Well, my husband put the 3 year old down for a nap yesterday and forgot to lock the office door when working on the computer.
She burst in to let him know she needed to potty and discovered the dollhouse. The one I have successfully hidden from her for 1 ½ weeks. The one I only needed to hide for 2 more weeks before it became the highlight of her birthday.
I was so upset I wanted to cry. When she awoke, she said,
“Well, I found my dollhouse” very matter-of-factly.
I responded,
“Yes, and Momma is really sad about that because I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Don’t be sad Momma.” She said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Umm, because I want some blueberries,” she said (to comfort me?), or perhaps that is 3 year old for “Get over it, Mom”.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Creativity Lost to the Painted Poop and the Water Cannon
The three-year-old decided she (above any other request) wants a dollhouse for her birthday (which by the way, is MUUCH cheaper than the cedar play set I was originally going to do). Therefore, I have spent every extra second outside of work locked in the office trying to put the kit of miniature glue and torture together before the big day arrives. I donated an old end table to the cause so the little house would have something to sit atop, and I got extra creative and decided to attach a lazy susan to the bottom of the house so she can easily access it from any angle.
After a week of nerve splitting contortionism, the house is FINALLY complete! I still needed to paint the end table so that it will look like it belongs in a little girl's room. I carefully sanded it. I put a base primer coat of KILZ on it for good measure. Then I neatly laid out canvas in the back yard to spray the final shiny white coat on it.
Trouble is the obstacle course I sat in when I chose the shady painting spot in the backyard. It seems I laid the canvas a little close to some fresh cat poop and not quite far enough from the wading pool in which the toddler plays most every day.
Not to forget, we added a precious member to our clan this weekend as we are now the proud owners of a not yet house-broken 10-wk-old daschund puppy. Since I am Wonder Mom and all, I chose to multi task by letting the toddler swim and the pup play about as I began my work.
I quickly discovered that a wiener dog delicacy is actually cat poop. (Who would have thought?) I kept trying to deter him from the nasty piles until I finally got wise and decided to spray paint them so that he would no longer be attracted to the scent. It worked! (kind of). Then as I rounded the front of the end-table with the paint, I was attacked from behind by the toddler's water cannon, which left a nice faux drip finish to the front I might add.
I took the water cannon away and turned around to the pup who ran past me with a huge piece of white poop in his mouth. I spent the next 15 minutes catching him and rinsing the whole mess out of his mouth with the pool water. Then I returned to complete the last part of the table (the top) only to discover I was out of paint. I estimate that I would have had just enough to finish the project had I not painted any poop. Defeated, I let the table dry the way it was. It will just have to do. I give up!
After a week of nerve splitting contortionism, the house is FINALLY complete! I still needed to paint the end table so that it will look like it belongs in a little girl's room. I carefully sanded it. I put a base primer coat of KILZ on it for good measure. Then I neatly laid out canvas in the back yard to spray the final shiny white coat on it.
Trouble is the obstacle course I sat in when I chose the shady painting spot in the backyard. It seems I laid the canvas a little close to some fresh cat poop and not quite far enough from the wading pool in which the toddler plays most every day.
Not to forget, we added a precious member to our clan this weekend as we are now the proud owners of a not yet house-broken 10-wk-old daschund puppy. Since I am Wonder Mom and all, I chose to multi task by letting the toddler swim and the pup play about as I began my work.
I quickly discovered that a wiener dog delicacy is actually cat poop. (Who would have thought?) I kept trying to deter him from the nasty piles until I finally got wise and decided to spray paint them so that he would no longer be attracted to the scent. It worked! (kind of). Then as I rounded the front of the end-table with the paint, I was attacked from behind by the toddler's water cannon, which left a nice faux drip finish to the front I might add.
I took the water cannon away and turned around to the pup who ran past me with a huge piece of white poop in his mouth. I spent the next 15 minutes catching him and rinsing the whole mess out of his mouth with the pool water. Then I returned to complete the last part of the table (the top) only to discover I was out of paint. I estimate that I would have had just enough to finish the project had I not painted any poop. Defeated, I let the table dry the way it was. It will just have to do. I give up!
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Intruders Beware
Last Night’s Invasion
My Version:
I awoke from a dead sleep around 2:45am, turned to my left and noticed a strange man standing next to my bed. I screamed,
“Who are you?” Then I began shoving and hitting him frantically. Finally I realized it was just my husband, calmed down and returned to sleep.
My Husband’s Version:
He came to bed very late. Upon climbing in bed, I bolted up and threw my arms out as if he were going to attack me. I said relatively quietly,
“Who are you?”
He said,
“It’s okay. Are you asleep?”
I said,
“Yes.” Then I rolled over and went back to sleep, no physical violence or screaming.
So to anyone planning to break in and rob me, please do it while I’m asleep. You can have whatever you want, and I’ll be reasonable. However, I will dream that I fought a great physical battle and still feel like I heroically and appropriately defended myself anyway. Win/win, right?
My Version:
I awoke from a dead sleep around 2:45am, turned to my left and noticed a strange man standing next to my bed. I screamed,
“Who are you?” Then I began shoving and hitting him frantically. Finally I realized it was just my husband, calmed down and returned to sleep.
