Partners in Crime (and overwhelming bodily functions): Ch. 1 of Levi and Odie

I’m coming to the conclusion that, besides looking completely different and having a totally different outcome depending on which one you kill (not saying you ever WOULD…just stating there’s a huge difference…), I’m pretty sure puppies and toddlers are practically interchangeable.

For instance: when you don’t have one, you want one. You think their crying is pathetically cute and want to make it all better. You try to come up with reasons why you should have one even though you’re not entirely sure you can afford one…but you’re pretty sure you’ll be able to. When you go over to your friend’s houses you pick theirs up and play with them and want to bring them home at the end of the night.

Then you get one. You realize their crying is not cute when it is 6am and you haven’t been to bed yet, and you have reached the point of begging/weeping/yelling because, COME ON, what more could they want?? The 18 consecutive hours of feeding, cleaning up of bodily functions, entertainment and attention weren’t enough?? You’re left trying to remember the reasons you wanted one in the first place, especially considering how much they are costing you, financially AND emotionally. You totally can’t afford this. Oh yeah, and aside from play dates, you will avoid interaction with anyone else’s children or puppies, because quite frankly, you do not care about them when you have your own at home demanding constant attention. Bring theirs home with you? HA! Can you keep yours there?!

I know by now you’re thinking, wow, Alicia…bad day? And you don’t care about my children or my pets that I consider family??

I’ll avoid answering that. I’d like to keep the three friends I have (…give or take a few…).

I’m actually very happy we bought a puppy. Odie has been a really great addition so far, and Levi is getting along with him so much better than I expected. I had the mistaken idea that Odie was going to be MY dog, but was corrected this morning when taking Levi out of his crib: “Want MY doggy, mommy! Want MY doggy!”

The two proceeded to drive me nuts all day. I look over and see Odie trailing Levi…but backwards. Weird…OH, Levi is pulling his tail. NO, NO!! Odie, however, did not actually look like he minded, and seemed a bit miffed at my interference in his free ride. Levi is that a knitting needle?? Where did you find that!! Don’t stab Odie with it!! Oh my GOSH! Again, Odie: completely nonplussed, licking Levi’s foot as his boy attempts a surgical procedure on him with a knitting needle. LEVI! ARE YOU REALLY ABOUT TO STEP ON ODIE…ON PURPOSE?? AM I RAISING A MONSTER?? My child, looking properly ashamed, lies on the floor and, facing Odie, says “Sowwy.” Odie promptly jumps on Levi’s face and tries to rip out a chunk of his hair. Clearly, I am interfering where no interference is needed; they are the perfect couple. I have yet to hear one of them cry, even when I’ve seen Odie’s mouth clamped around Levi’s hand as Levi tried, for the zillionth time, to smother him with his blanky.

And let me expound on those bodily functions (from paragraph 3, in case you feel the need to verify that this was, in fact, previously brought up) while I’m ranting about my day. Those two are working together, I tell you.  For the most part, Odie is very good about only pooping on his puppy pads, thank goodness. I’m not sure why he is diligent about pooping in the same spot, however, when he pees ANY D*** PLACE HE FEELS LIKE. Let’s take a peek inside Odie’s head: Carpet? Of course. Couch? Why not! Is that a blanket? How luxurious! What’s this, mommy put down more puppy pads so I can’t miss? While this presents a frustrating obstacle to my diabolical plot to drive her over the edge of madness, I have successfully mastered pushing aside the pads so that any fluids dispersed won’t even touch their edges. I am a puppy NINJA.

At least I don’t have to deal with that with Levi, WHEW! …BUT NO, WAIT! Oh, silly Alicia, have you not learned your lesson yet? Your cocky attitude has once again brought about utter destruction and chaos in the form of… Diarrhea! CHA CHA CHA!

That’s right. I decided that, despite Levi’s attempts to drive me insane today, I would let him indulge in a little chocolate ice cream with me. (Aka I desperately needed chocolate but it wasn’t Levi’s bedtime yet, and attempting to eat chocolate OR ice cream, let along the two together, without sharing would be downright impossible). So I shared my ice cream. I deserve a reward for that, right? Guess what I got instead? “Look, Mommy!” …Oh, Levi, you got ice cream all over your hand… let me wipe that up for—wait…what is that smell? WHAT IS THAT SMELL?! And why is it SO strong?

I was fine. Really. I only freaked out a little, but was able to promptly clean and sanitize his hand and change him without any major problem. …OR so I thought.

How did I miss the fact that you-know-what happened to be smeared all over his right foot and ankle?? Please tell me…because I DON’T HAVE A CLUE. It was a pleasant little “uh-oh, look what I missed” moment when Levi climbed into my lap.

So there you have what prompted this flow of ranting, blanket assumptions concerning how people feel upon obtaining a puppy or toddler, psychic puppy mind reading, and subsequent storytelling. Allow me to clarify that, despite the ridiculous amount of #1 and #2 cleanup going on around here, and my constant need for vigilance in the case of “accidental” stabbings with random sharp objects, I am very grateful for my son…and Levi. (JUST KIDDING! I’m not one of those people who REALLY considers a puppy their child… I just like to pretend). I am extremely happy that Levi has a new friend to keep him company, and that they already seem to love each other so much. I am definitely blessed… and will be reminding myself that as I smell hints of diarrhea in my living room for the next week and try to unsuccessfully sniff out its source.

