Deal with the Devil

We loathe cutting our daughter’s toenails. Although, maybe loathe doesn’t quite cut it (ha!). Hate? Dread? Would rather pull our eyeballs out with tweezers? When OP knows that it’s time to trim those talons she tries to pass as toenails, she turns into a crazed banshee soccer player. One of us needs to hold her down while the other grasps her foot in a vice and tries desperately to trim her nails without cutting off a toe.

I’m surprised the neighbors haven’t called social services yet.

Anyway, it is such an awful experience that we put it off as much as we can, leading to sharp, nasty nails that look like she’s been on a deserted island for years. With all things we need to do that OP objects to (baths, diaper, medicine, etc), once we find a distraction or way around the issue, we’re good to go. We just haven’t found the way around this one, yet. Or have we.

Who knew these cute little toes would cause so much drama!

Let me back up. I was what you might consider a tomboy from about 7th grade until well into college. I never wore dresses, heels, make-up, etc. I still don’t do the make-up, really. Okay, sometimes I do and only look like a clown half the time. The other half, I pay someone to do it for me. However, to this day, I will not, nor do I ever plan to, wear nail polish. I think it’s disgusting and just looks wrong. Except on you, it looks lovely on you. Okay, no. No it doesn’t. I just don’t like the stuff. At. All.

The other night, at gymnastics, my daughter pointed out another girl’s blue toenails and it made me start thinking. Ever since they did the letter N at school, OP has begun to mention nail polish. Not often, but enough to make me think it could be our way around the utter gall we have for cutting off her nails. So, we told her that if she is very brave and lets us cut her nails without all the hoopla, we would put on nail polish that she picks out.  (I’ve included her fingernails because while she let’s me do it with the TV on, I figured including it could help her get the idea with her toes.) She is utterly excited, and we’re going to look for a non-toxic, kid-friendly (Piggy Paint or something similar) this weekend with her help. She wants pink, blue, and green if you are curious.

I’m dying inside because I HATE nail polish, and I suspect it will get all over everything. But if that’s the deal I must make with the devil to get this to work, it’s one I’m willing to make. It could be worse. I could cut off her feet.

Wait until I ask you to get my legs waxed!

Covering my mouth

I think there’s been a 3 week quarantine sign on our door. OP was sick with a cold, cough, snot, and general ickiness. Then I got sick with flu-like symptoms (NOT THE FLU) which developed into bronchitis. I got the flu-like symptoms^[1] from her, or so I thought until she got sick again with very similar symptoms to me. She didn’t mind the second disease round as much because she got to go to work with Mommy one morning. Apparently going to work with Mommy is the bees knees. Keep thinking that, kid, in 20 years you’ll change your mind.

I think we are all over the sickly shenanigans. Of course, the Husband never really got sick. Oh, he felt crappy for a couple days but no snot, no cough, no sneezing, no flu-like symptoms, no fair.

It’s okay, Mommy. I’ve build a wall to keep the germs out.

Unfortunately, I single-handedly ruined his birthday by being sick. Don’t think it was just me being sick that ruined his birthday. (I keep wanting to write brithday which makes me think of bris-day, which no one ever wants to celebrate. I would imagine.) Because I was sick, a day with friends was canceled and he ended up picking up the surprise birthday cheesecake I had ordered. I also had to bail on the birthday family dinner, although he did still get to go so that was nice. Adding insult to injury, I had left his birthday present at work the week before to set it up. Guess where it still was on his birthday because I hadn’t been at work before then? Yeah. Birthday fail.

That’s okay. I made it up to him by not coughing on him.

Sadly, I didn’t get much knitting done while I was sick. Instead I did homework for a class I’m not taking for a grade!!!! Yes, you read it right. I’m taking a chemistry class this semester and doing all the homework, but not being graded (except I am getting a grade on the homework assignments to check my knowledge). And, instead of using my sick time to knit and bond with my yarn. I. Did. Homework.

Don’t worry, I’m disappointed in myself too.

[1] If you are ever asked if you want a flu test, say no and then run away screaming. There is nothing more horrific than having a swab stuck up your nose until it touches your brain and then pushed into your brain so it comes out of the back of your head. I would rather have a shot.

Happy Birthday!

3 years ago today, a beautiful, crazy little girl was born on the darkest day of the year. Every day you light up our lives, crazy child. I love you.

3 Years Old! from Chazari on Vimeo.

No me gusta Dora

Let me start with an admission. I don’t hate kid shows. I don’t seek them out, of course, but I can watch pretty much anything my daughter watches several times and enjoy myself. From “Sesame Street” to “Clifford the Big Red Dog” to “Micky Mouse Club House” to “Little Bill” to “Jack’s Big Music Show.” I am a kid show watching fool. But there is one show, one evil little show, that makes me want to pick up the TV and throw it out the window. And that show, is Dora the Explorer.

But, Mom, I beat up the last person who hated Dora. Don’t make me come over there.

The problem is that my daughter is obsessed with Dora. Obsessed isn’t the right word. She’s beyond obsessed. It’s all she watches. She yells, “Vaminos, let’s go!” and says “Buenos Dias” on occasion. She reenacts scenes. She hums the theme song or the closing song or whatever song it is. I think if I pulled out a purple shirt and orange shorts, she would gladly put on her backpack and go through the Pyramid, into the starry forest, to the ball game.

