In Which I Fail At Parenting. And Ninja Skills.

So Emily has this one pajama outfit. It was handed down to us by a friend. The pants are pink with large blue, white and light pink polka-dots and the top is pink sleeves with a huge smiling Minnie Mouse on it. She LOVES these pajamas. And I allow her that love, because her pajamas and her underwear are really the only place I don't mind characters splashed around like nobodies business.

Well, she outgrew these pajamas about, oh, a year ago. But she continues to wear them. They get washed constantly because she'll put them on. She doesn't care that the shirt doesn't even go down to her belly button anymore, let alone provide any actual belly coverage. The pants are forced up and pretty much sausage her thighs, with the bottom of the pant legs coming to right beneath her shins. The amount of growing she has done in the last year is pretty amazing. Anyway.

I weed out clothing when I do laundry. When her clothes are fresh out of the drier and I'm folding/hanging and putting them away, I separate what doesn't fit anymore and what could probably get a few more wears out of them. There is a stack that sits on top of her rubbermaid underwear/socks/undershirts drawer set and when the stack is too tall to stand without leaning, I take it to the Awesome Neighbors house because they have a daughter who's about ten months younger than Emily, and of a much smaller build. So when Emily is bursting out of seams, their daughter gets the clothes which, more often than not, have a few weeks of bagginess to them. It works rather well actually.

Anyway. The Minnie pajamas have made it to the stack about six times. And every time they make it to the stack, Emily FLIPS HER SHIT. She grabs them, toppling the stack over and clutches them to her chest with angry defiance. I let her win, because there's part of me that thinks it's endearing that this particular pair of pajamas is her favorite. Because she has no particular connection to Minnie Mouse. Emily is all about the princesses, Tinkerbell, and Hannah Montana. However, the last time I saw her in the pajamas I decided that it is Time For Them To Go. I figured out though, that if she ever saw the neighbor's daughter in them that Emily would have her heart broken. Since the pajamas are now very worn, I decided to just toss them. Which I am normally against. But I don't want her to see them at Goodwill, or on the Awesome Neighbor's daughter, or anywhere else on anyone else in any way, shape, or form.

So I put them in the trash can while she's outside playing, under a carton of milk and a cardboard box. I glance at The Girlfriend and whisper "don't tell her!" and walk away, mission accomplished.

A few hours later, which happened to be about twenty minutes ago, The Girlfriend and I are sitting on the couch, innocently watching some TV while Emily takes care of her dinner dishes when Emily walks up to me with a handful of clothing. Her arm is stuck straight out and her eyebrows are hitting my ceiling as she looks at me like, um, HELLO? DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS? BECAUSE I DO!

I calmly say, hey kid, what's up?

And she responds "Um, Mom? These were in the trash. Did you know that? Because they were because I just pulled them out."

I say, well, um, I must've-

to get interrupted with "They're my favorite Momma, don't DROP THEM AGAIN BECAUSE I LOVE THEM BECAUSE THEY'RE MY FAVORITE."

And she walks away, shaking her head at her mother's apparent stupidity and puts them in the fold pile on top of the drier.

Yeah. Fail.

ohmygod the talking.

Emmy: Hey mom our car is white and i love our car because it is white and that truck? That truck over there? It's yellow and I don't like it but if you had a yellow car I'd like it because it would be like the sun but that yellow is like pee-pee hahahahahaha I said pee-pee. Mom I have to go pee but I know I have to wait because we DON'T PEE IN THE CAR and I know better because only babies pee in the car and Momma, I want a sister but I want her to stay cute and like a baby and when she cries you can have her but when she's happy I'll hold her and change her diaper and we BE GENTLE WITH BABIES and Mom, that yellow car really does look like pee. Pee. Pee. PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. Pee. Pee. I really have to go peeeee-eeeeee-eeee. But I can wait, Mom, Mom, I'm singing. Can you hear me? It's a song about pee. I'm singing like Hannah Montana because I'm like her look at my sunglasses! They're pink! Hannah would like them and so would her dad, Billy Ray Cyrus because he looooooooves Hannah when she's Hannah or Miley and he would looooooooove me and Momma, why wouldn't you buy me that Hannah cereal? Because it looked really cool and i really reeeeeeeaaaaallly wanted it and you wouldn't buy it and it made me sad like when I fell and got a bloody nose because I was running in the parking lot and WE DON'T RUN IN PARKING LOTS Mom, because we'll fall and get a bloody nose and get hitted by a car and then I'll died and you'll flush me down the toilet and I don't think i'd really like that.