My losing battle vs. Alzheimer's

I have what is known to most as The Common Cold. However, I’m thinking my cold should have a different name… Early Onset Alzheimer’s. My memory, on a normal day, is not what you would call exceptional…or good… or even fair, really. It scares me when I think of what I’ll be like when I’m old. Not only will I not remember anyone I used to know, I probably won’t even remember myself. And this will be when I’m 45. HOWEVER, I am drifting off topic. My point is that if my memory was bad before, with a cold it is a billion times worse. So here I am, trying to write down the events of the day before I forget them. (I kid you not…I walked away from my laptop to go get Levi a sippy cup, and I forgot I was writing this. I came back to the couch, sat down, picked up my laptop to see why I had left it open and went, Ohhhh yeah!) Now that I think about it, I’ve actually forgotten one of the things I wanted to write about. *Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh*I’m scared, people. I’m scared.

First of all, I’m scared about the things I will accidentally eat when my brain takes a hike. Standing in the kitchen earlier, I was making gravy to add to my meal of mashed potatoes and green beans. Gravy, you should know, makes everything better. Anyway, I was making the powder kind, and had just stirred in the cold water. My mind started drifting as I stirred, thinking about things I have going on tomorrow, and I must’ve stood there stirring that gravy for a good five minutes. I eventually came back to the present, and looked down at the bowl in my arms. No joke—I thought, “mmm, chocolate!” and took a huge bite.

LET ME JUST SAY that no matter how delicious gravy might be, when it is cold and you are expecting chocolate----it is the most horrifying substance IN THE WORLD. **GAG**

I’m also worried about the people I will accidentally offend. Before the gravy incident, I was standing in the kitchen cooking some chicken on the stove when I got a text. Figuring it was my cousin Sarah (as we had been texting back and forth all night), I was surprised to see it was a different friend…and she texted saying she on her way to the mall. Ok… random… and OH MY GOSH I told her I would possibly try to meet her and her kids there for a play date (for both Levi AND mommy), not even an hour ago! How could I have forgotten that?? A chance to escape the house and meet up with a friend… really, Alicia? Way to sabotage your own happiness and sanity! I then texted her back saying I’d try to make it up with brownies… and sent that text to my cousin accidentally. Don’t worry, I got it right the second time around. *siiigh*

Speaking of sanity, I am surprised I didn’t lose it permanently earlier today, before either of these events had taken place. Tired, stuffy, and desperate for caffeine, I searched the house for a cola, only to realize I had moved the box when cleaning the previous day and couldn’t remember where I had placed it. Of course. So I decided that instead of using my cold as an excuse to stay in my pj’s all day, looking like my hair was the result of being caught in the crossfire of dueling leaf blowers, I would get showered, PUT ON MAKEUP (this hasn’t happened in a WHILE, folks), and go grocery shopping and pick up some extra caffeinated beverages. Thus began a grueling, hour-long, pathetically desperate search for my purse. You can easily guess how this ended, first because I put on ONLY eye makeup, which is like taunting fate (at least for me), and second because, if you’ve been reading my blogs to date, you know that I have a penchant for excessive crying and frequent break downs. I hadn’t wanted to bother John, who was sleeping before his work shift (he works a regular daytime shift AND a midnight shift at a different job), but then that mythical straw that is commonly known for breaking random camel’s backs made its appearance in the form of Levi. In an attempt to distract him and keep him out of my hair during my search, I handed him a bag of S’mores Goldfish, hoping the deliciousness contained within that bag would weave its magic over my child and keep him far from my path of fury. While in the midst of fighting back tears of frustration after searching the same spot for the umpteenth time, I heard a weird sound, and then “oh no!”  I trembled where I was standing, because up to that point, my fight against Tears Destroying My Mascara was barely being won. Should I go look? Did I really have an option? So I went… and there, in my front hallway, I learned what a bag of s’mores goldfish looks like when it has been spread across an entire hallway. Then I heard a crunch, and looked up to see My Glorious Son carefully stepping on a small pile. What is with my kid and his desire for utter destruction?? And has he not learned the signs of Impending Mommy Breakdown (aka DOOM)? APPARENTLY NOT!

So John was awakened. Not quietly, either, but by hysterical sobbing as I threw myself on the bed and yelled “I CAN’T F-F-F-FIND MY P-PURSE!!” I applaud John on his ability to look sincerely concerned, especially  when, if I were him, I probably would have laughed hysterically and/or sat there with my mouth hanging open, wondering what kind of crazy person I had married. Instead, my amazing husband immediately called up his work, switched his shift with another guy, and went in search of my purse. As he looked in spots already combed over by me, I sat in the background sobbing and sputtering. “I already l-l-looked there! It’s gone forever! I just wanted to get out of the h-h-h-hoooouse!!!” John, clearly used to his wife’s utter inability to handle frustration after a long week of Levi, no sleep, and a severe lack of caffeine, just continued looking, and I went and threw myself on the couch to brood in not-too-silent misery. Not even one minute later: “Here it is!”

“What? In the closet? But I LOOKED THERE FIFTY TIMES!”

“Yep. Right there in the front. You go ahead and go shopping and I’ll watch Levi…ok?”

OK!

I’m surprised I made it to Kroger’s and back in one piece. I did forget some of the stuff on my list, but that’s nothing new.

So I’m really hoping I get over this cold, and QUICK, before I forget something really serious and do something crazy like burn down my apartment complex or lose my child.

(P.S. I have an AMAZING husband.)

Don't Cry Over Spilled Milk, and other old fashioned sayings that I never thought would apply to me

I really need to watch what I say.

The other day, while talking on the phone to my cousin Sarah (this happens quite a lot), I mentioned that I hoped I wouldn’t be the type of mother who overreacts to something as simple as spilled milk. Well…let me be totally honest… I said I hoped I could STOP overreacting to Levi spilling his milk. I remember getting screamed at as a child because I accidentally dropped a pitcher of orange juice all over the floor because it was too heavy. I remember feeling both ashamed and angry, because after all, it WAS just an accident… why was it such a big deal? I swore I would never react that way to my OWN children… heaven forbid!

