How to Get Your Dad to Stop Speaking to You Indefinitely: Announce you spent your birthday at the tattoo parlor getting your nose pierced.
How to Get Your Dad to Start Speaking to You Again: Announce you are carrying his 3rd grandchild.
It starts with next to no sleep because I decide my ear doesn’t hurt that bad anymore. No reason to take Tylenol PM 4 nights in a row. I wake up to a snotty, whiny baby. I get some medicine in her and we’re just settling down to nap cuddle when the phone rings. I get the poor baby dressed, buckle her up and make the trek to the Humane Society.
This where I retrieve my dog for the bargain price of $45—which includes the price of a mandatory microchip—and promptly lock my keys in the car. To my credit, I distinctly remember putting them in my purse. They had to have fallen out when I picked up the leash. This is no comfort while we wait 30 minutes in the lobby of one of the saddest places on earth, which sits right next to juvie. Spectacular view.
Fast-forward to this evening. I’m starting dinner and baby is apparently not sick enough to stay on the couch with a sleeping daddy. First she locks me in the garage when I go out to the freezer. Never fear, that’s why I keep a key out there. Then she picks today of all days to learn how to unlock and open the sliding glass door all by herself. So where’s my $45 dog?
I don’t know either.
Our idiot dog took off last night, chain attached and all. We looked for him, but he was no where to be found. My thought was someone found him and brought him in since it was cold and late. He has tags with our number on it. I was expecting the call I got this morning, but not quite the way it happened.
On the other end was not a nearby neighbor asking us to come get the dog, but the Humane Society telling me I can pay a $40 “return to owner” fee when I drive all the way to the next town to get him.
In what mind was it easier to drive 15 miles with a dog than to call the phone number on his handy little tag? Also? His chain is not with him. Which means that not only do I have to load up a sick baby, drive across town, and pay $40, I also get to buy a new chain and stake.
I did it! Can you believe I didn’t chicken out? I’m so afraid of needles and I have no pain tolerance whatsoever, but I wanted this so bad. Plus, hubby said he wasn’t letting me back in the car unless I had a nose ring. I picked a—surprise!—purple gemstone surrounded in white gold. I was afraid it was too big, but as hubby pointed out it’s still seriously tiny.
I also did these:
Happy birthday to me! I love it so much, I just can’t stop looking in the mirror. Spencer barely seems to notice. Stacia says I don’t look like me, but I think she’ll come around. Brenia thinks it’s pretty and wants one for herself. My parents? Pissed, pissed, pissed. Never mind that I’m 28 years old—which was pretty much the point.
Last week when I announced CBS plans to interview me, I actually made my dad proud for the first time since the time in high school when I brought home straight As just because he said I couldn’t. I’m back to being a disappointment again. All is right with the world once more.
As I celebrate the 4th anniversary of my 24th birthday, I thought it would be fun to look over the last year or 28.
Things I have learned:
- I will never stop missing my grandma.
- Love isn’t all you need—you also need a deep commitment to standing by that love through all the crap that comes your way.
- No matter how well you think you know your children, they will never stop surprising you.
- That’s a good thing.
- Taking time for me is not a guilty pleasure—it’s an absolute necessity.
- Needing time away from my children does not make me a bad mother (okay, so I’m still learning this one).
- Having a community—both here and in real life—is important.
- Merging the two completely rocks.
Things I have accomplished:
- starting a successful business
- maintaining my sanity (mostly) while leading a Brownie troop of 24 first graders
- stopping my mother-in-law from calling 3 times a day
- spiritual growth
- actually writing in my blog
Things I will do today:
- pretend to wear a crown
- pretend I’m not getting closer to 30
- get my nose pierced (If I write it down will that keep me from chickening out?)
- remind myself why I don’t want a tattoo
- have a nice dinner with my family
- eat dessert
- take a long bubble bath
Freaking real news. If I could relax and use the time to get more prepared it would be fine, but no. I have to be neurotic. And procrastinatey. So while I have now been rescheduled once again, I’m still not ready. As soon as I clean up one mess, I have to go clean up the mess she made while I was cleaning up the first mess. Lather, rinse, repeat.
I need a plan. I’m bad at plans. I’m super-disorganized. Just ask anyone. I’d love to say that I’m making progress, except I make it a policy to be honest. Yesterday, as soon as I found out they wouldn’t make it today, I promptly took a nap—which I desperately needed since I haven’t been able to sleep much this week.
When I woke up, you’d think I would have continued with the original plan of cleaning the kitchen and clipping my coupons. Nope. I took my little one for this:
I knew as soon as I was given 2 extra days to prepare that I wouldn’t use them. Now here I am with 2 days left and no closer to being ready than I was on Monday. While hubby may have been able to cross a few items off his list, mine seems to be growing like the Chinese population. “That’s my list — every Chinese person in the world.”
- clip and sort coupons
- organize pantry—in case they actually want to watch me put groceries away too
- organize fridge and freezer—in case I buy cold stuff
- put away lingering Christmas decorations (shutup.)
- organize desk and office
- move fridge to clean orange juice monster spilled today
- find fabric to cover valance we’re making in the kitchen
- deliver remaining Girl Scout cookies—both so I can get paid and to get them out of my dining room
- sweep, mop, vacuum, and clean bathrooms convince hubby that Merry Maids would be cost effective
- iron new outfit
- try on new outfit again to make sure it compensates for the camera’s extra 10 pounds
- decide what to serve for lunch
- find out what time zone 10 a.m. means
- have last minute freak-out preparation session with my personal, marketing consultant
- enjoy my pre-birthday celebration with family
We’re learning to use the potty at Casa de Sokol. And by we, I mean her. What it is about toddlers that makes them have to strip completely to sit on the toilet? I could almost understand it this morning, as she was wearing feety pajamas. That pretty much has to come off altogether. What confused me was her insistence that the bracelet she insisted on donning only minutes before must come off in order for her bottom to attach itself to the potty.
Fast-forward a few minutes. No pee, but we must flush anyway. (By the way, honey, as this is a regular occurrence, you might want to prepare for an increase in our water bill!) Now it’s time to put on our diaper, but she’s a big girl now and big girls don’t lay down to get dressed. This would be much easier if we had moved onto pull-ups, but momma hit a big sale a few months ago and stocked on up size 5s. She’ll make due for another week or so.
As long as she’s already naked, might as well take the opportunity to get dressed:
Mommy: Time to get dressed, baby.
Brenia: No baby. Ben-a.
Mommy: Oh, sorry. Time to get dressed, Brenia.
Brenia: No, I ty.
Mommy: Fine. Here are your clothes.
Brenia: No. Dis one!
points to something else—anything else, just so long as I didn’t choose it.
Mommy: Okay, here.
Brenia: I ty!
Mommy: Yes, you try, baby.
Brenia: No! Ben-a.
Mommy: Okay, Brenia, you try.
Almost too-small shirt gets stuck on almost too-large head.
Brenia: Hope!
Mommy fits shirt over head, and proceeds to help with arms.
Brenia: No! I ty.
Shirt on. Next comes the pants.
Brenia: Hope!
Mommy sliding legs into pants.
Brenia: No! I ty.
Pants are successfully pulled up.
Mommy: Here’s your sweater, Brenia. (I’m a quick study!)
Brenia: I ty!
Mommy: Yes, of course.
Sweater successfully donned.
Brenia: Hope! Butt!
Mommy buttons sweater.
I haven’t tackled shoes and socks just yet, but imagine the scene above with lots of kicking. Lather, rinse, repeat daily until desired independence is reached.