I didn't like when we flushed Charlie (her old fish) down the toilet and now I have Goose and he's such a good fish because he swims and I don't want to flush Goose down the toilet because he's not died and Mom! I'm having a sleepover tomorrow! At the Awesome Neighbors! Because you love me and need grownup time with The Girlfriend and you guys are gonna KISS and HUG and KISS some more because you love her and you love me too Mommy, and why are so many cars yellow? And why can't we go to the park? I know it's windy but I really want to go and maybe tomorrow we can go and tomorrow I'll have breakfast and I want pink yogurt and I want to wear my princess dress when I eat it and Mommy, how old are you? Why is your hair the way it is? I have dark hair and so do you! I love dark hair! It's cool. I don't like light hair. Except on Auntie. Because Auntie is soooo pretty and I miss her and she moveded away and I miss her but those cats of hers kept trying to steal my crayons! And Mommy I want Auntie to come sleep over because I love her and we can do hair pretties and she lets me eat all the fruit snacks, but I have to LEARN TO SAY NO to the candy all because it makes my tummy hurt and I threw up at Walmart and The Girlfriend had to buy me a new shirt and I was smelly and no one wanted to be near me because I was smelly because I ate too much candy so I have to say no. Right Mommy?

Me: Um, yes. Too much candy makes you sick and-

Emmy: I know. It hurts my tummy and doesn't give me muscles. My vitamins give me muscles and they taste so yummy and I want a vitamin right now because they're good for me and I love them. Mommy, why is my carseat pink? I love pink. But purple's my favorite. And I like green because you do and Mommy? When will we be home? When we get home I want to go play in my room and listen to music and read my books and I want to dance around all crazy because I'm a kid and I can because I'm a kid and that's what kids can do but not grownups because grownups have to make money and you can't make money dancing, can you?

Me: Um...

Emmy: If i could make money dancing then I TOTALLY WOULD because it's soo much fun and it makes my body feel crazy and I love the music and Mommy? Can we listen to No One because I want to SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGGGGGGG.




And I promptly turned on Alicia Keys and cranked the volume. The talking OHMYGOD with the WORDS and the moving of the mouth and the talking, she talks, the talker with all the talking, yes, she belongs to me and OHMYGOD SHE'S STILL TALKING.

The Last Two Weekends, In Pictures.

I was inspired by one of my favorite blogs (flotsamblog.com), so am jumpstarting my post about the lake (and I know, I KNOW it was two weeks ago. I know. Remember that thing i said about deadlines? Yes? Ok.) by posting pictures. I am also posting a few pictures from camping last weekend.

So.

The Lake:













Of course the pictures aren't in any accurate order, and I had to not post most of them, because Emily's running around in her swimsuit. And while I'm all about blogging, I'm also from Chicago. And to me, you just don't post half-naked pictures of any children over a year. So, sorry.

So the lake was two weekends ago, and this last weekend, we went camping with the Awesome Neighbors to celebrate a birthday. Camping:














Ok. Time to go lie down on the couch and eat a hershey's hug. My uterus is in the process of falling out of my vagina, and it's a little exhausting.

Oh The Mondays

So that thing? In that movie? That movie that I love? A "case of the Mondays?" IS EXACTLY WHAT IS HAPPENING TODAY.

This has been one of the longest Mondays in a loooooong time. Yes, long enough to warrant five extra "o"s. I have this horrible habit in the mornings of not wanting to wake up. I never used to mind it, but now that my baby sleeps until I enter her room and peel her body from her blankets, now that my linens are regularly cleaned due to owning a washer and dryer, now that my bed is filled with the furnace that is my girlfriend, I don't like leaving the bed. It's not a mad rush to wake up and get the day over with, it's a love of groggily rolling over and kissing the shoulders of someone I love; an appreciation of a quiet house, clean and settled, safe and warm, a house that surely enough, has turned in to my home; a peace that settles over me, a knowing my baby is dreaming, starting to roll around and mumble, an assurance that I am safe and loved. And I'll admit that even though I love my job, I do wish I had more days in bed past five in the morning.

I rolled out of bed thirty minutes after the first alarm (4:55a) and realized I had no time for a shower. Because, you know, there's mandatory computer time in the morning and YES MY COMPUTER TIME IS USUALLY MORE IMPORTANT THAN A SHOWER. I read cnn.com, check the weather, check my email and facebook, and then I can go about my day.