I should’ve known better.

It appalls me to no end that I react EXACTLY the same way. I never have time for a 10 second cool down because I react immediately… and then hate myself afterwards. How is it that these stupid little things get to me so badly? Why can’t I see it from my son’s perspective? I was young once, and I knew what it was like to get yelled at constantly… why can’t I learn from that?

So, OK….I’ll learn from it. It’s never too late, right?

SO that fatal conversation happened early on Wednesday morning (ok, who am I kidding? It felt early to me, but it was after noon, definitely. There’s no early phone convos going on with this late riser). I uttered those words, feeling conviction and a bright spark of hope that I COULD change my ways! I could totally change my reactive personality by sincerely announcing good intentions! Right?

That bright spark (of hope, remember?) would’ve served me better if it had been a lightning bolt of reality, sent to strike me as a warning that Plans Announced Out Loud will immediately set into motion Situations To Test and Challenge. How could I forget? Did I really think change would just happen magically?

Tragically, yes.

I kid you not---less than one hour later, I handed Levi his sippy cup, then sat down to watch an episode of Heroes (GREAT show! Why did it take me so long to get hooked? Although, not gonna lie, there are way too many twists in every single episode. I mean, come ON.) ANYWAY, Levi, with full sippy cup in hand, decides he isn’t thirsty, so he TOSSES his sippy cup onto the couch. He was aiming for the cup holder at least, but his aim isn’t great and those sippy cups only give the illusion that the cap on top can prevent spills. Luckily, I managed to grab it before the top came off, but there was still milk splattered over half of the couch. With my recent conversation with Sarah fresh in mind, I actually laughed to myself, thinking I should call her back and let her know how ironically funny this was. If only I had known.

I shouldn’t have laughed to myself. My amusement only added to the Tide of Trials that was, unbeknownst to me, looming dangerously in the near distance. I’m not kidding. The irony of this situation has taught me to tremble with fear at the thought of carelessly tossing out a chuckle at a seemingly innocent Life Lesson.

Levi managed to make it through that sippy cup without further incident, and I mistakenly believed I was in the clear. What an easy lesson! I am, as we used to say back in the day, The Bomb! (I should erase that. Do I really need to sound like more of a Grandma? I already quilt and scrapbook constantly. Siiigh.)

Then came Sippy Cup #2. You can probably guess what essentially happened, with the outcome being spilled milk everywhere. Of course. I don’t need to go into details, but I did not respond well. On the plus side, I did NOT scream. At first, I just kind of stared in shock and realized, with a horrific jolt, that I was being tested. Twice in one day, after LITERALLY discussing spilled milk this morning? I didn’t have to be Einstein to realize the connection. However, I was still angry. Levi had spilled the milk ON PURPOSE. That’s fine, Levi! I don’t mind having to go to the store EVERY OTHER DAY for TWO (yes, TWO!) gallons of milk! Oh, what? The cost of milk has shot up to a ridiculous $3?? WHO CARES! We’re MADE of money, right?! I’m pretty sure, although I didn’t yell, that what I did had just about the same effect, as I got in Levi’s face and essentially growled, through tightly clenched teeth, what I thought of his actions. I then stormed off (after cleaning up the milk), to sit and agonize over how I had knowingly recognized a test and failed it.

It was a really, REALLY bad day for me. Why is it that I make decisions that affect my personal growth on days that inevitably turn out to be so intensely overwhelming and depressing? Am I a glutton for punishment? Do I subconsciously want to fail?

But the day wasn’t over yet. I spent about three hours crying (not just from the spilled milk… although in writing that, I have just realized the irony here, because HELLO, haven’t I heard the saying a million times… “Don’t cry over spilled milk?” Oh… irony… you are a devious bastard.) I was in the kitchen, trying to calm myself down while being a good housewife and making dinner for John, when I heard a loud CRASH and then John yelling “OH NO! COME ON, LEVI! REALLY??” I didn’t even want to go into the living room, but, like I said, I must have a penchant for punishment. I walked into the room, and John informed me that he had left a cup full of milk sitting out that he had forgotten earlier, and Levi had just knocked it over with a pillow that he had been swinging wildly around the room. Oh, and the milk was on a table covered in pens, papers and DVD’s (I’ve been lax with clearing the clutter lately. Sue me). John didn’t have time to clean up the mess because he was rushing to get ready to leave for his second job, so guess who got to clean up the mess for a third time that day?

I saw it clearly for what it was. “Here you go,” God was saying, “I’m helping you change!”

I silently cleaned up the milk. I wiped down about 30 DVD’s, and collected the pens and tried to dry them off. (I’m sure they’ll always smell slightly funky after this.) I threw away most of the papers, and sprayed the table with an antibacterial cleaner. John hovered in the background, randomly throwing out questions as he got his stuff together. “You ok? You’re really quiet…” “Are you sure? I can’t tell when you only nod…” “Ok, I’m leaving now… are you really ok?” Nod. Yes. I’m fine. But thinking: Ok, have a good night, I love you, I appreciate you and the fact that you’re leaving for your second job, …but I need you to leave before I lose it. He did, luckily. And I didn’t lose it. Well, I might have lost some brain function from the extreme deprivation of oxygen, but I didn’t scream. I didn’t hiss anything at Levi. I didn’t even give him a cross look. I just walked into the kitchen, had a minor (silent) stroke, and then walked back into the living room, sat down, turned on Heroes, and thought, On the plus side, that table looks so much better now!

