advantage. "Nan Nan! Nan Nan! Come play with me, " Emme beckoned. After a while I think Nan Nan got tired of climbing up and down the stairs and offered an activity the two of them could do that did not require parading around the house or playing with the dozens of preserved Barbies and Barbie Dream House.
In the kitchen, my mom digs through a rarely used cabinet and uncovers the latest prize. A white box with faded purple letters reading "Wilton" is placed on the kitchen table and Emme's little hands can't open it fast enough. "Oh my goodness! Are they just for me?" Emme exclaims as she pulls out a miniature mixing bowl, a miniature cupcake tray, a miniature cookie sheet and two miniature round cake pans. Then Emme hands a small white packet to my mom and asks what it is. Oh. My. God. Cake mix?
Seriously, the box of child size baking supplies had to be at least 20 years old, probably more. I'm horrified. The mixes have to be way past their expiration date. A closer look at the packet reveals there is no expiration date. Not a good sign. My mom asks my dad what he thinks. "Oh, it should be fine. It's vacuum sealed. We had that kind of stuff in Vietnam. It will be good for 100 years." Two against one, let the baking begin.
Emme has a ball mixing the Devil's Food Cake batter with her miniature whisk. She even helps Nan Nan grease the miniature cake pans. Now, the true test...tasting it. I urge my mom to taste it first. She dips her finger in the dark brown, lumpy batter and gives it a go. With a shrug, she gives it the O.K. Emme dips her little finger in the batter and smiles, "Mmm." Next she wants me to try it. Honestly, it tastes awful. It tastes, well, old. The cakes get baked anyway.
Emme prepares a packet of chocolate frosting that tastes equally disgusting, but is delighted all the same. Once she has the cakes frosted, it's time to eat these creations. She takes a bite and looks less than impressed. I try it. Only one thought comes to mind, moth balls. The cake tastes like moth balls. No expiration date does not mean it's good for a long time. No expiration date means the stuff is too darn old to even require an expiration date in the first place!
So, what became of the remainder of Emme's little cake creations? Nan Nan threw them out back to her beloved squirrels :)
Monday, January 16, 2012
Tu-tu tired.
It's bedtime. I am sitting in the glider in the dark. Delaney is cradled in my arms about to head to the land of nod. All is at peace. Then I hear her.
I glance at the clock, 8:14. Through the wall, I hear the squeak of bed springs then a loud "thud!" In the room next door, Emmersen is on one of her turbo, charged-up, over exhausted, uncontrollable, I'm not going to bed just yet, kicks. Oh man. Clay's muffled voice keeps repeating, "Emme. Emme. EMMERSEN." I count two more flying leaps off Emme's bed. Then her closet doors are slammed followed by a high-pitched, hysterical giggle.
Another glance at the clock, 8:20. I hear Clay begin to count. I say a mental prayer that she eases up on him. Clay counts to three - game over Emme. Her giggles turn into a wail, "Nooooooo! I want mommy!" Clay's muffled voice again. I can tell he is trying to remain calm. Poor guy.
I must have nodded off because the clock now reads 9:01. All is quite except for the rain sound machine in Delaney's room. When I step out into the hallway, I can hear Clay's snoring coming from behind Emme's door. On the floor outside Emme's door is a pool of princess dresses and various dress-up items. Ah-ha, the confiscated items and reason behind Emme's sobs. I gather them in a ball and toss them in our room until Emme can earn them back in the morning. I head back to Emme's room to fetch Clay. He is passed out on the floor next to two doll houses. He stumbles out of the room. I lean over Emme to tuck her in and I see a glimpse of pink sparkle. What the...?
A closer look reveals that my little diva decided to ditch her pajamas for a more suitable bedtime attire - a pink & purple, sparkly leotard complete with attached tu-tu. And that's my girl.
I glance at the clock, 8:14. Through the wall, I hear the squeak of bed springs then a loud "thud!" In the room next door, Emmersen is on one of her turbo, charged-up, over exhausted, uncontrollable, I'm not going to bed just yet, kicks. Oh man. Clay's muffled voice keeps repeating, "Emme. Emme. EMMERSEN." I count two more flying leaps off Emme's bed. Then her closet doors are slammed followed by a high-pitched, hysterical giggle.
Another glance at the clock, 8:20. I hear Clay begin to count. I say a mental prayer that she eases up on him. Clay counts to three - game over Emme. Her giggles turn into a wail, "Nooooooo! I want mommy!" Clay's muffled voice again. I can tell he is trying to remain calm. Poor guy.
