Mama Don't Play That

We don't hit Mommy.  We don't hit Mommy.  WE. DON'T. HIT. MOMMY. 

How many times did I have to say that this morning?  How many meltdowns is is possible for a 2-year-old to have in the 90 minutes between waking up and leaving for school? 

So far?  Our personal record is 5.

FIVE. MELT. DOWNS.

Five timeouts.

Five times I had to remind myself that I chose to bring this demon into our lives.

Five times I had to remind myself that she's not actually a demon.  Just two-ish.  (A demonic two-ish.)

Five times I had to breathe in and out and tamp down the simmering volcano inside of me that wanted to shoot out of my ears, mouth and nose and show her what a REAL meltdown looked like... so don't even mess with Mommy right now, mkay? 

Five times I had to check myself before I wrecked myself.

Because this kid... she's on my last nerve.  I mean MY. LAST. MOTHA.EFFIN. NERVE.

It all started because... I dunno, the sky was too blue today.  So, Benny had to take The Bird to her room for a quick timeout.  Then, after he left for work... and she turned into a puddle of misery because: "My. Dadddddddyyyyyyy!".  Oh the pain!  The absolute misery of being a little girl who loves her Daddy sooooo much. 

But, but, BUT... I was able to distract her with a little Super Why.  And let me just say right now:  GOD BLESS SUPER WHY.  Because that damn cartoon gave me a whopping 3 minutes of non-whining/non-crying... relative peace.

That is until I did the unthinkable and attempted to dress The Bird.  OMG... the humanity!  That I, the mother... the rational thinking person in this relationship... would think that pants - PANTS! - were appropriate attire when clearly I should have known that she would rather wear saran wrap and set her hair on fire. 

Holy geez... that's timeout #2

Timeout #3 occurred a few moments after she said sorry and came out of her room... and continued to fight the idea of clothes.... and then hit me in the face.

So. Not. Down. With. That.

During this timeout, The Bird came out of her room (still crying) and when I asked her if she was ready to be nice and apologize, she said NO WAY! (shocking), and ran back to her room.  Where she slammed her pocket sliding door shut... right on her fingers.  I won't lie... there was a tiny moment of satisfaction that came because FINALLY!  SHE HAS SOMETHING TO REALLY CRY ABOUT... AND I DIDN'T GIVE HER SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT LIKE I THINK TO MYSELF ALL THE TIME... LIKE MY DAD USED TO SAY TO ME!  I WIN!!! I AM THE STRONGEST WOMAN ON EARTH!!!!  HAHAHAHAHAHA! 

So, timeout #3 ended with hugs and kisses... but no apology. Because, hey, I like to play the world-weary, hardened, stone-cold mother on my blog but my baby gets legitimately hurt?  I will smother her with kisses to make it better.

So, let's see... we're at three timeouts already.  One for the sky being blue.  Two for freaking out over clothes.  Three for hitting Mommy in the face.  What could possibly be next?

Timeout #4... for PUNCHING Mommy in the face when I explained that we would not be having cake for second breakfast.  (Cake is only for first breakfast).  When she first took a swing at me, I was able to duck and think to myself:  "Did what I think just happened, just. happen?" 

I quickly determined that I had not imagined it and gave Hazel The Look. 

As in THEEEEE Look.  

As in... "*$&*#;%@.  Mama don't play that.  Don't EVEN go there."  

 And I sternly and calmly said:  "No.  Hitting.  DON'T. GO. THERE."

And guess who went there?

Holy mother of all that is holy.  This child is trying my patience like no other.  I understand she's going to make mistakes.  And I understand that she's trying to learn how to communicate.  I also freakin' understand that this kid can talk and use her words but she's just being a little snot. So... OMG... timeout #4 was a BIG ONE.  It's been a couple of hours now and I'm still so pissed off at the whole thing, I can barely think. 

Timeout #5 came right after she apologized for hitting me and asked for some water.  I filled up her sippy and she said:  "No wid."  Which is toddler for "No lid, please.  I'd like to make sure I spill all of this water down my shirt right before we leave for school.  Kthanxbai."

"Sorry, honey.  We have to have a lid, otherwise you spill it."

"No wid!  No wid!  NO WID!"

"Your choice.  You can have water with a lid, or no water at all."

At that point, I set the sippy on the table and went to the door to grab my coat because, after all, it's been 4 timeouts.  It's time to get out of the house.  I have to go to work... just so I can think straight.

That's when I heard what sounded suspiciously like a toddler picking up a sippy and then slamming it on the floor... which caused the lid to pop off and water to go everywhere.

Sonofa.... "Okay... you have to help clean up the mess you just made."