I got to work and we had an incredibly busy day. This is a huge relief. Busy is waaay better than bored, and business enables me to have a job. But, it was a very long Monday. That's all I'll say about that.

So even though I didn't write about any lake adventures, I did update. This window has been open for two hours and tomorrow I have some legal matters that need to be taken care of. My mom should be home soon, and Emily loves to wiggle her butt.

I'll conclude with a conversation I had with Emily today on the car ride home:

Emmy: Mommy, how was your day at work?

Me: Rough, baby.

Emmy: That sucks.

Me: Yeah.

Emmy: Well, next weekend you can be a kid and The Girlfriend can be a kid and I'll be a grown-up, so remember, don't take your shoes off at school.

Me, laughing: Ok. What are you going to do when you're a grown-up?

Emmy: Work and make money and pick you up from school and hug you and kiss you and pick The Girlfriend up at school and make her mac and cheesearoni and watch her wiggle her butt and make more money and go shopping and watch a lot of Hannah Montana and never tell you it's tool late to watch Hannah Montana because I'll be the grown-up so YOU can go to bed and I'll watch Hannah Montana and eat mac and cheesearoni all night.

Me: ...

Emmy: That's how things should be, you know.

Teaser

So as you can see, I suck with deadlines.

Until I actually have time to write about last weekend, which I really need to do before this weekend, as we're going camping again, here is one picture.



I forgot to make coffee last night.

New music

It's something I love. Deeply. I can honestly say that there isn't much music I don't love. i grew up singing, and listening to the jazz and classical music of my grandparents. Then I listened to the rock and roll of my mom and got introduced to Janis Joplin by my dad. I got in to pop music through my friends and grew to have an unhealthy love for The Backstreet Boys, although NSYNC was alright too. And Hanson. Oh my god, Hanson.

In high school I got much more in to the pop punk stuff. Alkaline Trio, New Found Glory, The Ataris (before So Long, Astoria), all of that. To this day Alk3 and NFG are two of my favorite bands. Call me tasteless. Anyway. I downloaded the new Panic! CD today and have to say, I'm not very impressed. Their first CD BLEW ME AWAY with it's level of awesome. This one, well, I've only listened to it three or four times. So we'll see. Right now I have Mandy Moore on in the background (I know. You think she sucks. That's fine. I have no problem being the dork.) and it's weird. Very unlike her cover album or the pop stuff she did ten years ago.

Emily's in her room where she's supposed to be sleeping. Instead, I hear her telling her monkey off. "Monkey, you listen to me. You don't walk around doing whatever you want. You have 'sponsibilities! I'm not playing this game with you and I know you want to watch Hannah Montanna but I have to go to work and go bye-bye so you just need to deal, ok? When I tell you to do something, you just do it." Yeah. I totally don't know who she's imitating. NOT A CLUE.

I took Emily out to dinner tonight. It's something we haven't done in a very long time. After a day that for me was filled with anxiety, frustration, and endless sighing at a certain financial situation in my life, I really just didn't want to cook or clean or do anything like that. The Girlfriend is out with her best friend and I didn't want to sit at home alone. So Emily and i went out. To The Olive Garden.

Now, I know some people who HATE The Olive Garden. But me? Hell no. I LOVE it. I love the "italian" food, I love the uniformity, I love the smells, the "authentic" menus, everything about it. And the breadsticks? Come on. Even the haters need to admit that the breadsticks are pretty fantastic. Emily was amazing. She always is, surprisingly. She said hi to the waiter, ordered her food "with pepperonis please" and asked me how my day at work was. We talked about our days while the grandparents at the table next to us kept smiling at Emiyl's back and winking at me.

The kid really does surprise me sometimes. She is an incredibly well-behaved child. She has a lot of spunk, a lot of will power and when she's hurt by something she acts out like no one I've ever met. But in general, she really is very very well-behaved. I think I got lucky. But at the same time, I'll credit my parenting a little bit.

Anyway. This post is pointless. And I'm going to go puke. Because my stomach is bursting with GENUINE CHICKEN MARSALA.

Simplicity

Yesterday there was a charity event hosted by my work. It involved some horse shoes and some beer with the proceeds going to benefit, I believe, a boy with a certain rare type of leukemia.