I must have nodded off because the clock now reads 9:01. All is quite except for the rain sound machine in Delaney's room. When I step out into the hallway, I can hear Clay's snoring coming from behind Emme's door. On the floor outside Emme's door is a pool of princess dresses and various dress-up items. Ah-ha, the confiscated items and reason behind Emme's sobs. I gather them in a ball and toss them in our room until Emme can earn them back in the morning. I head back to Emme's room to fetch Clay. He is passed out on the floor next to two doll houses. He stumbles out of the room. I lean over Emme to tuck her in and I see a glimpse of pink sparkle. What the...?
A closer look reveals that my little diva decided to ditch her pajamas for a more suitable bedtime attire - a pink & purple, sparkly leotard complete with attached tu-tu. And that's my girl.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
far out
Watching a baby discover her body parts is quite humorous. Delaney is currently fascinated with her hands. She will stare at them, intently, for long periods of time watching her fingers open and shut. I know, I know. This is supposed to be sweet and I am supposed to say, "Awww!" But seriously, all I can do is laugh because her expression kills me! Let me explain.
Delaney will be chillin' in my lap or one of the many baby lounging apparatus' littered about our house when all of a sudden she catches a glimpse of her hand out of the corner of her eye. She's locked in. Pupils are engaged, mouth is soft, she is in a trance. She brings one hand up in front of her face and rotates her wrist from side to side. Whoa. Then her fingers wave back and forth real slow. Cool. Next, she pulls her fingers together and opens and closes them against her thumb, kind of like she is making her hand "talk". Far out.
Two words came to mind when I first experienced Delaney's discovery... acid trip. Awful, I know. But to watch the facinated, dream-like expression on her face when her little fingers move, it really is funny. Oh, Delaney, so mellow. Here's hoping you remain that way throughout your life, pal. XO
Delaney will be chillin' in my lap or one of the many baby lounging apparatus' littered about our house when all of a sudden she catches a glimpse of her hand out of the corner of her eye. She's locked in. Pupils are engaged, mouth is soft, she is in a trance. She brings one hand up in front of her face and rotates her wrist from side to side. Whoa. Then her fingers wave back and forth real slow. Cool. Next, she pulls her fingers together and opens and closes them against her thumb, kind of like she is making her hand "talk". Far out.
Two words came to mind when I first experienced Delaney's discovery... acid trip. Awful, I know. But to watch the facinated, dream-like expression on her face when her little fingers move, it really is funny. Oh, Delaney, so mellow. Here's hoping you remain that way throughout your life, pal. XO
Friday, January 13, 2012
Duck.
Last Monday evening I found myself at wit's end. Emme's energy had sky-rocketed to an insurmountable level and Delaney was fighting her last nap of the day like a boxing champ. If the three of us were going to survive until dinner time, I needed to act fast. After attempted games of Memory, craft-time, playing Barbie and play-dough, I had played all my cards and was close to losing this round. A last ditch effort, I stashed the girls in the car and headed to Emme's future elementary school's playground.
Relief. D falls asleep on the car ride and Emme's inner diva seems to have taken five. The unseasonably warm, 50 degree January evening is just what this crazed momma needed to regain her footing. Delaney is as snug as a bug in the stroller, so Em & I start a game of hide n' seek.
Emme climbs the ladder to the top of the twirly slide and beings to count. "1, 2, 3.... Mom are you hiding?" "Yes Emme. Finish counting." The kid already knows how to squint her eyes to pretend they are closed, but are open just enough to still see. Her head follows in my direction as she counts. "4, 5!" Emme slips down the slide and looks around for me. She pretends to be looking for me even though she knows right where I am. After "searching" in a two other possible hiding spots she wanders over to the rock wall and shouts, "Mom, I found you! Your turn to count." I count to five and take my time finding her as she waits crouched under a set of vented steps. When I find her, she giggles and tells me to go hide.