My Husband’s Version:
He came to bed very late. Upon climbing in bed, I bolted up and threw my arms out as if he were going to attack me. I said relatively quietly,
“Who are you?”
He said,
“It’s okay. Are you asleep?”
I said,
“Yes.” Then I rolled over and went back to sleep, no physical violence or screaming.
So to anyone planning to break in and rob me, please do it while I’m asleep. You can have whatever you want, and I’ll be reasonable. However, I will dream that I fought a great physical battle and still feel like I heroically and appropriately defended myself anyway. Win/win, right?
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Being Neighborly
This one is dedicated to my neighbor who suffers from something (maybe Tourettes Syndrome) that compels him to make a low growling noise after completing each sentence.
Because you are nice, I am willing to deal with the fact that you mow your yard only twice a year and leave that strip of grass that is attached to my yard for my husband to mow so that our house does not look abandoned like yours.
Because you are nice, I will not mention the fact that your tree was struck by lightning over a year ago and though you sawed it down, the logs are still scattered around in your driveway and yard.
Because you are nice, I will not complain about the fact that your rain gutter came loose on one side. So you just ripped it all the way off and left it in your driveway.
Because you are nice, I will also not mention the old blinds that have been hanging by only one side in your front window for two years now.
Because you are nice, I will not call the police when I am enjoying myself in the backyard I have worked so hard to create and smell marijuana smoke floating over the fence.
Because you are nice, I will not haggle with you over the fact that my husband and I spent 48 hours digging drains in the back yard because your leaky pool was draining into our yard.
I will also not mention to you that every afternoon at 4:45pm, when I sit on my beautiful patio with a good book your clankety pool pump from the 1970’s kicks on and ruins it for me and the rest of the neighborhood.
However, don’t expect me to rein in my 3 year old when you are talking, and she thinks you are playing and starts growling at you again. I will let her be the bad guy.
Because you are nice, I am willing to deal with the fact that you mow your yard only twice a year and leave that strip of grass that is attached to my yard for my husband to mow so that our house does not look abandoned like yours.
Because you are nice, I will not mention the fact that your tree was struck by lightning over a year ago and though you sawed it down, the logs are still scattered around in your driveway and yard.
Because you are nice, I will not complain about the fact that your rain gutter came loose on one side. So you just ripped it all the way off and left it in your driveway.
Because you are nice, I will also not mention the old blinds that have been hanging by only one side in your front window for two years now.
Because you are nice, I will not call the police when I am enjoying myself in the backyard I have worked so hard to create and smell marijuana smoke floating over the fence.
Because you are nice, I will not haggle with you over the fact that my husband and I spent 48 hours digging drains in the back yard because your leaky pool was draining into our yard.
I will also not mention to you that every afternoon at 4:45pm, when I sit on my beautiful patio with a good book your clankety pool pump from the 1970’s kicks on and ruins it for me and the rest of the neighborhood.
However, don’t expect me to rein in my 3 year old when you are talking, and she thinks you are playing and starts growling at you again. I will let her be the bad guy.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
By Cracky, Those are Some Sweet Cheeks
I was enjoying a serious conversation with my mother on the phone the other day when the 3 year old entered the room and (as usual) interrupted. She was clad in her typical weekend attire (the orange Halloween t-shirt that is two sizes too big with the picture of the black cat that now looks grey and a pair of panties.) Yes, I know it is almost summer, but who wants to argue over holiday wear with a 3 year old?
She strolled in normally and stood to face me, turned around, and raised her t-shirt to display her latest project. She had crammed the play metal skillet lid from her sink and stove play set sideways into her crack and given herself a very uncomfortable looking wedgy. She was very proud and remarkably, she was pretty comfortable walking around that way.
I kept a stern face and insisted she remove it. I held myself together and went into another room to laugh about it with my mother. I am taking the toddler to the hospital tomorrow to see if there is a chance she may have been switched with my real child at birth.
She strolled in normally and stood to face me, turned around, and raised her t-shirt to display her latest project. She had crammed the play metal skillet lid from her sink and stove play set sideways into her crack and given herself a very uncomfortable looking wedgy. She was very proud and remarkably, she was pretty comfortable walking around that way.
I kept a stern face and insisted she remove it. I held myself together and went into another room to laugh about it with my mother. I am taking the toddler to the hospital tomorrow to see if there is a chance she may have been switched with my real child at birth.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Times Have "Changed"
In my time off, I decided to be frugal as the 3-year-old’s 4th birthday approaches, and her wish list steadily grows. For some reason I thought this might be “the year” for that outdoor cedar play set even though she hasn’t mentioned anything about it.
I thought a wonderful way to subsidize the hit to savings that the birthday would cost would be to ask for her participation. I approached her about her pink piggy bank in which she has been accumulating savings since just before her short life began. That way we could afford an even “better” birthday gift this year.