Which fell on deaf ears because... SOMEONE WAS IN THE DEPTHS OF DESPAIR BECAUSE OMG... WATER!  MY WATER!  EVERYWHERE!  END OF DAYS.  END. OF. DAAAAYYYSSSS.

Which led to timeout #5 because the depths of despair include screaming and more screaming and MOMMY COULDN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE.

Poor Millie... this kid never gets any attention in the morning.  Hazel makes sure of that.

We have a problem.  A big, big problem.

That problem being a nasty case of the twos. 

And a nastier case of Mama's Over It. 

So nasty, in fact, that I'm debating picking up The Bird from daycare tonight.  Because it's been two straight weeks of hell with her and I just don't want to buckle in for another night of pure hell.  Because that's what two straight weeks have conditioned me for.  Pure, unadulterated AWFULNESS.  I deserve - WE ALL DESERVE - a night of peace.  A night of giggles and grins.  A night of no timeouts, no meltdowns, no hitting, kicking or screaming.

We have to have nights of joy to gird us up for the nights of misery.  My joy tank is almost on empty with The Bird.  While my misery tank RUNNETH OVAH.

And if we hit empty on the joy tank without a refill... there's not enough alcohol or Crossfit in the world to make it better.

And that's no way to live.

A Case of the No Ways

Today was a "No way!" day.  As in... every. single. thing. I said to Hazel was met with a hearty "NO WAY!"

Not "No."

Not "No, thank you."

Not even a "Nope."

Just "No. Way!"

To everything.

Hazel, would you like yogurt for breakfast?  No way!
Hazel, would you like to cudder?  No way!
Do you want to go play with your friends?  No way!
Would you like ice cream for dinner? No way!
How about a puppy?  Do you want a puppy?  No way!
Would you like Mommy to stick this fork directly into her eye and swirl it?  *Silence*

It's just out of control... the no way's. And it's killing me.  Because I'm pretty sure that the "No" part of "No way" is the default setting for all 2-year-olds.  (At least that's what I'm telling myself.)(If you have different information, please keep it to yourself.) But the "Way" part of "No way"... apparently, that's all me.

When she first started saying "No way!" two weeks ago as we were driving to Prescott for Thanksgiving, Benny and I thought it was cute.  And we quickly determined that it must be something she'd picked up at day care.  Then, as we were looking for a city park to stop at for The Bird and The Bean to stretch their legs, I looked on the Boulder City website which said a particular park was the most popular playground in the city, with a nice view of Lake Mead in the background.  It further went on to claim that sometimes, big horned sheep would come down off the mountain and graze on the grass next to the playground.  And when I mentioned this little factoid to Benny, we both rolled our eyes and said,

"Yea.  Right.  There's big horned sheep on the playground.  Sure."

And then we pulled up to the playground and I'll be damned if there wasn't 10 of them right there.  Grazing.  As if they hadn't a care in the world.  As if they were unaware that I was about to unbuckle a toddler who was going to RUIN THEIR LUNCH. 

"No. Way!", I exclaimed as I looked through the window out to the playground.  "No way, no way, no way!!!"

Yep... she definitely must have picked it up at day care... and now I've picked it up.  A lot like a common cold.

But if you start to listen to how people talk these days - and with a 2-year-old mimic clutching my leg while screaming "No way!" and "SHUT THA DOH!", I pay close attention to what she's exposed to - a lot of people say "No way."  Obviously, no one says it with as much passion and mind-numbing repetition as The Bird, but holy geez!

So, naturally, to defend myself from being not only the one to teach The Bird her first naughty word, but also a phrase that has been permanently tattooed on my cerebrum, I started pointing out to family members whenever they said "No way!" during the Thanksgiving holiday.  (Or the Thanksgiving  Nowayiday.)

Which means that not only did we have turkey, potatoes and asparagus for Thanksgiving, we also had a little bit of jerkface.  That jerkface being the mother who was trying desperately to prove that she's not the (only) one who taught her daughter the most annoying catchphrase on earth.

Also... I Believe In Santa Claus

I'm not a particularly religious person.  But I do have a belief system. It's pretty simple. Pretty straight-forward.  Pretty ho-hum.  But, it's my belief system and if you don't like it, I've got a Toddler that's crying about her banana breaking in half, so that's really the least of my concerns.  

The list below is in no way exhaustive.  Trying to capture a belief system takes a little more than the 20 minutes I've allowed myself for "Me Time".  But, it's a good start.