The Girlfriend and I dropped Emily off at The Girlfriend's mom's house around 8:15a and we headed out. It was at a fairground in town that was also hosting some sort of race that involved me having to drive verryyy slowly, and a gun show (that The Girlfriend wants to go to today). The Girlfriend was on a team with her boss and they won their first game and lost the second two, and were then out. I don't remember who won the final game of horse shoes, but it was all in all a good day. Good people, good cause, good fun. The weather was gorgeous and I came in a very low cut shirt to show my support. It was a promise I made to The Girlfriend's boss, haha. Sometimes there're advantages to having big boobs. Most of the time, they're a pain in the ass. But they do look good in low cut tops.

After it was over, I went to pick Emily up and we went to the park. She LOVES the park. She was incredibly tired because earlier that day she had gone to a parade and worked in a garden. But we had a good time. However, as is always the case, when she was with The Girlfriend's mom, she ate french fries with barbecue sauce, donuts, candy, and drank a lot of orange juice. While we were at the park, Emily got attacked with OMG I NEED TO GO TO THE BATHROOM NOW so we headed home, because of course there're no bathrooms at the park. We left and headed back out to the park, and then I got a call from a friend from work, and we went over to his house so Emily could play with his youngest daughter and I could hang out with him and his wife and another friend from work and his girlfriend. More good people and good times.

While we were there, I was standing in the corner having a cigarette and when I put it out, I smashed my head on some wind chimes. Being 5'10 in a world of mostly 5'6-5'7
people is definitely annoying. So the chimes are going off, the two boys are doing their best Australian accents, talking about catching wallabies and my jumblies hanging out, the girls are inside screaming because Barbie Rapunzel (puke) was on, and the radio is blasting some sort of rap song, and I just started cracking up. Cracking up to the point that my ribs were hurting and I couldn't breathe. It was awesome.

My writing isn't up to par today. It hasn't been in the last week, thus the lack of posts. I have this issue with things not being perfect, and though I would never claim my writing to be perfect even on my best day, I'm usually able to capture more humor from things. But I'm making an effort not to give up just because I'm not satisfied. How's that for dedication?

I run most of my life based on what I want to teach Emily. What kind of influence I want to be, how I want her morals shaped, and when I think about these little tiny things, it makes me get my act together. So, here I am. Posting.

Last night we got home pretty late. I think I walked in the door at ten o'clock, which is veryyy past Emily's bedtime. We walked up the stairs and Emily started doing that little kid whiny cry-ey thing that little kids do when they're tired, and I wrapped her in my arms and let her cry for a minute. Then she went to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, took her fluoride pill from the dentist, and got in her bed. I went to snuggle up with her and read her a book, and she said "Momma, I don't want a book tonight. Will you just say prayers and sing me a song? Please?" Of course I did. Then I kissed her on the head and started to get up and she shot her arm out, "NO!" I stopped and asked her what was wrong. "Momma, can you just lay with me please? I just love you and want you to lay with me."

So I got back down and nestled her head in to my neck while my heart melted out on to the floor. I love how simple her requests are, how simple it is to make her happy.

Lulz.

Emiyl was sitting at the table eating her breakfast (multigrain pancakes! Hey, internet, do I get any crunchy-granola points for that?) and I realized she didn't have any underwear on.

Me: Emmy, why aren't you wearing underwear?

Emmy: MOOOMMMMM, I'm GOING COMMANDO because it FEELS GOOD.

Me: Well, I don't want to see your privates, especially not at the table that we eat at.

Emmy: Oh. Well. I guess I could go find some.

Um, Whoa.

Emily and I have been working on letters. A lot. Because her daycare thinks that by three, learning shapes is an appropriate use of time. So. The green one is mine. The pink is hers. Squee!

Life's A Climb

Dearest Emily,

YOU'RE FUCKING WELCOME for taking you to see the Hannah Montanna movie today, big jerk. I hope you liked it. Judging your attitude though, you won't be doing anything fun for a looooong time. Yes, so long that it requires three extra "o"s in the word "long." The lack of nap today may have something to do with this. I don't know.

Anyway. You're lucky I love you.
-Momma.

Bittersweet.

Today is my last day in my apartment. I've lived here for two years, one month and twenty-nine days. That is the longest I've lived somewhere since I moved out when I was seventeen.

Between April of 2005 and January of 2007 I moved something like eleven times. One of those times I was seven months pregnant and moved from Chicago to a suburb of Phoenix.

