Scarlett Letters

He said what?

I don't much care for this boy in Scarlett's class.  Yes, I realize that it's wrong to not like a 3.5 year old and I should direct my dissatisfaction at his parents.  But I don't like him.  Nor his parents much.

Let's call him Gus.

A couple of weeks ago when I dropped Scarlett off at school, Gus was arriving too.  He immediately started playing with imaginary guns and kicking all the lunch boxes on the cart.  His mom was too busy talking to me to tell him to stop.  Scarlett looked at me with that knowing look of hers.  I praised her for not kicking the lunch boxes.  He stopped.  His mom kept talking.

Whatever.  No biggie.

But this morning, Andy decided that he does not like this kid.  And tonight, I decided that neither do I.  

This morning on the way to school, Scarlett said, "Mommy, Gus is a boy in my class.  My pants are my class.  So Gus is in my pants."

I happen to think this announcement was fabulous.  And I am choosing to focus on her logic skills.  Some form of early mathematical reasoning deduction logic. 

But her Daddy finds no humor in this.  And he blames it entirely on Gus.  I think he is overreacting, just a pinch.

Tonight, Scarlett says, "Gus doesn't think I'm a good kid.  Gabby thinks I'm a good kid, but Gus doesn't.  So he wants to kill me." 

Ok, now that Gus character has gone and done it.  

And yes, turns out she knows what that means.  That word should never have come out of my sweet little one's mouth. 

I think I'm gonna go with my imaginary guns and go kick their house down while Gus's mom chats away.

Word of the Day

(Warning:  This post has the word boogers.  Yes, I realize I have now written back to back posts dealing with poop and snot.  I am writing about a three and a half year old afterall.)

Conversation of the day:

S:  Mommy, I need a tissue

M:  Here you go.  Remember to blow really hard.

S:  I don't blow.

M:  Oh.

S:  I just put the tissue up my nose and pick out the boogers.

M:  OK. That sounds like a good plan.

A few seconds go by.

S:  Here is the tissue, Mommy.  That worked really well.  I got all of the boogers out of my snotters.

And now I have my absolute favorite word ever.  How did I go nearly 35 years without saying Snotters?

Oh, Crap!

I am pretty sure I'm jinxing us by writing this post.  But I can't keep the news in any longer, my friends.

The news that we are having a diaper burning party this weekend!!!  For those that have been on this journey with us, or with any other parents of a toddler slash preschooler, I know you can feel the excitement pouring into every keystroke right now! 

We have taken the approach of don't make a big deal, and it will happen when she is ready.   "She won't be five years old and still pooping in a diaper, Krista" was something I have heard often.  But, I had come to the conclusion that this was a load of crap.  Literally.

She was, in fact, going to be the only kid in Kindergarten that was a secret diaper wearing for poops in the evening kid.  As with now, none of her teachers or friends would even know that she was not meeting the school requirements of 100% potty trained.  Only her family would know that the Grandpa who doesn't change diapers can't pick her up from school.  Or that we can't schedule any after-school activities because our only mission was rushing home to get a diaper on her because she had been holding it in all day. 

I was pretty sure that I would one day be caught AGAIN talking to the CEO (or being the CEO) with a poopy diaper in my hand.  The diaper of my 8th grader.

I was confident we would be sending Scarlett money for diapers, not food, when she is away at Harvard.

My kid has been talking in complete sentences since she was 20 months old.  She can logic her way out of anything, surpassing even my superb negotiating skills.  There was no way in Hell I was buying the argument that this same kid just didn't understand what was expected of her.  I mean, she has been peeing of her own accord in the potty for 9 months.  This was not rocket science being asked of her. 

