We’re in the middle of the toddler “testing” phase. This means that today I’ve said repeated no’s and disciplined for hitting, pinching, throwing food/fork/plate, putting chalk on the couch and drawing with markers on clothes. There was the one sequestration in the crib for the crying tantrum and then there was the finger dip-and-lick in the potty bowl [major cringe].
All by one o’clock in the afternoon.
God have mercy on me, a mother.
There was once this kid, a blue shirt in a sea of pink. Some big kids thought she was older than she really was because of her long hair and tall, slender body. But really, she was just two, and she kind of got swallowed up in the pink wave.
This kid, she liked to feed the zoo animals. She even fed the llama whose yellow-stained teeth and known spitting habits intimidated the kid’s grownup mama. But then there was this goat. And, ya see, he tried to eat this kid’s hand. Crocodile tears ensued. No one knows if the kid will enjoy feeding the zoo animals again.
Next on Zoo Tales: Injured Butterflies and the Kid Who Loved Them.
I’ve been reading about freezer paper stencils on the blogs of katiek and Diber, and just had to give them a try. I purchased a 5 pack of white baby onesies and went to town—now I’m slighty obsessed with the whole process.
Here’s how you do it:
For more information, search for freezer paper stencils on Google or Flickr.
I recognized the author’s name from a previous book I had read (What Should I Do With My Life?) and thus ended up with Why Do I Love These People? in my hands during a road trip several weeks ago. The byline on the front cover, Honest and Amazing Stories of Real Families, demonstrates what I often look for in a nonfiction book: other people’s life stories. The real-life element, paired with Po Bronson’s gift for writing, makes a highly readable, interesting and thought-provoking book.
Bronson states that the word fashion is not normally associated “with a time-honored core like family, but the pairing is apt. Many of the ways we think about family are really just fashions, fabrications for the sake of aggrandizing the present day” (p 14). The author continues on the following page of his introduction by taking a glimpse into the world of love, and how it has been fashioned with fairy tales:
To quote a wise woman from a future chapter, “Real love is not a primitive biological response that any schoolboy can have.” Nor is real love formed on a first kiss; rather, that is a mere starting point. But thanks to fairy tales, we indulge in an overly romantic ideal that only sets us up for disenchantment. We believe the right spouse can be chosen out of a lineup, and that this “rightness” is inherent to the chemistry of two personalities – that it is fully formed right away, as if at first sight, rather than formed over years and decades of living together. We are afraid of commitment because we think everything has to be “right” before we commit. We believe that by picking someone who wants the same things as we do, those things will actually happen. Having chosen each other on the basis of similarity, we have no skills to resolve the differences that inevitably emerge between any two people. Our romantic spirit is crushed as easily as a paper bag. We avoid conflict when we should be training ourselves on its barbs. We’ve come to think compromise is a dirty word, when in fact you can get nowhere in real life without it. We look for partners who give us no problems, rather than partners we are good at overcoming problems with.
I found the theme of the entire book wrapped in this one sentence, “The test is not whether we have problems, but how we deal with them” (p 19). Every family, every relationship will be tested by problems, and there seems to be a million different ways to overcome isssues. I found Bronson’s real life stories to be a breath of fresh air as I struggle with being a black-and-white kind of girl in a gray kind of world.
A small voice makes its way through the dark room:
“Poop in potty.”
What?! I nearly jump out of my skin in response. I quickly scoop her up and think, here it is, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. The moment where, on her own volition, my two year old truly begins to use the toilet. Forget that it’s bedtime on this sweltering summer night, forget that I’m tired and anxious to pop a movie in the DVD player, forget that homemade blueberry ice cream that awaits me downstairs. We’ve got a kid ready to go poop here!
We leave the quiet room and head for the bright lights of the bathroom. The little potty awaits like a miniature throne in the corner.
She sits.
And sits.
And sits some more.
My quick-draw pooper is sitting and I’m doing all the encouraging things I can. I hold her hands, I sing a few lyrics to the Poopsmith song, I grimace my face in ways only a potty-training mother would dare.
Could it be? Oh no, surely it can’t be. And yet, there she sits still.
The first bedtime stall tactic. Argh.
Just as Zoolander has Blue Steel, Livia has The Dark Look. She’s developed it quite recently and tends to use it if frustrated or simply thinking really hard. I confess, The Dark Look is a bit shocking at first and is simultaneously irksome and funny. Sometimes it takes all my resolve to not laugh at the darkness employed in my little daughter’s face.
This is not a great picture… My camera didn’t even want to focus on the Scowl to End All Scowls.
I admit I’ve become a little less reflective in recent months. For proof one has to look no further than the monthly letters I write my daughter; last month’s was exceedingly short and this month’s is non-existent. I credit the lack of reflection to the busy nature of mothering a toddler. Livia and I spend so much time interacting face to face that I feel less emotional desire to write lengthy letters to her. The desire to look deeply into things has faded in other areas of my life as well… I’ve been shooting less pictures and writing less (both on the blog and otherwise). So, it was with great intention that Livia and I set out for a photo walk a week ago. It was time to look into the details of creation and take a few moments to admire the Creator’s work. I don’t believe the beauty of the rose or the perfection of the acorn happened on accident. Even the small things of creation point to the One who planned it.
I can remember holding these guys at two months old, their small cuddly bodies warming my neck and shoulders. Now here they are, five year olds who say funny things like, “Girls can’t do that!” (mistakingly uttered to their mother who is the most capable woman I know) and “Ew, gross!” (when I’m changing Livia’s diaper in front of them). I love watching them grow.
I think I’ve found a new calling in life. It involves Diet Coke and Mentos.
I just completed some Monday morning cleaning. Except, it’s Wednesday. I’m so confused.
The four day weekend was a fun one. We went to Worlds of Fun in KC on Saturday with Jeremy’s folks and cousins. Fully prepared to experience the hottest summer day yet amid crowds of roller coaster-happy, sweaty individuals, we were really surprised at how few people were in the park. WoF has come a long way in the past nine years (since we took the Covenant youth group back in the good ole days!). The food is better, the gardens are really pretty, and overall the amusement park is cleaner. On Saturday there was a nice breeze accompanying us through waiting lines, the longest of which was only 15 minutes—we practically walked onto big rides like the Mamba and the Patriot. Liv spent a delightful day with the Moreheads and Nickesons, which was a big blessing for me. I now realize that the destination isn’t what made the day a vacation for me, rather the time off from work was a relaxing break.
The rest of the long weekend was spent gardening, cleaning, napping, organizing and, finally, grilling and fireworking last night.
What did you do over the weekend?