Things I learned while Shopping Today

  1. Be wary of old ladies at Joann Fabrics.

a.       “Oh hello, dearie! What a cute little boy you are! What’s your name? Can you say your name?” …This seems like a normal enough thing for an older lady to gush at my child. I’m used to it, and typically do not mind as long as the admirer doesn’t try to touch Levi. What happened today, however, surpassed the creepiness of patting my child’s head. Levi, not in the mood to talk to strangers, crossed his arms and scowled at the lady who said that to him. She laughed, and I explained that he tends to be shy. Instead of moving on, the woman stood rooted by our cart, completely ignoring me (I’m not even sure she knew I was there, seriously), and continued to talk, LOUDLY, to Levi, like he was simple and would respond if she worked EXTRA hard to get him to talk with her. I started to push the cart to get away from her, and she wandered off a bit in the other direction. Much to my chagrin, Levi turned around and yelled “BYE!” at her back. This DELIGHTED the woman, who whipped around so fast that I wondered if she really was as old as she looked. She RACED back over and proceeded to try to talk to Levi again, who went back to his defensive stance of crossed arms and scowling eyebrows. She finally seemed to take the hint, and I was relieved. I moved over to the fabric section to peruse fabric square bundles, and quickly became immersed in sorting through the different patterns. After about five minutes, however, I heard Levi chuckling, and I looked up to see him peering around the edge of the tall rack I was standing behind. Then I heard quiet whispers, and when I looked, THE WOMAN WAS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RACK, and she was BENT DOWN so I couldn’t see her over the rack, and was talking to Levi in whispers so that I couldn’t hear! What kind of crazy is that?? I didn’t know, so I immediately took off with Levi and decided to wander around the scrapbook aisles for a bit until the woman disappeared. I stopped to look at a paper pack, and, deciding I didn’t need another paper pack (as I have 30 billion at home), I turned around to SEE THE WOMAN STANDING NEXT TO THE CART, watching Levi… I almost had a heart attack. I said, “Excuse me?” but she wouldn’t even look at me… so I left. I had no idea what to say to someone like that… I’ve been at Walmart and told off people who stand too close to Levi in line, but I had no idea what to say to a normal-looking old lady who was clearly NOT normal. What in the world?

    2. Carts at Walmart are even dirtier than I had previously assumed

a.       I left Joann’s and headed to Walmart because Levi was out of milk, and figured the craziness that is typically abundant at Walmart would take my mind off of that creepy old lady. I was right. Before even getting into the store, I had to drive through the parking lot to find a spot. On the side of the lot, sitting in a row, were a bunch of homeless looking people, who had several carts turned onto their side. One man was sleeping on top of his, and a ratty couple was making out on top of theirs. Another cart was being used as a changing station for a mom who was waiting for the bus. I was so disgusted that I wiped down the cart I used with about 30 wipes before I let Levi near it. From now on, I’m just going to wear disposable latex gloves when I walk into the cesspool that is Walmart.

     3.   You can catch a disease just from picking up a gallon of milk

a.       I suppose this fits under the dirtiness that is inherent to Walmart, as was touched upon in the earlier story of dirty people and their misuse of the carts. I went to Walmart for three things: 2 gallons of milk, Pepsi for John’s lunches, and ranch. I only left with one extra item: eggs. This is not an awesome example of my amazing self control, but a glaring example that shows just how horrifying the store was today; even I could not stand it for longer than necessary. No random shopping for me today! ANYWAY, milk was my last stop. It had been a pretty uneventful trip once inside the store, and all was going well. There was only one woman ahead of me, grabbing a few gallons of milk, so I waited behind her. Thanks to my close proximity, I couldn’t miss when she let loose a gigantic sneeze ALL OVER the rest of the milk gallons. I LITERALLY SAW THE SPIT AND SNOT PARTICLES FLYING in what was clearly attack formation, splattering all over the gallons. I stood there in shock, and waited for her to turn around and see me staring at her in disgust, but she just looked around, bored, before waddling away to go sneeze all over the cheese section. I stood there for a few minutes, and then finally went and grabbed two gallons of the more expensive milk, because it was in a different compartment and I just couldn’t bring myself to pick up a gallon of the snot covered milk. Had I been forced to grab one of the disease carrying gallons, I'm sure that I would not have been able to stop myself from attacking the woman with it and beating her in the head with the germ infested bottle. I could totally see myself, after twisting off the top, pouring the milk all over her and screaming, “HOW DO YOU LIKE IT????”

Sometimes Walmart makes me go a little crazy in the head.

      4.   It doesn't matter how long the line is… I will be doomed forever to pick the one that takes forever

a.       Walmart was super packed, so the lines were super long. I finally found a line in the self checkout that was decently short, so I raced over to it. Only one older guy was ahead of me, and he only had a couple things in his cart. Gloating and patting myself on the back for finding such a good line, I watched as the guy sloooowly tried to scan his first item. After a good five minutes, he gave up, and asked for help. The employee, a girl with dark eyebrows drawn in a huge upside down V above her eyes, came over and joked with the guy for a good ten minutes. I never even saw her help him scan the item, because my eyes were too filled with rage. After she walked away, he managed to scan his next item, and it was time to pay. I started tickling Levi to keep him from getting antsy, but after another five minutes had passed and the guy still hadn’t moved, I looked up. He was standing there, holding his credit card in one hand, and pointing at the credit card machine with a puzzled look. He stood there pointing at it for quite some time, as though the machine would notice his puzzled pointing and print out instructions. I was about to go ask if he wanted help, but he called over the girl again, who sauntered over and proceeded to laugh WAY too loudly (what was even funny about this situation??), and then told him he was supposed to swipe his card. THAT’S what had him confused??

It figured. He probably knew perfectly well how to use that machine before I stepped into that line, and then promptly forgot it the second the wheels of my cart wheeled into his lane. I wonder if I am cursed.