This time she is counting on the ground. I make a beeline for the little tower at the top of the twirly slide. This is where our lovely game of mother/daughter hide n' seek goes very wrong. Emme is counting and I am running full speed to the top of the twirly slide. Not a great move for a 5' 7" adult playing on the kindergarten playground. Well, mom forgets to duck as she enters the little tower made for three foot individuals and WHACK! Yes, that is the sound my head made as it plowed into the plastic tower entrance. I seriously think I saw stars at this point, but tried to collect myself as the school Daisy troop makes their way onto the playground. Emme looks at me horrified. I try to reassure her I am fine as my head is pounding so hard it actually has a pulse. I squeeze my adult rear-end down the twirly slide just as the Daisy troop takes over the playground. Emme decides she is ready to head home.
The next day the weather is just as tempting to head outdoors. I offer to take Emme to the playground if she takes her nap. She gives me a very serious look, the kind someone gives you when they are about to tell you something of great importance. "Mom, that playground didn't really work out for you. I don't think it's a good idea." Point taken, kiddo.
Relief. D falls asleep on the car ride and Emme's inner diva seems to have taken five. The unseasonably warm, 50 degree January evening is just what this crazed momma needed to regain her footing. Delaney is as snug as a bug in the stroller, so Em & I start a game of hide n' seek.
Emme climbs the ladder to the top of the twirly slide and beings to count. "1, 2, 3.... Mom are you hiding?" "Yes Emme. Finish counting." The kid already knows how to squint her eyes to pretend they are closed, but are open just enough to still see. Her head follows in my direction as she counts. "4, 5!" Emme slips down the slide and looks around for me. She pretends to be looking for me even though she knows right where I am. After "searching" in a two other possible hiding spots she wanders over to the rock wall and shouts, "Mom, I found you! Your turn to count." I count to five and take my time finding her as she waits crouched under a set of vented steps. When I find her, she giggles and tells me to go hide.
This time she is counting on the ground. I make a beeline for the little tower at the top of the twirly slide. This is where our lovely game of mother/daughter hide n' seek goes very wrong. Emme is counting and I am running full speed to the top of the twirly slide. Not a great move for a 5' 7" adult playing on the kindergarten playground. Well, mom forgets to duck as she enters the little tower made for three foot individuals and WHACK! Yes, that is the sound my head made as it plowed into the plastic tower entrance. I seriously think I saw stars at this point, but tried to collect myself as the school Daisy troop makes their way onto the playground. Emme looks at me horrified. I try to reassure her I am fine as my head is pounding so hard it actually has a pulse. I squeeze my adult rear-end down the twirly slide just as the Daisy troop takes over the playground. Emme decides she is ready to head home.
The next day the weather is just as tempting to head outdoors. I offer to take Emme to the playground if she takes her nap. She gives me a very serious look, the kind someone gives you when they are about to tell you something of great importance. "Mom, that playground didn't really work out for you. I don't think it's a good idea." Point taken, kiddo.
Monday, January 9, 2012
chocolate at bedtime
Sitting in the glider in D's room tonight, I was starting to nod off when Emme's quick little footsteps caught my attention. I looked down at Delaney - passed out mid-nurse. Slight panic, please stay asleep Delaney and Emme, please mind your volume during the "report" you are no doubt coming to deliver. Emme appears in Delaney's doorway with a closed lip grin. She prances over to me and smiles. Chocolate covers her teeth, "Daddy gave me some chocolate. Tob-ler-own-E." Awesome.
Like for most young kiddos, sugar and bedtime are a dangerous combination. Now, I know Clay was just being a good dad (and a sucker) and gave into Emme's plea for a "dessert." But as soon as I saw that creamy, Swiss, brown stuff smeared on Emme's teeth and lips, I knew Clay & I were done for.
Needless to say, I end up swooping in and taking over Em's bedtime when I hear her begin to jump off of her bed and giggle uncontrollably. Poor Clay. The guy tries to do something nice and his quality time with Emme is botched when she goes haywire and I dive in like a hawk on prey. Clay's bewildered expression said enough. Okay girly, momma's here, play ball.
An hour and a half later, I have confiscated a mini flashlight, a recorable Dora microphone, various jewels and baubbles, a light-up singing My Little Pony, and the light bulb to her nightstand lamp. She is finally asleep.
I head to the kitchen for a piece of Toblerone :)
Like for most young kiddos, sugar and bedtime are a dangerous combination. Now, I know Clay was just being a good dad (and a sucker) and gave into Emme's plea for a "dessert." But as soon as I saw that creamy, Swiss, brown stuff smeared on Emme's teeth and lips, I knew Clay & I were done for.