But, we followed everyone's advice and let it alone.  Except for reminding her in her most constipated of states every now and then that when she was diaper free, we had a big trip to the Disney Store planned.  Oh yes, I let the issue "go" and did not push it.  But I fully embraced the concept of rewarding her with something other than my praise.  There were a lot of things  I swore I would never do when I was a parent.  Rewarding with candy or material things for using the potty was one of those things.  Like many of my other judgemental proclamations, that one went out the door when I found myself with a kid screaming about poop coming out of her butt and me racing through Big Lots - a store I had never stepped foot in before - looking for diapers, any size, any brand, who the eff cares.  Yep, it was in that moment that the "you can have anything in the whole Disney Store just friggin shit in the toilet" decision was made.

And so imagine my surprise when I walk into the bathroom last Monday and see poop in her potty.  I screamed as if Ed McMahon was at my door with balloons and a camera crew behind him!   She came running in and looked pretty darn surprised herself.  I had - and still don't have - any clue if she even knew this had happened.  And clearly it had been there a few hours.  Huh.

I turned off the oven that was cooking our dinner.  When Andy got home, we jumped in the car and Mickey Mouse was very pleased with her $65 accomplishment.  She said, "wow this is a lot of money."  We agreed but each secretly thought to ourselves, the proudest and best $65 we have ever spent.

I worried that the next day we would be back in diapers.  When I got the text the next afternoon with the glorious picture of her second accomplishment, I was even more excited than the previous day.

I worried on the third day that we would back in diapers.  She did not poop at all that day.  And so I worried. 

I worried on the fourth day that we would be back in diapers.  Imagine my excitement when I saw her climb onto that potty not once, not twice, but three times (a lady) and do the deed.

I did not worry on day five.  And I did not worry today.  Now I just flush.  And do a little happy potty dance.

 

 

Open Minded

Today, Scarlett and I passed a man holding a baby on his lap.  My uneducated guess is that they were both Latino.  Sitting next to them on the bench were a man and woman and my uneducated guess is that they were Asian.  They appeared to be much older than the man and baby, and from the way they were sitting, I don't think they were all there together.

Scarlett LOVES babies and she met this one with the same enthusiasm she demonstrates to all babies all the time.  She smiled that big old grin and waved and said "Hi Baby".

Then she announced to me, "Ahhh, there's a baby and her daddy and her other daddy and her mommy."

May she always be this open minded about how families can come in all shapes and colors.

Innocence.

Just like her Mama

A few months back, I wrote this post about our budding Leader.  It seems Scarlett's leadership skills are continuing to develop at full speed.  Some would say they are taking on more of a Bossy attribute.  Of course, she just turned two so bossy does sort of come with the territory.  Her teachers say she is a Leader so I'm going to stick with that more positive characteristic though.

Scarlett started pre pre-school a couple of weeks ago.  It is going much better than I anticipated.  She may have a more critical accounting but all in all, we are pleased with her transition.

I wonder if there are kids in her new school that may feel a little differently, however.

We have been observing over her first 3 weeks that when she arrives at school, she does not have much interest in playing outside.  She is much more focused on getting into her classroom (this is an interesting development since at home she only wants to be outside).  The activity that comes before the classroom is a single file line against the wall.  By Day 2, Scarlett had become a pro at lining up, back against the wall, singing the "Line Up" song.

On Friday when I took Scarlett, who is the youngest - and of course, smallest - child at the school, her teacher shared an interesting story with me.  The teacher had noticed that three boys from the oldest classroom (four and five year olds) were lining up against the wall during the mid-morning outside play period. 

She went over and asked them what they were doing.  They collectively pointed at MY DAUGHTER and said "she told us to line up and stay."  The teacher then watched as Scarlett came over, saw that one of the boys was making an exit for the slides, and immediately held up her hand and said "STAY."

Yes, that is right.  My barely turned two 3 weeks ago daughter is already bossing around - I mean, leading - boys who are twice her age.  If her red hair, blue eyes, and light skin didn't clue you in to the fact that this child is genetically linked to me, the story of her ordering around the older male species should make it crystal clear.

I couldn't be more proud.

Her Daddy couldn't be more worried.