I learned a lot today. I’m not sure it was all happy lessons, but they were lessons nonetheless. I have learned I need to prepare for the store differently than I’ve been going about it. Usually I just pack a diaper bag and make sure my wallet is in it. Now I need to pack mace, a tazer, sanitizer, latex gloves and an instruction manual for the credit card machine. Good to know. Next time I will be prepared…I hope.

Oh, Stereotypes, how embarrassing that I should succumb to thee

Tonight I was thinking over some of the things I had mistakenly thought I would avoid when I became a mother. Some are mindsets, others are patterns of behavior… either way, I can’t believe how WRONG I was…

Stereotype #1:

“My kid is the cutest kid in the world!” OR: A mother’s honest belief that her child is the best looking child, EVER.

This has always greatly annoyed me when hearing another mother spout this. Having been an outside observer to many of those children, I could tell a number of them were not up to par in the looks department, if you know what I mean. I knew that I would not be so blind. If my child looked a bit funny, I would not make such statements of grandeur!

THANK GOODNESS I was gifted with a son who is ridiculously good looking, otherwise this would be pretttty hypocritical. At first, I never brought up his insane good looks to other people, because it was pretty obvious. However, I have different friends who have randomly talked about how THEIR kids were the cutest, which, curiously, was even after they had seen Levi. Denial, obviously. Sometimes I’ve felt bad for them.

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I’m just kidding!! Ok, seriously… my friends do have really cute kids. Which I’m grateful for, because it would be hard to listen to them discuss how cute they think their kids are without my true thoughts showing on my face (or accidentally blurting out something like “Just stop your lies already!! Have you looked at your child lately??”) However… this stereotype is completely accurate, because I have finally reached the point where I am positive that Levi is the cutest little boy I have ever seen. Ever. I don’t expect other people to feel this way, at least… but I wouldn’t blame them if they happened to agree. As a matter of fact, just tonight I was sitting by Levi as he was eating, and I thought, “Oh my gosh! How did I end up with such an ADORABLE kid?? He is gorgeous!!” I find myself being increasingly amazed and awed by his blatantly handsome features. I’m one lucky mom.

However, I’m just going to say this here, I dislike when other moms post statuses that say “My son is the cutest!” Sure, there’s free speech and all that hullabaloo (yeah, I said that), and I’m sure they really do think so… buuut it makes me feel just a TEENSY bit defensive, because, quite frankly, I totally do not agree, and I then have to fight the urge to start a very public fb argument letting them know that they are sadly mistaken. ALL I’m sayin’ is…just be a little bit more accurate, like “My son is the cutest person in the world TO ME.” Not only is that accurate, but it is undisputable.

(Side Note: If you are reading this and thinking, hey, I’ve done that…is she talking about me? Yes. The answer is Yes. Don’t ask me about it. Write your own blog about how you disagree and if I ever come across it, I’ll totally know it’s aimed at me and you will be completely vindicated.)

Stereotype #2:

“I won’t be like THAT mom. I’m going to be a GOOD mom!” 

I realize this covers a broad area. For me, this covers –yelling at your child in public, -giving a toy/dessert to stop a meltdown, -a bedtime after 8pm, -meals that are not completely nutritious, and -spanking out of anger. There’s a LOT more, but to keep this less than 20 pages, I’m going to end the list early.

While I have realized it’s impossible to be a perfect mom (just stop, those of you who just exclaimed out loud “What? Alicia’s not perfect?? Do I have to tear down her shrine now, or does this just mean she’s even more awesome because I can relate to her??”), sometimes it is depressing to look back on the list of things that I was “not going to do as the perfect mom,” and realize that I have done ALL of them, and some of them on a steady basis. It’s humbling, to say the least. (I will clarify that I no longer spank out of anger…That’s an issue that I had to have God’s help to work through… now I’m proud to say I just threaten spanking. It works just as well.) (I may be just kidding about that last part. Maybe.)

I regret past judgments I’ve made on other moms, harshly judging them when I had no idea they were exhausted and could probably use a month’s vacation away from their seemingly innocent child who was really a terror at home. I didn’t realize that you can’t just force a child to eat a nutritious meal…they will eat what they want, in the amount they want (even if it’s just a few bites), and I just have to deal with it. I know there may be someone reading this now thinking that I’m wrong, but that just means you were lucky enough to have a child who likes what you are feeding them. Don’t judge! I have tried EVERYTHING with Levi, even tried to force feed from fear of him starving, and he learned how to throw up on command. So much for my ideas. He’s gradually starting to eat better (he likes broccoli! Hallelujah!)… but it was all on his own timing. It is so HARD having a child as stubborn as me.

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This is quite the experience: Motherhood. It’s not for the prideful, I’ve learned, because it SUCKS constantly finding out how wrong I am about… well, about everything. Some are simple things, like thinking I won’t fall into silly stereotypes like thinking my son is the best looking human toddler on the planet (which, TO ME, he is.) Others are deeper, more personal issues that tend to hurt when I fall short, and bring me face to face with my own weaknesses.

On the up side, I’m learning that I don’t need to be perfect for Levi to turn out alright. He is such an awesome kid, which consistently amazes me, because I sometimes wonder how my missteps and constant failings haven’t turned him into a raging monster. He is so sweet, and POLITE! My kid is POLITE! He says “thank you” and “you’re welcome,” “bless you,” “excuse me,” and he JUST learned “please!” I TAUGHT HIM THAT!! Oh, and listen to this… he even throws away his own dirty diapers…and when he goes to take them from me to throw away, he says “Thank You!!!” HaHA! It cracks me up every time!

I’m pretty sure every mom has different ideas for what they’re going to be like when they’re a mom, and I’m just as sure that many of them are as off track as I was (at least I tell myself that to feel better). Thank goodness it’s OKAY to be wrong about these things! Thank goodness that being wrong doesn’t destroy our children… in fact, what it tends to do is make us stronger parents.