The Husband finally asked me why I hate Dora so much and I honestly don’t know, which I think drives me even more insane. Why do I hate a show that teaches my daughter a second language? Why do I hate a show that has engaged her more than any other show ever? I’ve tried to think it through.

Maybe it’s the constant repetition of the directions. After 30 times, I think even former President dub-yah Bush knows how the hell to get to the bike shop. I mean seriously, we get it Dora. We do. We’re going down noisy river, over Pirate Cove, to Grandmother’s house. We don’t need it another 30 times.

Wait, was it through the horse manure, over the garbage heap, to the needle infested beach?

Maybe it’s the creepy backpack that eats anything you put in it? What if Boots fell in? Will backpack eat Boots? RUN, BOOTS, RUN!!!!!

Wait, why does a monkey wear boots anyway? Doesn’t that hinder his climbing skills or are they Vibram boots?

Maybe it’s Swiper because he makes absolutely no sense in the grand scheme of the story line. I mean, they’re off hunting the Holy Grail and along comes this random character who just so happens to stop by and try to steal Grabthar’s Hammer, because, what? He likes stealing stuff? And if he happens to get the Hammer, all he does is throw it up a tree or into an open grave because why? He just loves the thrill of stealing and not the actual item? Maybe Swiper needs therapy or prison. And the only way to thwart his nasty stealing ways is to say, “Swiper no swiping?” Really? I bet if you punched him in the face it would be less trouble. And if he is so in love with stealing things, maybe he needs to stop being so obvious about it! I mean, even these kids who need to be told a billion times how to get to the damn Heroin Den (through the hookers, over the dead nun, to the Heroin Den!) can figure out he’s coming. Swiper, you need a new job.

Plus, what the hell is with Dora’s head? It goes from elbow to elbow when her arms are held out.

Obviously, I have some Dora issues. Hopefully, like all her other TV show obsessions, this one ends soon or I will end up in the loony bin wearing a backpack trying to figure out how to get to the bathroom (through the vomit covered hallway, past the screaming Lincoln, to the bathroom!).

Thinking about how she will watch Dora until she goes to college just to annoy Mommy.

Now THIS is a Dora I could watch!

It’s Been a Week?

I can’t believe it’s already Friday. This class may kill me. How did I survive college? I mean, in college I did 4 or 5 classes at one time!!! Yes, I understand that I have a full-time job, a house, a kid, and a husband, but in college I had a job, classes, clubs, and um…nothing else because I was a hard worker who diligently did her homework. *ahem*

I think the early mornings at work are getting to me. I get up at 6 and get the kid up to be out the door at 7 (hopefully). I shower and get dressed. I get OP up, change her diaper, get her banana, dressed, brush her teeth, and brush her hair. Then I drop her off and finally get to eat breakfast. God forbid I eat in front of her because then it’s “My banana!” or “My english muffin.” Partly, I don’t want to deal with it, but mainly I just don’t have time to eat between my shower and getting her together. And yes, Daddy helps to. Don’t go flaming him. I try to ease the mornings by packing my lunch, breakfast, and gym clothes the night before. Plus I try to set out my work clothes so I have less to think about in the morning. I also do lab homework or read after OP goes to bed. It’s tiring just writing that out.

All the “woe is me” aside (and can I say wow, I’m such a whiner), I am enjoying the class and am happy I’m taking it. The Husband is helping out a lot around the house which makes things easier. Life is so much easier when you marry someone who can clean.

Speaking of OP, which I did 2 paragraphs above, she is now hitting Mommy. Not Daddy, mind you, just Mommy. We are working on discipline but I expect it will take a while. Apparently, I’m the Rodney Dangerfield of our household.

I think I’m going to try something weird with her. The next time she starts to hit, I’m going to see if I can get her to yell instead. You can tell she’s going to hit, she pulls her arm back and thinks about it. She knows it’s wrong, but she’s frustrated and wants her way/can’t get words out/is protesting/etc. I’m hoping if I have her yell instead because she’s mad, then maybe it will distract her and get her frustration out. I read it online and thought it might be interesting to try. If it doesn’t work, there’s always back to what we’ve been doing–locking her in the stocks.

Of course, we don’t do that. Stop calling child services.

In positive, non-hitting news, OP is more inclined to sit on the potty. Not that she does anything on the potty. She just likes to sit on it–sometimes fully clothed, sometimes naked, sometimes in between. We are letting her dictate the whole process since she’s so young and not quite ready for potty training. OP did tell daycare that she had to poop on the potty, sat there for 2 minutes, got up, and then pooped in her diaper 15 minutes later. And the other night, she ran into the bathroom and peed on the floor while running around n@ked before bath. Hey it’s progress! She could have stayed where she was and peed on the rug.

I have knitting with the girls this weekend and hope to make progress on the Husband’s scarf. I’m almost 2 pattern repeats in and they are going extremely fast, which makes me happy. It’s starting to drive me batty so I do need to start setting up my next project for the breaks it will afford. What’s my next project? Why a Doctor Who purse of course! I’m going to take all the leftover yarn from the Doctor Who scarf and knit a felted purse. If it’s hideous, OP will get a present and she LOVES purses. Maybe I can get her to smack that.

Mommy thinks I hit her because I'm mad. I just like to annoy her. Wait until I really refine guilt and manipulation. Then she's mine!