Emily and I moved in to this apartment on January 15th, 2007. She has lived here longer than anywhere else, in her entire life. Today I packed up her room and got all of the furniture out except for the beds. I almost cried. I am so ridiculously excited to start this new chapter of life, and I can't wait to live with the person I love, and that I'm actually in love, and that I'm doing something by choice and not by force. It's amazing.

Right now we're sitting in my living room on camping chairs. The Girlfriend is playing playstation and I have this thing in my lap. I've been working on a piece of art for you all, pictured below. This is part stolen and part touched up, to include a general idea of my setup of the apartment. It's little.



(First off, I know the picture sucks. I wasn't having fun in paint and I gave up after five minutes. Secondly, I changed the size of it so much that it's blurry and since it's not a picture I care about, but rather a picture for demonstration, I didn't care enough to fix it. Thirdly, the thing on the right of the bedroom, kind of next to the couch is my computer desk and the thing in front of the couch is the TV stand with TV on top, and a bookshelf on either side.)

526 square feet of MINE. When I moved here, it was winter. And it was cold. I had just had a falling out with a roommate that I adored and decided to move to make life simpler. It was just Emily and myself, and I loved it that way. Emily and I lived here and I was so fucking proud of myself for being able to give her someplace secure, someplace of our own. Slowly, I began realizing what a shit hole this place is, complete with mold, no security and Mormon RAs. The families that live here are, in general, wonderful. I've had a couple run-ins with graduate students that are complete assholes, but I'm pretty sure I'd be an asshole too if I were in graduate school and trying to raise a three year old. Anyway. The people are wonderful, and I've made some friends here. Emily has as well.

The school keeps raising rent, though. When I moved in, it was a very good deal. Now, two years later and rent $150+ higher (and going up $50 more in July), it no longer makes sense. I knew last year that I wanted to leave this year. And then, I fell in love.

We are moving to a place that has MUCH more space, and it has a patio, and a swimming pool in the complex and THE LANDLORDS AREN'T MORMON thank god. Nothing against the Mormons, just that we don't have many, at least not public ones, in Chicago and um, wow. I've seen enough glazed eyes and have had enough visits from some "sisters" for a lifetime. (Funny story, at the apartment I lived in previous to this one, my downstairs neighbors were two young Mormon men on their missions. They met me and, to my surprise, didn't pass judgement. Instead, they would be kind and say hello to me, often stopping to hand me a prayer card. I gladly accepted the cards, because they were never ever trying to shove anything down my throat. I got to know the cute one a little bit. Of course, all of our conversation was on my porch, because there were no MEN IN MY HOUSE so he couldn't come in, weirdo. I found out that on the mission they can't listen to anything but church music, or something, and so I would make play lists of his favorite bands and BLAST them from my patio when he was outside. I totally caught him dancing, and tricked him into saying that two girls in a shower would be hot. I wonder if he's still Mormon? Tangent. Anyway.)

So anyway. I am so excited. I've been planning where to put things, instead of just figuring out how the hell to fit my couch somewhere. I've been looking at decorative things, like picture frames and curtains and rugs, instead of never bothering because there are very few ways to warm up white concrete brick interior. Did you know it's damn near impossible to put anything on brick that's impermanent? It is. A few drunken nights spent with a hot glue gun succeeded in getting some things on my walls, but, well, I was drunk and using a glue gun. Yeah. Not so pretty.

I am so excited for Emily to have space to play and for her to have a room that isn't as cramped. I'm so excited at the possibility of ZOMG SOME PRIVACY. But, I'm sitting here tonight, staring around and I'm actually a little sad. All I want for Emily is stability, consistency, a loving home. And with as many problems as I've had with this apartment, those things have been constant. Our little home may be ghetto, and cold, and dangerous, but it is one filled with love. I know, it's cheesy. But it's true.

I hope I have enough love to fill a bigger place. I'm sure I do; My heart feels like it's swelling over most of the time. I guess this post can be entirely summed up like this: I hate to admit it. And I'm more happy than I can describe to leave. But, I'm sad to leave the place that holds the most memories of my adult life.

Goodbye, family housing. I'm never coming back.

The Joys of Parenting

So I'm sitting at work and the phone rings. I see that it's the daycare calling me. I sigh and pick up the phone. Hello?

The director informs me that Emily just shoved a bead up her nose. I forgot to ask where the hell she got a bead, but to make a long story short, Emily was able to blow the bead out. I ask to talk to Emily.

Me: Hi baby. Are you supposed to put things up your nose?

And she says: Well I don't know! I'm only three!