So YAY for being wrong! (That’s the only time you’ll hear ME admit to that, just so you know)

Oh---before I end this, and to prevent possible smiting from God, I’d like to state that I know none of you have shrines of me in your homes. I do not expect you to have them either, no matter how awesome I may or may not be (pshaaaw… not be... yeah right!)

I think that’s it.

The battle rages on...

As the Battle of the Binky wages on, I sometimes wonder if Levi thinks he’s got a monster for a mommy. In his little head, I’m sure he thinks that I wake up an hour earlier than him purposely to feast on a breakfast bowl of Callous Cornflakes with a side of Merciless Muffins. Then, with Coldhearted Coffee in hand, I go to retrieve him from his crib. Fortified from my Brutal Breakfast, I then strip him of one of the few things he loves above all else… his binky. What kind of person would allow someone to grow an attachment to an object from the day of their birth only to viciously tear it away for no seeming purpose?

He’s completely wrong, of course. First of all, my waking up an hour before him is unrealistic, especially since his yells of “Ma! MA! MOM! MOMMA!” work as my daily alarm clock.

I also don’t eat breakfast. By the time I’m done getting him dressed and fed, it’s lunch time. (No, it doesn’t take me forever… we happen to wake up around 11). Clearly, his theory is already full of holes… wouldn’t you agree? (It’s a gift being psychic, always right, AND humble. Phew!)

Besides, he himself is prepared to battle, as he is armed with the adorableness that clings to children who have just recently awakened. I have a hard enough time not squishing him into a zillion tiny pieces to alleviate the overwhelming violent feelings that insist I destroy the cuteness before I am completely undone by it. (Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m sure you have a ‘cuteness’ downfall somewhere. Baby feet? Puppies? Tiny exact replicas of condiments (like little glass jars of ketchup)? What about Sarah McLaughlin’s commercials featuring abused animals that are so ridiculously sad and adorable that you want to go on a killing spree to eliminate the animal abusers of the world? --I’m starting to ramble… Sorry.) My point IS: it is hard to even stay focused on my goal at hand when faced with such an opponent.

 It is no simple thing for me to force myself to do the one thing that I know will upset my child’s entire morning. Do I want him to go from being insanely cute, frumpy, sleepy eyed and snuggly to a screaming cyclone of rage, confusion and pain? You wouldn’t believe the storm of emotion that erupts from him when his binky is removed, and how LONG his tantrums can last. My efforts to make this easier do not work. I have tried to convince him that HE himself doesn’t want his binky anymore, that he is fine with leaving it in his crib for nighttime use only. I have tried to sneak it away by trading it for a piece of food or his sippy cup, and then having it ‘mysteriously’ disappear when he is all done. I have gotten so desperate that I have kneeled in front of him and tried to explain how his binky was affecting the shape of his teeth and his inability to pronounce anything properly. Then, I’ve just steeled myself and taken it from him, repeatedly telling him ‘no’ as he bawled, clinging to my legs and reaching his hand out in a desperate, unspoken plea.

Sometimes, I just feel angry. At times, I am angry at him for making this so difficult. I’ve lost my temper and yelled, and one time I even flung the binky across the room, fed up with his screaming and insane attempts to retrieve it from me. It’s just a binky, for goodness sake! Other times, I feel angry at myself. Of course he doesn’t understand… I’ve handed him this pacifier since day one and taught him to rely on it… now I expect him to just give it up? How dare I yell at him for crying? And then I cry. It’s JUST A BINKY! Why is this so hard??

I’ve tried to figure out why this is such a big deal to me, both the removal of his binky and his reaction to it. If I’m being completely honest with myself, I think I can pinpoint it to an issue of pride, and also underlying anger at having used a binky in the first place. If I can’t teach him to give up his binky, what else will I be unable to teach him? Will everything always be this much of a struggle, and doesn’t this reflect on my abilities as a mother? Why do I have to deal with a screaming monster when the underlying goal here is to help him? I feel more shame than I care to admit every time different friends post statuses about complete sentences their 2 year olds utter. Complete sentences? Levi is still only saying a few words, and he still calls his dad “mommy.” (Although, in his defense, he DOES call him “daddy” when pointing him out in pictures. I don’t get it). If I manage to take away his binky early in the day, he is blatantly more verbal. Therefore, I am led to believe that his keeping his binky will only prevent him from speaking properly or on time.

I’m also worried about how his binky is affecting his teeth. When he closes his mouth, his teeth don’t line up, and his upper teeth are pushed forward creating a perfect space between the upper and lower teeth the exact size of his binky. That in itself angers me, and I sincerely hope it does not affect his adult teeth. I’m angry that I believed the books I read that claimed that binkies no longer affect kids’ teeth. I’m angry that the nurse immediately gave him a binky at the hospital and made me feel like it was okay, when I hadn’t planned on using a pacifier in the first place. I’m angry that a stupid thing like a binky has been the only thing that could calm my child down in the past, instead of ME. I think, overall, I am angrier at the binky itself than at Levi and his unwillingness to part with it.

Now, I know this will eventually be resolved. I just wish that there was an “easy” button instead of having to battle through it, feeling like I’m being unnecessarily mean to my child. I know this isn’t really that huge of a deal… it is JUST a binky… but since this is the war that is currently being waged, I figured I would write about it. I just know in the future I’ll read this and think, wow, why did I think that was so difficult?? If only I’d known what I’d be facing later! Of course, I can also use this as a reference for (possible) future children, in case I forget how hard weaning Levi from the binky was. I don’t want to think, Ehh, why not? Levi used one and we were able to wean him off of it! (After all, I DID forget the pain of childbirth… and if THAT can be forgotten… WELL. I’m surprised I don’t forget my own name, really….but that’s getting off topic.) NEVER AGAIN, Binky, will you reign supreme in THIS house!! I will triumph over you… I WILL!!