Needless to say, I end up swooping in and taking over Em's bedtime when I hear her begin to jump off of her bed and giggle uncontrollably. Poor Clay. The guy tries to do something nice and his quality time with Emme is botched when she goes haywire and I dive in like a hawk on prey. Clay's bewildered expression said enough. Okay girly, momma's here, play ball.
An hour and a half later, I have confiscated a mini flashlight, a recorable Dora microphone, various jewels and baubbles, a light-up singing My Little Pony, and the light bulb to her nightstand lamp. She is finally asleep.
I head to the kitchen for a piece of Toblerone :)
Sunday, January 8, 2012
It was a witch.
Thank goodness for Delaney and her bright smile on the mornings when I could really just roll over and go back to bed. Last night's slumber was interrupted a number of times due to both ladies needing momma's attention. Delaney can't help wrestling me awake, the kid's got an empty belly and an appetite. Emmersen, on the other hand, had a more unneccessary, but creative reason.
It all started around 1:30 am. Emme calls out, "Mom!" She is startled and wants to come into our bed. I'm too tired to argue. Clay & I part ways to hang onto the edges of our bed while Emme stretches out in the middle and starts honkin' z's as soon as her head hits my pillow.
4:30 am, after feeding Delaney, I carry Emme's limp little body back to her bed and slump back into mine. 6:30 am, Emme startles us again with a call to "Mom!" and winds up back in our bed to finish out the morning.
Chatting over our morning drinks (me-coffee, Emme-warm apple juice) I inquire what was amiss last night that caused Emme to wind up sleeping with mom & dad. Emme's response was as follows:
Me: "Em, what was going on last night? Were you scared?"
Emme: "Yes."
Me: "What were you scared of?"
Emme: "A witch."
Me: "There was a witch? Where?"
Emme: "She was in my bed."
Me: "Oh. Well, what was she doing in your bed?"
Emme: "She was drinking beers."
It all started around 1:30 am. Emme calls out, "Mom!" She is startled and wants to come into our bed. I'm too tired to argue. Clay & I part ways to hang onto the edges of our bed while Emme stretches out in the middle and starts honkin' z's as soon as her head hits my pillow.
4:30 am, after feeding Delaney, I carry Emme's limp little body back to her bed and slump back into mine. 6:30 am, Emme startles us again with a call to "Mom!" and winds up back in our bed to finish out the morning.
Chatting over our morning drinks (me-coffee, Emme-warm apple juice) I inquire what was amiss last night that caused Emme to wind up sleeping with mom & dad. Emme's response was as follows:
Me: "Em, what was going on last night? Were you scared?"
Emme: "Yes."
Me: "What were you scared of?"
Emme: "A witch."
Me: "There was a witch? Where?"
Emme: "She was in my bed."
Me: "Oh. Well, what was she doing in your bed?"
Emme: "She was drinking beers."
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
she loves me, she loves me not
Oh, my little Emmersen. I still haven't figured you out and I know the answer to your antics lies in me.
You are demanding. I know your Nan Nan would say you are strong. Your Nan Nan also says that I am demanding. So, where does that leave us? Two strong & demanding minds challenging one another to see who comes out on top. Usually, you win. I get tired or have to retreat to tend to Delaney.
Today, you woke up and wanted to love on me. We snuggle. Then, I tell you it is time to get dressed. You run to your room to stall for an hour by emptying most of the contents of your drawers. After you realize I am not entertained by your dilly-dallying, you surrender but need to get dressed BY. MY. SELF....
In the car, you sweeten me up as I buckle your seat belt. "I love you, Mommy (with my face cupped in your hands). And you say so peacefully, "I'm going to be a good listener and take a nap today." Music to my ears, but I know better.
The afternoon changed your mood when I reminded you it was time to rest. "I'm not talking to you right now." And you marched down the hall, away from your bedroom, leaving me with saggy shoulders and a bewildered look on my face. Three hours later, I'm confused, you're annoyed, and still no nap.
You watch Arthur and you love me again. We have a nice dinner where you actually sit in your chair and eat and even take your bath without arguement. Daddy comes home late from work but is still ready to read to you and put you to bed. You're sweet again, "Mommy, I love you. See you in the morning." Until tomorrow, pal. XO
You are demanding. I know your Nan Nan would say you are strong. Your Nan Nan also says that I am demanding. So, where does that leave us? Two strong & demanding minds challenging one another to see who comes out on top. Usually, you win. I get tired or have to retreat to tend to Delaney.