I love her. We'll be having a long talk tonight, a talk that will probably involve me lying to her (like when I told her that if you eat your boogers you'll grow a booger tree in your stomach and then you'll explode), which is something I totally support when it's being done appropriately (example: Emily didn't respond to me when I told her that eating boogers is yucky, or explained that it's not good t have one's finger in one's nose all day, but the SECOND I told her about a tree of boogers underneath her bellybutton, she stopped. Problem solved!), and then I really need to figure out a health insurance option for her before she sticks something in her nose that requires an ER visit or something.

Do you like ridiculously long run-on sentences? Because I do.

Oh. And Emmy Had Her First Nose Bleed Today.

Poor baby. She ran and her foot got caught on the air in front of her shoe, at which point she fell in a diving position and flew two feet forward, face first, in to her friend's (who I was holding) head. She is her mother's daughter.

Boobs. Again.

Emily caught wind of a conversation about sensitive nipples and said, Mom, I think I don't have just nipples. I have LITTLE TINY BOOBIES, ok?

Gotta Love Kids.

So I had to go to the dentist today because my mouth is all fuckered up ( I have gorgeous, straight teeth and gums that are very much in pain, all the time. I also had a filling fall out in one of my molars, and it's become a problem. The pain has finally outweighed the lack of dental insurance.) It turns out I'm in an early stage of the irreversible type of gum disease. Yay!

Anyway. So I've missed Emily like whoa all day and the dentist appointment made me even later to pick Emily up from daycare. I was so excited to just see her and to dig my nose in to her neck and hug her. I go in to her classroom and see her and run to her and swing her up in my arms and she says "I'M GOING TO AUNTIE'S!" I say, yeah baby, tomorrow. How are you?

Instead of answering me and being happy, she thrusts her lower lip out and pouts and says, "well I don't WANT TO GO tomorrow I want to go TODAY and I want my AUNTIE, NOT YOU."

She's sleeping over at my friend Natalie's house tomorrow night so I can go out for The Girlfriend's birthday.

And there went my excitement. And I know I shouldn't be hurt, because she's three. But if I'm being honest, I was a little. I love that Emily has people that matter, and her Auntie Nat is at the top of the list. But I'm not sure I'm ready to not be her favorite anymore.

Puberty.

Setting: Emily and I are in the bathroom. I am peeing, the water is running and she is taking her shirt off. (She's just recently figured out a way to get her shirt off by herself. She pulls the head hole over and behind her head, and then pulls it off her arms. Which means there's a point when the shirt is behind her neck and her arms are still in the holes, kind of as if she were wearing a shawl.)

Emmy: Momma, look!

Me: What baby?

Emmy: I have nipples.

Me: ... Most people do.

Emmy: Aren't they pretty?

Me: Emmy, you're beautiful.

Emmy: Um, yeah. I know. I mean thank you! Someday? Mommy, I'll have boobies like you. And they'll be biiiig and they'll bounce when I jump!

Me, as Emmy is jumping up and down while trying to look at her chest: Um, Emmy, it's not nice to talk about boobies.

Emmy: Ok. But someday I'll have 'em. When I'm older. Cuz now I'm a kid. So I just have nipples.

At least she knows her body parts, right?

Going On Sixteen...

Me: Emmy, put your damned backpack away. I've been cleaning all day and I don't want it out right now.

Emmy: Mom, I'm checking my homework.

Me: You're three. You don't have homework.

Emmy: Are you KIDDING ME?

Me: Don't yell at me Em- EMILY GRACE I SAID PUT IT AWAY.

Emmy, with an eyeroll: You're killing me mom, really, you are. Just killing me. I'll put it away. Chill.

I Am THAT Parent

Emily woke up around 8:30am today. I went in to her room and said good morning and then suggested she play with her toys for awhile. I turned on her stereo so she had some music and went back to bed. (The Girlfriend and I went out last night to see her brother do a show and he was AWESOME but we didn't get home until around two and holy jesus I was tired.) I just woke up again about a half an hour ago. Do you know what this means? My clingy spider monkey is developing SOME sense of independence. It's amazing. I heard that this would begin to happen. I had friends tell me when my face was stained with tears and my voice was raw from crying and my emotions were as thinner all of the hair I was losing in the shower, and it showed. It showed when I would walk up to my baby with crazed eyes and a forced smile, when I would pick her up and pat her back just a little too hard and I would watch TV and cry and cry because I was never going to have a normal life ever ever again. It showed when I would look at her and whisper because I didn't want to yell and I would tell her how much money she would earn me on the black market, what with her blond/copper hair and her bright blue eyes.