…But on the upside (as I do not want this to be a completely pessimistic rant), I have been having some GREAT talks with God lately. He is most definitely helping me with patience, and (refer to previous example) pride. I am learning new things daily, and while I do not particularly like or want to go through these trials, they are definitely bringing me closer to Him, because he is the only one I know who can help me work through my anger/pride/etc. and use these trials to help me change.

So I guess I should be thankful for binkies then?

…Nah. 

Cartoons: fuel for an impending breakdown and grueling alcohol dependence?

Is it just me, or were kid’s shows 500 billion times better when I was a kid?  I’m sure they probably would annoy me a bit if I watched them now, of course. However, even the ‘good’ cartoons nowadays that I don’t mind Levi watching annoy me endlessly, even if they do have a good moral or teach Levi lessons in ABC’s or other educational subjects. I have an example playing in front of me as I write this:

Word World. I want to go to a fancy restaurant that offers Duck just so I can aggressively tear into it to get out my feelings of frustration and annoyance that I experience every time the Duck in this cartoon opens his lisping mouth and complains. Or how about the st-st-st-stuttering sheep? Why hasn’t she been turned into a luscious meal of braised lamb chops? Is it necessary for them all to have some sort of speech impediment? (Not that I think PEOPLE with speech impediments should be turned into a delicious meal. I’m not sure humans would taste that great, and there are several moral issues with that anyway.) (Also, a disclaimer: I had a speech impediment growing up, which totally allows me to make jokes.)

The Backyardigans...**~shudder~** I’m not sure which of them I hate the most. Tasha is a stuck up, demanding little hippo who bosses them all around. Uniqua (what kind of name IS that?) just annoys me in general...what animal IS she? Is she just meant to be confusing? I won’t even mention how whoever does her voice talks. Like. She. Is. Just. Reading. Her. Script. For. The. First. Time. I can’t even think of the penguin Pablo without wanting to punch him in his obnoxious little beak (although I do enjoy the fact that I was able to unintentionally use alliteration in that sentence). His character is tantamount to a person diagnosed with an anxiety disorder, ADHD, and who has a severe dependency on crack and speed. I suppose I do like Austin the kangaroo and the moose Tyrone most of the time. I don’t actually think I’ve ever been annoyed by the moose, now that I think about it. Now that I’ve written that, I’ve JUST noticed how each of those animals seem to represent a different group of people. I can understand the Canadian Moose and Australian Kangaroo… however, a Latino Penguin throws me for a loop, and are they implying an inherent overweight problem with the American people by using a Hippo for America? Or is she representing Africa?  Is Uniqua, the lizard/chameleon/unknown animal, our rep?  What are they trying to say? Is she a mixture of animals, thus resembling a symbolic melting pot?

I’m just kidding. I’m sure they didn’t put that much thought into it.  

…AND The Wiggles! Who came up with that name, first of all? Was it Captain FeatherSword (I’m not even discussing the innuendo in his name), who just slightly gives the impression of…I don’t know…say… a pedophile? “Come here little kids and sit on Captain FeatherSword’s lap!”

NO.

I almost forgot WONDER PETS. Another duck with a speech impediment and an overwhelmingly suffocating ego that makes you wish she had been made into scrambled eggs as a baby. Her ego is unrealistic considering her inability to say her “r’s.” Believe me, I know, having had the same speech imp. and growing up with a brother named “Aram.” His mockery is what helped me say my r’s without speech therapy. Let’s get with the program, Wonder Pets. She’s not going to fix anything with that ego.

Well, I believe I’ve gotten out some of that angst I’ve been feeling for awhile now. At least there’s still Veggie Tales, which, for the most part, doesn’t annoy me. Junior’s singing voice is a tad grating, considering his voice cracks and breaks on every high note, but that’s about it. At least he’s cute.

In ending, I hope I have not offended anyone who might have (or know, or be related to someone who has) a speech impediment, a love of human meat, a pet duck who lisps and can’t say his “r’s,” or a secret crush on the aforementioned Captain and his FeatherSword. Also, if there are Penguins in Latin America and I’m just ignorant as to where, feel free to enlighten me. I happened to fail World Geography. 

Battle of the Binky

Quitting the Binky

(and a look into the ridiculousness that occurs in my day-to-day life)

Let me start out by saying: I wish I had known from the beginning how shockingly hard it would be to remove the influence of a seemingly innocent and unimportant Binky from my son’s life; I may as well have just started him out on crack. I’m pretty sure he was going to end up addicted to SOMETHING, considering John and I have apparently endowed our child with the very worst of both of our traits, and in this case, I’ve got a terribly addictive personality…so of course, so does Levi. Please don’t think I’m only searching for the worst in my child… he has some pretty amazing traits, too. However, it’s difficult to avoid the feelings of hypocrisy day in and day out when I want to scream when he flings a toy across the room in anger, explodes from impatience, or stubbornly refuses to change his mind about ANYTHING… because I know I am the same exact way. What other excitingly terrible traits did he pick up from mommy and daddy that we won’t find out until later? Can we even handle much more of ourselves?