MONKEY girl

Ya Ya has taught Scarlett a million cool things over the past year and a post about all of this is coming soon.  She claims that when she started hanging out with Scarlett a year ago, we only gave her one instruction and that was to get the child to eat.  She has horror stories - as we all do who counted her food intake in half ounce increments - of sprinting back to the house after a stroll through the neighborhood in hopes she could get even one more ounce into her before she fell totally asleep. 

But I think her second priority is raising the next Jane Goodall.  It is her mission to get Scarlett to understand that monkeys have tails, apes do not.  A very simple statement but if you were to ask our resident anthropologist, she would say as simple as that statement is, the implications for the understanding of the human race are far more critical.  And so she works on Scarlett's grasp of this concept everyday.  She is elated when Scarlett gets it right.  And pissed off when Andy undoes her work by talking about apes with tails and calling Scarlett, who clearly does not have a tail. a monkey. 

She thought it important to document Baby Goodall's progress on camera:

Download MVI_1689

See Her Grow

Scarlett turned Two yesterday.  We had a magical day taking her to Disneyland for the first time.  I'm working on another post with highlights and pictures of her day.

But first, I just have to do a photo post showing how much she has grown since the day she graced us with her arrival on April 8th, 2008.  My fabulous friend, Carrie, turned me on to the new tradition of taking a picture of baby with a stuffed friend every month of her first year and every birthday thereafter.  Scarlett's picture buddy is Bubbles the Monkey.  

10 days old.  Wow, Bubbles will always be her giant friend.

1 month old.  An even tie at 20 inches.

2 months old.  Froggy legs have set in so she's still looking tied with Bubbles.

3 months.  No more froggy legs!  Or she just doubled her leg length in one month.

4 months.  She rolls over now!

5 months.  She lifts her head and does the soldier crawl!  

6 months.  She still cracks up like this:

22 months.  I know, I digressed.  But the picture is worth it!

6 months again.  She sits!  Best friends.

7 months.  (One of my favorite dresses on her)

8 months (and a few days).  She holds books and claps with Bubbles now!

I missed taking Bubbles and Me pictures a couple of months.  Bad Mommy.

First Birthday.  Had just taken her first steps a few days before so I love this picture because it shows how she is still a little unsteady on her feet.  And how much bigger she is than Bubbles!

And now, we have this big girl and her little friend, Bubbles:

 

Scarface

Scarlett will be two next week.  (let me pause a moment before I go on to let that sink in). 

Apparently she wanted to get a head start (literally) on the whole being two and clumsy thing.  I have a picture of me in grade school with a pretty nasty black eye and a missing tooth, the former the result of taking a knee to the face as I departed a slide at the playground and the latter the result of being seven years old and wishing for the Tooth Fairy.

Now, my daughter has her first Don't-Ever-Let-Child-Protective-Services-Find-This-Picture photo:

After a rough morning testing out her new school, Scarlett was very anxious for her playdate with Ya Ya.  Lunch was packed and the girls were off to the Burrito Ritto  (our name for the local yummy mexican food restaurant that is walking distance from our house) and the park.  She took the front steps a little too quickly.  I heard her head hit the pavement.   My sister has correctly said this is the worst sound she has ever heard in her life.  For a few years the worst sound I had heard was the three distinct fractures of my ankle.  My kid's head hitting the cement is far worse.

I'm pretty calm in these situations.  I was true to form today.  Well, after the 60 seconds of saying - no for the record, whispering over my shoulder- every swear word I've ever heard or imagined when I picked her up and saw blood coming from her nose.

Apparently, I'm a bad mom though.  After seeing that she wasn't vomiting or trying to sleep right away, I determined that though she didn't look so great, she was going to be just fine.  So I went to work.  Mommies aren't supposed to do that I guess.  My husband and mom were a bit irritated that I wasn't rushing her to the doctor, or egads, the Emergency Room.  I turned the car around and came home.  I called the doctor.  The nurse said something quite shocking.  "Kids fall everyday, she is going to be just fine."  I asked her if she would so kindly call my mother and share the good news. 