Today, you woke up and wanted to love on me. We snuggle. Then, I tell you it is time to get dressed. You run to your room to stall for an hour by emptying most of the contents of your drawers. After you realize I am not entertained by your dilly-dallying, you surrender but need to get dressed BY. MY. SELF....
In the car, you sweeten me up as I buckle your seat belt. "I love you, Mommy (with my face cupped in your hands). And you say so peacefully, "I'm going to be a good listener and take a nap today." Music to my ears, but I know better.
The afternoon changed your mood when I reminded you it was time to rest. "I'm not talking to you right now." And you marched down the hall, away from your bedroom, leaving me with saggy shoulders and a bewildered look on my face. Three hours later, I'm confused, you're annoyed, and still no nap.
You watch Arthur and you love me again. We have a nice dinner where you actually sit in your chair and eat and even take your bath without arguement. Daddy comes home late from work but is still ready to read to you and put you to bed. You're sweet again, "Mommy, I love you. See you in the morning." Until tomorrow, pal. XO
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
did it leave a mark?
Today started off too well - I should have known better.
After a wonderfully long holiday break, business as usual felt pretty good as I tried to get the girls dressed, fed and out the door by 8:30 am - first sign things were going too well. Surprisingly, we made it to our first desination, Stroller Strides class, on time. This rarely happens - second sign things were going too well. Emme conducted herself in a semi-controlled manner during class, only wandering during cool down when the rest of the kiddos were set loose from their stroller and she even left playtown without an arguement- third strike, you're out.
The rest of the day went down hill from there. Emme lost her "big girl" standing and continued to whine, complain, stick her tounge out and shout "NO" to pretty much any request made to her (I hang my head in exhaustion here). Why, why, why doesn't anyone warn you about the "trying threes" or "three-nagers". The "terrible twos" don't hold a candle to the amazing insanity a three-year-old can drive you to. Pracing around in her new dress-up "bride" dress Nan Nan spoiled her with, any stranger would have deemed her the ruler of the household and looked a tired mom & dad with pity. Delaney just stares at Emme when Emme goes on her power tirade. How I wish I knew what was going through that 4 month old little brain as she observes her big sister defy every household rule with an almost sinister chuckle.
And the day ended with Emme and I having a stand-off at bedtime. An hour and a half later, I woke up on Emme's floor, shuffled over to her bedside to see the aftermath of our bedtime feud. At some point, Emme had set up a little shrine of girly things on her night stand- a clip-on earring, bracelet, hair tie, glittery Tinker Bell lip balm. Curled in ball under her pink quilt, Emme lay sleeping still grasping her mini flash light that, no doubt, helped her organize her nightstand display.
I couldn't help but smile. This little person that tests my patience to the breaking point almost every day can make my heart melt so easily. I kissed her little forehead, whispered "I love you" and tip-toed out of the room. Good night, buddy.
After a wonderfully long holiday break, business as usual felt pretty good as I tried to get the girls dressed, fed and out the door by 8:30 am - first sign things were going too well. Surprisingly, we made it to our first desination, Stroller Strides class, on time. This rarely happens - second sign things were going too well. Emme conducted herself in a semi-controlled manner during class, only wandering during cool down when the rest of the kiddos were set loose from their stroller and she even left playtown without an arguement- third strike, you're out.
The rest of the day went down hill from there. Emme lost her "big girl" standing and continued to whine, complain, stick her tounge out and shout "NO" to pretty much any request made to her (I hang my head in exhaustion here). Why, why, why doesn't anyone warn you about the "trying threes" or "three-nagers". The "terrible twos" don't hold a candle to the amazing insanity a three-year-old can drive you to. Pracing around in her new dress-up "bride" dress Nan Nan spoiled her with, any stranger would have deemed her the ruler of the household and looked a tired mom & dad with pity. Delaney just stares at Emme when Emme goes on her power tirade. How I wish I knew what was going through that 4 month old little brain as she observes her big sister defy every household rule with an almost sinister chuckle.
And the day ended with Emme and I having a stand-off at bedtime. An hour and a half later, I woke up on Emme's floor, shuffled over to her bedside to see the aftermath of our bedtime feud. At some point, Emme had set up a little shrine of girly things on her night stand- a clip-on earring, bracelet, hair tie, glittery Tinker Bell lip balm. Curled in ball under her pink quilt, Emme lay sleeping still grasping her mini flash light that, no doubt, helped her organize her nightstand display.