Seen here at 4 months, when I still liked having a baby.


Seen here around eight months, before her teeth started coming in and before round two of her health problems kicked in.


And pictured here, at two years old. And I cannot say this early in my day how hard two was for me. Look at how beautiful she is. It's probably the only reason I didn't give her to the gypsies. Or throw her out the window. Needless to say, it was hard. I was also going through a rough time that involved almost EVERYONE I KNOW telling me what a shitty parent I was being. So I changed my methods to fit those standards and you know what? Emily and I suffered for months because of it. So I stopped. And things got better.


And now, now she's three.



Emily has been getting in to the habit of WAKING UP DRY OH MY GOD. The last few days she hasn't been feeling 100%, so I've been more relaxed with watching her fluid intake. And she's still woken up dry. This means one of two things: 1)I am the greatest mom ever for proving that yes, it is possible to go an entire night without peeing, or 2)she's dehydrated, so the fluid that she is taking in is alll being used, and there's nothing to get rid of. I hope it's the former. I suspect it's the latter.

Anyway. I'm a very no-nonsense parent. I took her last pacifier away the 3000th time she spit it out when she was eight months old. She was on the boob for nine or ten months and then I had to switch to formula. I took her bottles away the day after her first birthday, and took her last nighttime bottle away around 15 months. I stopped buying diapers when she turned two. Now, I'm done buying pullups.

A lot of people disagree with this; They suggest tying pacifiers to balloons and having a ceremony, or write novels about the guilt they feel for taking away a bottle, or write about their fears with too-harsh potty-training. I of course experience guilt, and I'll get to that later. As far as these things go though, I am harsh. When I say something I mean it; When I tell her to do something I mean it, and when she's too old for something, it goes away. Now, I know there are children that simply don't potty-train, etc... I however, decided when she was two that I was done changing diapers. I had bought Emily her first potty chair when she was 15 months old. I didn't buy it with any expectation. Rather, I bought it with the hope that my little spider monkey would have something to sit on in the bathroom instead of my lap. (Let me just point out that I never thought I'd take a dump with a child on my lap. I know it's gross.) To my surprise, she pulled off her diaper and reached for me to put her on the seat. So I did. And she peed! It was marvelous.

There are also a tremendous amount of health problems miss Emily had. Among those were a wicked set of allergies, eczema and the resulting GOD AWFUL BLISTERING diaper rashes. We tried everything at the stores, her doctors made special creams, I let her go naked CONSTANTLY, I gave her oatmeal baths and I tried the hippie stuff at the hippie store and no matter what, if any bodily secretion sat on her skin for longer than about five minutes, she would start bleeding.

So when she was two, I bought her a ton of panties, put her in them and told her, hey, do you see these? Look! It's Dora! Dora doesn't like pee-pee, and your pants will get all wet. So if you have to go pee, tell mommy, ok? She looked at me all, yeah, you're insane. And then peed her pants. And cried when her legs got wet. She peed on herself for about a week when she got sick of it, and she started using the toilet. Since then, she would get put in a pullup at night. A few months ago, I got really tired of the ten pounds of pee she would produce in the middle of the night. And again with those rashes. Also, she takes her baths at night. It's been an essential part of her bedtime routine since she was 4 months old. So when she pees all over at night, I have to give her another bath in the morning before rushing her to daycare. Have you read my first post? WE ARE NOT A MORNING PEOPLE.

I began waking her up in the middle of the night. I came to the conclusion after two months of different wake up times that she pees around 3am every day. And she pees a lot. Then I started limiting her liquid intake after 5:30pm. Then I stopped buying the pullups. (and now that I've gotten us all caught up, we're back to the original story). She's averaging about one accident a week. Every morning I go in to her room and say "Good morning my Emmy! How are you! You look like a mad scientist!" And she says "Mmmm hrmphh unnnggggggg mmmmmh OHMYGOD! MOM! I woke up dry! SWEEET!!!!"


And I am so proud of my baby. My three year old baby.

Day of Death.

The title's a little dramatic. I understand that. But, well, I can be a little dramatic.

Five years and two days ago, I was at the hospital with my Grandpa, Tristan Meinecke, a getting-more-famous-now-that-he's-dead Chicago artist. My grandfather was the number one man in my life for a good majority of my life. I spent a lot of my childhood seriously wondering how the hell I fit in to my family. My Grandpa was that link.