*Ahem*

I believe that you should treat others the way you would want to be treated (Golden Rule and all that crap).  I believe that video games are inherently evil and while I won't judge you (publicly)(anymore)(after this post) for playing them. (I'm just gonna leave the room... and judge you in private.)  I believe that flowers are nature's gift to us and we should always stop to smell them.  I believe that little boys AND little girls should play with bugs.  I believe that a spider is not a bug and should therefore be killed upon detection. I believe that a bouquet of dandy lions from my little girls are sweeter than any roses I'll ever receive.  I believe that chocolate is a major food group.  I believe that chocolate tastes better when you have to sneak it by  your husband and children.  I believe you should never be too far away from lip balm.  I believe that there is no need to justify wearing a ponytail. I believe that the price of kids shoes is a total scam.  I believe that one should never spend more than 20 minutes getting ready for work. I believe that the best way to read a magazine is back-to-front.  I believe that there is WAY too much reality on TV.  I believe that people should be out making their own reality.  I believe that my girls are gonna play in the mud and with frogs/fish/whathaveyou as much as they play in the kitchen and make cookies.  (If not more.)  I believe that you don't have to tear others down to feel good about yourself.  I believe that my dentist is out to get me.  I believe that I'm the strongest woman in the world.  (Unless heavy lifting is involved.)(And then it's 50-50.)   I believe that dreams can come true.  (I've had three of them come true in my life.)  I believe that if the easiest way to stop a toddler from losing her shit is to put on a Winnie the Pooh band-aid on an imaginary owie, YOU WASTE NO TIME AND GET THAT EFFER ON THE INVISIBLE SCRATCH.  I believe that my kissing an actual owie will automatically make it better... but the band-aid is still necessary.  I believe there is no greater sound on the planet than that of a child's laugh.  I believe that I probably wouldn't get as many sinus infections if I'd stop picking my nose and gnawing my nails.  (Not that I do them concurrently.) I believe that a good cry... the kind where you turn into a blubbering idiot with snot running out of your nose... the kind where you don't want any comfort because then you won't really let it out for fear of scaring whoever is doing the consoling... the kind where you have to do it in a car sitting in a store parking lot at 8 p.m. while you're waiting for a prescription because that's the only you time you're gonna get that day.... those kinds of cries are ESSENTIAL to motherhood. I believe you have to listen to your body and your soul to know what you really need.  I believe in moments of reflection.  I believe that if women were better to each other, our society would improve drastically.  I believe that children have a built-in radar that lets them know the exact moment you've stopped moving... and that's when they'll throw yogurt across the room.  I believe in the power of a good massage. (To be followed by a facial and an eyebrow wax.)(Perhaps a pedi.)  I believe that if you can't say something nice about someone's feet, you shouldn't say anything at all.  I believe that Benny needs to think about that.  I believe that one should not be judged by one's religion. One should be judged by one's blog.  (And maybe the Golden Rule.)  I believe that there is a magic fairy that will do the laundry for me.  I believe that Christmas lights are magical.  I believe that one day, I will actually be able to follow a recipe and not screw up whatever I'm cooking/baking that day.  I believe that Jon Stewart is a genius.  I believe that I can't grow roses.  (Because my mother couldn't.)(How's that for a self-fulfilling prophecy?)  I believe that we should take care of the most vulnerable and weakest among us.  I believe Fox News is not news. I believe that life without the internet is totally Third World. I believe that I could run another marathon, but have become too smart for that.  I believe that red wine is the nectar of life. I believe that smuggling such nectar in from out-of-state is appropriate.  (Not that I have done that.)(Today.) I believe that my kids are gonna love Christmas. I believe that there is nothing my children could do to make me love them less. I believe that crabgrass is demonic. I believe that the Bible is a nice story. (Some parts.) I believe that I don't need a book to tell me how to live.  I believe I certainly don't need a church to tell me how to live.  I believe that we will eventually have another dog.  I believe that dog will be very small.  (And possibly mute). I believe in surrounding yourself with good people and distancing yourself from those who are toxic. I believe everyone in your life is there for a reason. I believe that I'm too old to play basketball and that just makes me sad.  I believe that there will be snow angels and a snowman in our front yard this year... and for the next 18 or so. 

But most of all?  I believe that being a Mom is the hardest thing I will ever do.  I also believe it is the GREATEST thing I will ever do. I believe that my girls will be well-rounded and will be exposed to the arts, to travel and to sports.  I believe they will love to read books that can take them to a million different places without leaving their home.  I believe they will love each other.  I believe they will fight like cats and dogs.  I believe they will be best friends. I believe they will have great senses of humor.  I believe they will make mistakes.  I believe they will learn from those mistakes. I believe they will leave home before we know it and experience the wonder and beauty that is this world.  I believe they will do great things... they will build bridges... they will save lives... they will be leaders... they will change the world.  (They've already changed mine.)

I believe that they will be happy.  I believe that they will shine that happiness on whomever they meet.  I believe that no matter what happens in their lives, they will know that home is always a safe place.  I believe that they will never doubt how much we love them... because there's nothing that can stop that love.

Unless they end up on Fox News.  But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.