I couldn't help but smile. This little person that tests my patience to the breaking point almost every day can make my heart melt so easily. I kissed her little forehead, whispered "I love you" and tip-toed out of the room. Good night, buddy.
Monday, January 2, 2012
independence
Ahh, those three little words every parent loves to hear when offerring a determined preschooler assistance, "By myself". I do realize that this is, indeed, only two words but when a spoken by a strong-willed preschooler I believe it classifies as three..."By! My! Self!" This lovely triage of words can drive any well meaning parent into a tizzy. I have the pleasure of listening to this phrase over and over throughout the day when Emme is offerred a hand. For instance, this evening I promised Emme a visit to "Mommy's Nail Salon" post bath if she followed all rules when getting dressed and ready for bed. I know, I am a sucker. But a mom's gotta do, what a mom's gotta do to keep peace under her roof (especially at bed time).
So things went smoothly and Emme was ready for her mani/pedi. I told her to pick out two colors of polish and only two. When she went to open the refrigerator (polish keeps longer there) Clay offered his assistance since she was having trouble. You would have thought he called her a dirty name by the look she gave him - eyebrows scrunched together, lips pursed, nosed wrinkled like she smelled bad cheese. Then those three lovely words..."By! My! Self!" Emme then stuck her bottom out as to block Clay from the refrigerator door. Lord, this little girl.
Just as I was getting ready to scold her for being rude to her dad I had to think, she is a determined little lady. And then I smiled to myself because she had to gain that confidence somewhere, right? Instead, I helped her express her need to do things unassisted in a more polite manner, ("No thank you, I can do it.") and carried on as Mommy the nail tech.
So things went smoothly and Emme was ready for her mani/pedi. I told her to pick out two colors of polish and only two. When she went to open the refrigerator (polish keeps longer there) Clay offered his assistance since she was having trouble. You would have thought he called her a dirty name by the look she gave him - eyebrows scrunched together, lips pursed, nosed wrinkled like she smelled bad cheese. Then those three lovely words..."By! My! Self!" Emme then stuck her bottom out as to block Clay from the refrigerator door. Lord, this little girl.
Just as I was getting ready to scold her for being rude to her dad I had to think, she is a determined little lady. And then I smiled to myself because she had to gain that confidence somewhere, right? Instead, I helped her express her need to do things unassisted in a more polite manner, ("No thank you, I can do it.") and carried on as Mommy the nail tech.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Another "to-do"
Another year comes to a close and I thought, why not add another thing to my daily to-do list in the new year?! It's New Year's eve. I'm in my jammies, hair still damp from a much needed shower, the sounds of the girls monitors & hubby snoring on the couch are my background noise and I am starting a blog.
Someone once told me that I was always so happy that she just wanted to slap me. Always happy? I'm glad I have someone fooled. In all seriousness, I do always try to turn my bad attitude around. Being a SAHM of two fantastic kiddos, 3 years and 4 months, my days are far from easy going. I am constantly trying to stay one step ahead of my oldest daughter whose sass is as thick as molasses - (today she actually spanked me!) while nursing and/or entertaining the babe.
Alas, I love my life, I love my family, and even though some days are more trying than others, I wouldn't trade those crazy days for another. Yes, each day I do feel I get served a little "slap in the face" but when I lay my head down each night I can honestly say the crazy days do leave me happy.
So, the point of this blog? A memoir. Motivation. Therapy. The need to remember, the motivation to write it down, and therapy to work through the days when the "slap" becomes a punch.
Me = happy :)
Someone once told me that I was always so happy that she just wanted to slap me. Always happy? I'm glad I have someone fooled. In all seriousness, I do always try to turn my bad attitude around. Being a SAHM of two fantastic kiddos, 3 years and 4 months, my days are far from easy going. I am constantly trying to stay one step ahead of my oldest daughter whose sass is as thick as molasses - (today she actually spanked me!) while nursing and/or entertaining the babe.
Alas, I love my life, I love my family, and even though some days are more trying than others, I wouldn't trade those crazy days for another. Yes, each day I do feel I get served a little "slap in the face" but when I lay my head down each night I can honestly say the crazy days do leave me happy.
So, the point of this blog? A memoir. Motivation. Therapy. The need to remember, the motivation to write it down, and therapy to work through the days when the "slap" becomes a punch.
Me = happy :)
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