He was seriously depressed. Had very serious bad days and very dark days and very very hard days. But he lived through it. I don't know how much to write about him right now, because I stupidly didn't write about it yesterday. Anyway. Five years and two days ago I sat at the hospital with him. The doctors said he couldn't hear, and they were lying. I sang and I kissed his cheek and told him about my day. I was a senior in high school and had quit my job a few months prior to take care of him. I would change his feeding tube and help him tie his bow-tie that he insisted on wearing. We would watch old movies together and I would fight with him about eating real food. We would talk and talk and talk. We would argue about my clothing choices and women's rights. He was the least traditional man I've ever met, in my life. More open-minded that anything, but at the same time he was incredibly stuck in his ways.

I was at the hospital with him and I put my hand on his arm and snatched it away. My hand left a visible palm print and water began pooling in it. I never knew that skin could leak. It can. It pooled until my hand print was full, a lake with five fingers and the water dripped on to the floor. The plan was to pull the plugs of the machines that were helping to sustain his life the next morning. He wouldn't want to be plugged in. Everyone was fighting about it, yelling and screaming and it was awful. I know everyone has been through this. I don't know why my experience is unique, or why my feelings feel so, mine. But they are.

The next morning we got a phone call that he had died. And I know it's cheesy and I know it's poetic to an annoying extreme, but he did it on purpose. He didn't want to make my Grandma, his Angel, an actress and the love of his life, feel like she had any part in killing her husband.

Last night I curled up on the couch and watched TV with The Girlfriend and cried. I feel like I should be over it.

Five years and one day ago, my Grandpa died. And I miss him. A lot.


Yesterday, Emily's fish, Charlie died (see, DAY OF DEATH. I told you.) We had a funeral (and my camera won't load the fucking pictures, of course) and flushed Charlie down the toilet. I got her a new fish, a new beta fish to be precise, and one that does not look like Charlie at all. It's a pearly color and has pink and purple fins. It's a boy, and Emily named him Goose.

For Fuck's Sake

Emily has the craziest hair. She has a combination of her dad's hair and my hair. His always used to remind me of Cory Matthews' hair, but less curly. My hair is wavy and frizzy when it's natural. Emmy has this dirty blond hair with copper highlights in the summer that just began growing last year. It's straight on the top and curls up in the back. When it's wet, she just has this mess of curls all around her head. I love it. I call her my mad scientist.

I went to get a haircut today. I hacked off about eight inches and it's going to be much simpler to handle now. Then Natalie, my best friend and Emily's Godmother got her hair cut. She didn't change it at all. Just got a trim.

This is a picture of my two best friends in this whole world, Alan and Natalie:


This is one of my favorite pictures of the two of them together in the entire world. It's at one of my favorite bars in Chicago, across the street from my Dad's house. Anyway.

Natalie moved to my town about six months ago with her boyfriend. She told me today that she's moving again, about three hours away. That's totally manageable. Much more manageable than the 2000 miles that have separated us since I moved away three years ago. But still. I got really sad about it. At least she's moving to a place with lots of casinos, and lots of vodka. You can't go wrong with vodka.

We went to eat at The Olive Garden (classy girls that we are), and Emily talks SO MUCH ALL THE TIME OH MY GOD. The entire time was like this:

Me: I know! I can't believe what's going on, and I keep getting all this shit from the guys that come in to my work for voting for Obama...

Emily: Mommy. Mommy. Mommy? Mommy. Mommy, I'm talking.

Me: Emily, you're supposed to say 'excuse me' before interrupting me. Anyway, and then...

Emily: Mommyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, exCUUUSE ME MOMMY-

Nat: Emily, we're in a restaurant. be quiet.

Emily, with squinty eyes: You're not my best friend Auntie Nat, excuse me, mommy?

Me: Yes Emily. What can I do for you?

Emily: I really like mac n' cheese.

Me:... That's great.

Nat: So (her boyfriend) and I were talking about this political comedy thing-

Emily: Auntie. Excuse me, Auntie?

Nat: Yes Emily.

Emily: Your hair is pretty.

Nat: .... Thank you, Emily.



And so on and so forth. It was ridiculous. I know that this is typical of three year olds, and I am very grateful to be in this stage and to be done with two (because if there was ever a time when I was close to actually throwing Emily out the window, it was her entire second year), but at the same time, for GOD'S SAKE SHUT UP FOR TWO SECONDS.