All in all, it’s nice to have something to blame my random mood swings on. Before Levi, I was just a tad bit crazy. Now I have an excuse…my child makes me crazy. Sometimes, at the end of the day, I look back at the highs and lows of my day and wonder if I was slipped a mood enhancer that works in 3 hour intervals. No kidding… I think that describes me EVERY DAY. Here’s a look at my day:

Morning: Levi is just waking up and looks rumpled, slightly puffy, and SO STINKING ADORABLE that I have to fight intense psychotic urges to eat his little face off. He is typically cuddly in the morning, so as soon as I pick him up, he cuddles into my body, tucking his head under my chin and letting out a sigh of contentment. He has even started to say “thank you” when I pick him up, and OH, MY GOSH, the violent urges that ensue can’t even be written down. I then carry him downstairs, and the entire way, I can’t stop myself from saying, over and over, “Thank you Jesus! Thank you God, what an amazing gift You have given me! I am so blessed!” It is not unusual for me to get a bit misty eyed, I don’t mind admitting. What a gift from God, RIGHT?

Lunch: ….He’s still a gift from God, but this gift is DRIVING ME INSANE!! …Really, Levi, you HAD to pour your milk from your sippy cup into a toy cup, and by toy cup, I really mean the coffee table, floor, and daddy’s shoes, with MAYBE a drop making it into the toy cup? …Okay…I know you’re not actually purposely being bad, you’re just doing normal toddler experiments… WAIT! What is this?? You COLORED in Mommy’s new book?? When your coloring book is RIGHT THERE, and you had to strategically figure out a way to get Mommy’s book down from an inconveniently high shelf? (BREATH, Alicia, BREATH! He’s only two… he doesn’t really know the difference….) DID YOU REALLY JUST DUMP THAT ENTIRE PLATE OF MAC N CHEESE ALL OVER THE CARPET?? And it’s not Easy Mac, NO, it’s KRAFT Mac and Stinkin’ Hard To Make on the Stove Cheese, because Mommy LOVES you and knows you will only eat TWO things currently because you are the Pickiest Child In The World! IT’S NAP TIME!!

Happy Two Hour Land of Nap Time: Thank you God for the gift of Nap Time!

After Nap: More thoughts of thankfulness and happiness as I pick up my frumpy, puffy-eyed, poufy haired child, who toddles around dragging his blanky, looking dazed and REALLY STINKIN’ ADORABLE AGAIN. How am I so lucky to have such a cute little kid?? Aw, of COURSE you can sit on my lap while you drink your sippy cup… You want to eat off of Mommy’s plate? Of course, sweetie! Look at you, being SO SWEET! Thank you God!

Bed Time: Levi! Stop trying to tip over the TV! Seriously?? NO, you CAN’T eat DVDs! Don’t fling them away because I told you to put them down!! No… no… don’t go cry in a corner… oh, you are SUCH a drama king… why do I have such a fussy kid? Is it bed time yet? (I could go on, but by now, I’m sure you get the gist).   

Honestly, I know it sounds like I’m being pessimistic (shocking for me, I KNOW), but the good definitely outweighs the bad (and to be cliché, the good parts make putting up with the difficult parts totally worth it). I have such an amazing kid! He still can’t say very much, but what he can say makes me feel like I’m doing something right… constantly saying “thank you” for everything, “bess you” if someone sneezes, and if he sees anyone get hurt, he will immediately rush over and ask, “awight??” repeatedly until he gets an affirmative response.

Along the lines of his talking, I am hoping he will start talking more, because I LOVE every word that comes out of his mouth (although the “mo” (no) is starting to get a bit wearisome), and this is one of the main reasons we are starting to wean him from his binky. (The other is because I don’t want to attempt potty training AND binky removal at the same time. I’m not superhuman!) I know he’s stubborn and totally attached to the stupid thing, but I can’t get mad about it, because mommy and daddy are the same way… but at least in this process we can help each other work out some of the kinks and hopefully gain more patience, willingness to bend, and learn not to hold so tightly to things that we think are so important. In that light, I’d have to say that this isn’t really going to be the battle I was expecting, but a learning and growing experience, and I hope I can keep that in sight.  

Cookies (aka: arsenal in Levi's reign of terror)

“Levi! Come get a cookie!”

“Guckie??”

“Yes, a cookie!”

“Guckie? GUCKIE?? Guckie, guckie, guckie!”

“Here you go… let me get one out of the package for you---“

“-NO!!”

“Ok! You do!”

“NO! NO!” *slaps packet of cookies out of my hand and runs to corner of room, glowering*

“Fine, you don’t get any cookies when you act like that!” *sets cookies on side table*

“Guckie?”

“Say PLEASE cookie, and I will let you have one.”

“Guckie?”

“PLEASE. Say PLEASE. PLEASE cookie?”

“GUCKIE! Guckie? Mama guckie??”

“Fine.” *I know full well how many marks that gets me on the bad parenting chart, thank you*

*After making sure I leave the cookies on the table, not attempting to help remove any AT ALL, lest my touch make the cookies undesirable, Levi spends a considerable amount of time attempting to remove a cookie from the package*

“Guckie?”

“Okay, here, let me get that for you… there you go.”

*Levi wanders over to other side of the room with his cookie. I look over after a minute and see he’s taking teeny crumbly bites, and watching large crumbs fall to the floor. Sighing, I think; “Oh well. I can vacuum.” Then I hear---and I kid you not---dark, gleeful chuckles, as my child takes care to step on every individual crumb he’s dropped and proceeds to GRIND it into the carpet, as forcefully as his little foot can manage.

What happened next, you wonder???? This.

Yep, here I am, writing this. Yes, this JUST happened, and those crumbs are still mashed into my carpet. I should go clean those up, huh? Yeah… I think I’m going to take a few more minutes for myself. At least in writing about it I can turn a potentially tragic situation (for el niño) into a witty anecdote about living with a toddler. However, I’m not sure there’s so much of a story here with an actual moral, as much as this being a way for me to tally up the reasons that I should not add a niño numbero dos, and so that later in life, when my teenager is asking WHY am I SO UNFAIR???, I can haul out my Book of Recorded Wrongs and show him how payback is TOTALLY fair.