Scarlett made out pretty good though.  She didn't have to go the doctor AND she got her Mommy home with her all day.  Well, it's hard to say she made out that great when you forget about it for a few minutes and then look down and your daughter's face is red and bruised and looks like someone chased her down with a red marker.

If I didn't have these pictures, I wouldn't be able to convince anyone it happened because she seems to have no long term trauma.  She didn't even mention it to Daddy when he came home. I'm hoping she doesn't feel more sore tomorrow.  For now, she felt good enough to smile for the mug shots I took for Child Protective Services.

I love you, Scarface, even if I do run off to work when you've just met the cement for the first time.  I'm going to keep you in bed with me tonight and snuggle up real close.  I know you are just fine but your Mommy needs a little extra lump of sugar tonight. 

She said WHAT?!?!?!

Disclaimer:  To any Boys or squeamish Girls reading this, toward the end of the post the topic of menstruation is brought up, and the word "tampon" is used.  I'm just warning you.

Last week, I became a published author in a medical administration journal.  I also reconciled a $5.3 million budget to within seven bucks.  I had an extra spring in my step going into this week. 

Confidence should always be tested.  And mine has been this week.

On Wednesday, I was asked by the perky 19 year old music teacher if I was Scarlett's grandma. Yes.  Grandma. G-R-A-N-D-M-A.  Andy and Katie have provided me with a list of reasons as to how she could have possibly made this mistake. None of it really matters though.  In the end, somebody, regardless of her age, naivety, intellect level, did in fact think that I was my two year old daughter's grandma. 

Last night, I went to an aerobics class.  (The fact I call it 'aerobics' definitely ages me, I know.) There was a three year old little girl, cute as a button, sitting in the back gracefully imitating her mom's movements.  Half way through the class, when I was trying to figure out how to simultaneously move my left arm with my right leg to the beat of Black Eyed Peas, the little tike announced, "See Mommy, she doesn't know what she is doing too."  She was pointing to me.  The thing is, three year olds don't lie.  Or use any form of discretion when making statements like these in a room full of people.

When I got home from class, I realized that the honest little snot could have actually made an announcement about me far more embarassing. If anyone has any recommendations for exercise proof tampons, I'm making a list.  Yep, that's right, I bled through my why-didn't-I-wear-black gray exercise pants.  I had "a feeling" it happened and was hoping I just had a bladder control issue.

Let me repeat this last statement as I think it was truly the lowest point for me this week:  I spent 30 seconds praying that I peed my pants in a room full of strangers.

I'm very thankful that I have a good sense of humor.  And my parents taught me good self esteem.  Because I have no problem laughing any of this off.  That is, once I come out from hiding beneath my pillow and vowing never to leave the house again. 

Oh, and I'm most thankful that I have this little face smiling up at me from a little person who calls me Mommy and blows me kisses every day:

It's hard to get too down on myself when I realize I am partly responsible for creating this miracle.  Even if I did that as a fat, uncoordinated, bleeding mess "grandma". 

Dashboard Mommy

Today I was stopped next to a woman at a stop light and she was waving her arms and hands and appeared to be shouting.  Some people may have thought her crazy.  Some may have even been concerned.

But I was not concerned with her sanity level or safety.  I smiled and gave her a nod of understanding.

I recognized this woman.  She was the one who used to play dashboard drums to Lenny Kravitz's "American Woman" as she sang out of tune at the top of her lungs racing through the city. 

Those faux drum sticks have been turned in for imaginary spiders and stars and teapots. 

Yes, I recognized her.  She is the Mom trying desperately to keep her kid happy, or at least awake, as the street lights with their ever present redness, wage war on the backseat drivers. 

Sing on, sister.  Have that spider climb up that spout!  Wonder with all your might about those twinkling stars!  Make that teacup shout!  I don't care how out of tune you are or how ridiculous your arm gyrations are as you sit ten feet from me on the street. 

There is one special little person (and maybe more) in that backseat who loves and appreciates your Star Search - I mean American Idol - star performances.
 

Our Backseat Driver singing her ABC song