She agreed, and I promised to throw in the contents of my piggy bank (which I recently re-discovered on a trip to clean out the attic.) So we pulled the stopper on her little bank and let the contents roll out (which took all of 5 seconds). Wads of crisp $20’s and mounds of $1 gold, shiny coins (from the Leprechauns who frequently scatter them in our backyard when Pawpaw visits) poured onto the table. I began tallying the goods. As I counted and piled, the toddler began asking her barrage of crazy questions to test my mad, non-calculator counting skills. Mid-count, she said,
“I love my pennies, do my pennies love me? Huh Momma? Do my pennies love me?
“Shhh!!!” I shushed her to try to keep count.
“Do my pennies love me?” she whispered.
“AAUUGGH!!!” I lost count and had a Charlie Brown moment. I wanted to put the bank stopper in her mouth.
Starting again, I finally counted the ridiculous amount of money, which I saw was a few bucks shy of my 401k balance. Now to mine… I quickly saw some real differences. One, the worn copper color of the old coins could be seen through my glass piggy bank. Two, there was no d*** stopper to get the coins out! This is what’s wrong with people today. They don’t know how to save the real way. You used to have to sacrifice your bank to spend your savings. Now there is this bottomless black hole where coins can come out with no consequence.
I noticed that the top slot had a crack in it (probably done by my father years ago in desperation for a soda). If you angled the bank just right and shook it back and forth, one or two pennies would plop out at a time. 30 minutes later, with biceps and forearms quivering, I successfully emptied my 1970’s model bank and began my count (after throwing out a few soda tabs I had saved for some reason). Counting was difficult because the toddler simultaneously counting coins as she put her shiny, new ones back into her new bank with the easy-access ass. Counting was easy until she got louder,
“Twelveteen, threeteen,” and a bunch of other non-sensical numbers.
“AAUUGGH!” – starting over.
My table now looked like a sea of nasty brown piles, and my hands looked as though I had been playing the nickel slots at Harrah’s.
After all of this, totals are in:
3 year old:
$114.00 – Bills
$141.00 – Gold Coins
$7.00 – Quarters
$3.00 – Dimes and Nickels
$0.65 – Nickels and Pennies
Total $265.65 (Check my work, I was distracted)
Mine:
$8.45 – Pennies
$0.50 – Quarters
$0.40 – Dimes
$0.10 – Nickels
Total $9.45 (Going to go wash my hands now).
Why in the h*** have I been saving this crap since the 1970’s? Why was my Pawpaw so cheap?
Signing off to apply for a loan with the only person in the US who still has $... my 3 year old.
I thought a wonderful way to subsidize the hit to savings that the birthday would cost would be to ask for her participation. I approached her about her pink piggy bank in which she has been accumulating savings since just before her short life began. That way we could afford an even “better” birthday gift this year.
She agreed, and I promised to throw in the contents of my piggy bank (which I recently re-discovered on a trip to clean out the attic.) So we pulled the stopper on her little bank and let the contents roll out (which took all of 5 seconds). Wads of crisp $20’s and mounds of $1 gold, shiny coins (from the Leprechauns who frequently scatter them in our backyard when Pawpaw visits) poured onto the table. I began tallying the goods. As I counted and piled, the toddler began asking her barrage of crazy questions to test my mad, non-calculator counting skills. Mid-count, she said,
“I love my pennies, do my pennies love me? Huh Momma? Do my pennies love me?
“Shhh!!!” I shushed her to try to keep count.
“Do my pennies love me?” she whispered.
“AAUUGGH!!!” I lost count and had a Charlie Brown moment. I wanted to put the bank stopper in her mouth.
Starting again, I finally counted the ridiculous amount of money, which I saw was a few bucks shy of my 401k balance. Now to mine… I quickly saw some real differences. One, the worn copper color of the old coins could be seen through my glass piggy bank. Two, there was no d*** stopper to get the coins out! This is what’s wrong with people today. They don’t know how to save the real way. You used to have to sacrifice your bank to spend your savings. Now there is this bottomless black hole where coins can come out with no consequence.
I noticed that the top slot had a crack in it (probably done by my father years ago in desperation for a soda). If you angled the bank just right and shook it back and forth, one or two pennies would plop out at a time. 30 minutes later, with biceps and forearms quivering, I successfully emptied my 1970’s model bank and began my count (after throwing out a few soda tabs I had saved for some reason). Counting was difficult because the toddler simultaneously counting coins as she put her shiny, new ones back into her new bank with the easy-access ass. Counting was easy until she got louder,
“Twelveteen, threeteen,” and a bunch of other non-sensical numbers.
“AAUUGGH!” – starting over.
My table now looked like a sea of nasty brown piles, and my hands looked as though I had been playing the nickel slots at Harrah’s.
After all of this, totals are in:
3 year old:
$114.00 – Bills
$141.00 – Gold Coins
$7.00 – Quarters
$3.00 – Dimes and Nickels
$0.65 – Nickels and Pennies
Total $265.65 (Check my work, I was distracted)
Mine:
$8.45 – Pennies
$0.50 – Quarters
$0.40 – Dimes
$0.10 – Nickels
Total $9.45 (Going to go wash my hands now).
Why in the h*** have I been saving this crap since the 1970’s? Why was my Pawpaw so cheap?
Signing off to apply for a loan with the only person in the US who still has $... my 3 year old.
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