The Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Twos {And A Sermon}

There are days when I love nothing more than being the mother of a two year old.  It's just the best. The cuteness is just so overwhelming that I pretty much cannot contain myself.  She'll sing Fwinkle Fwinkle Little Star to me at top volume for minutes on end; she'll laugh deep, belly, baby laughs when I chase her around the kitchen; she'll stroll her stuffed turtle - she calls him "Cousin Turtle" for unknown reasons -  around the house while wearing a tutu and a bike helmet.  I mean, she calls her mittens "Miltons." Are you kidding me?  I can't even...I just...oh my gosh.  I laugh, I beam, I gaze upon her sweet, sweet face and I thank the Good Lord Above that He allows angels to masquerade as children right here on this earth.

And then I have days like last Sunday.

Days when I have to sit her down and tell her gently but firmly that this is just not working out, that I'm going to have to let her go.  That I wish her all the luck in the world but that she's just not a good fit for me at this time.  That I'll be happy to provide a letter of recommendation.  That, as much as I hate to do this, I'll have to have security walk her out, that I'll be sending her things. 

Not really, but almost.

It's amazing how quickly the dark clouds can roll in with a two year old.  It is scary and it catches me off guard every single time.  The day will be going along perfectly and I'll have the nerve to think to myself, "Wow, this day is really going along perfectly!"  And she senses this, this happiness, this bubbling of confidence in parenting skills and she makes up her mind that this simply will not do, lest the balance of power be tilted ever so slightly in my favor.  And she reigns in these dark clouds, pulls them inward, packs them tight like a snowball, and then lets them loose in a fury so great that everything in her path is blown to smithereens.  Namely me.

Sunday was, in a word, horrendous.  James was out of town on very important business at the Patriots game and I was left alone to fend off Chucky.  It being the Lord's day and all, I got us both ready for church as best I could because it is important, in times when evil lurks, to give thanks for all the many blessings in your life.  Which, yes, that is absolutely what I had in mind when burning rubber into the church parking lot that morning and it had very little, almost nothing really, to do with the heavenly bestowal of free childcare called the Church Nursery.

Thank you, Lord, for an hour and fifteen minutes of peace.  Hour and twenty-five if I walk really slowly out of the sanctuary. 

I settled into my pew and opened my heart, hoping for some message of comfort from the storm.

There were announcements and preludes and calls to worship and other church-y things that happen in a church service.  Man, it was nice.

Next came the special music, The Cherub Choir, a group of other people's angelic and musically gifted children.

Hmph. Cherubs.  NOT IN MY HOUSE.

Sweetly, they sang:
Get on board, little children
There's room for many more!

Yes, please. One way, if you don't mind.

The fare is cheap
And all can go.

Oh, really?  Everyone?  You're sure about that, Cherubs?  I'm not exactly sure where you're going on this train of yours, but you might want to be a liiiiiittle more selective about who you let on.  Just sayin'. 

More church-y things.  More singing.  All very lovely.

Then the pastor stood up and requested a moment of silence for all of those who, in the past year, had entered into eternal rest.

Eternal rest?  You mean, like, a really long nap?  Is there a sign-up sheet?  I'd even settle for a measly little week.  Some people have all the luck.  

Then a sermon.  I love sitting and listening.  Uninterrupted sitting and listening is awesome.

Then came the "Joys and Concerns" portion of the program, when members of the congregation can share their Joys and Concerns.

Here's a concern for you.  I am greatly concerned that I'm in danger of running far, far away and joining the Tea Party.  Not this tea party...

But this tea party...

...where you eat funny cookies and animals talk to you and you lose your freaking mind.  

Then a lady raised her hand and said, "I'd like to share a Joy...my mother is here with me today!  She's 92!"

How sweet.  Someone who likes that her mother is in close proximity to her.  Bet she never kicked her mother in the Adam's apple. 

Then a silent moment of prayer.

Dear God,

I'm losing my [redacted] mind today. Please [redacted] help me.  Because holy [redacted], this mom thing is hard sometimes.

Amen

Then it was time for the Passing of the Peace, where members of the congregation get up to shake each others' hands and say, "Peace be with you" but I kind of missed that part because I was sobbing quietly and had to leave.  People probably thought I was overcome with the Spirit but really it was just me inching one step closer to insanity.  That and it was nearing the end of the service and I knew I'd soon be facing my little demon once again.

But I think God understood.  He understood that even though I tried to open my heart and find peace in the sermon, that I was still a little bitter given the events of the morning.  He understood that I let a couple of cuss words slip in my prayers.  He understood that I had to leave a little early to get some fresh air and to google "What to do if you're failing as a parent" and to prepare myself for what was to come.

And He answered my prayer.  He sent another angel my way.  An angel named Aunt Jennifer, who successfully performed an exorcism entertained Walden for the rest of the afternoon.

Praise Jesus.

(I started this post a couple of weeks ago, when last Sunday really meant last Sunday.  I'm better now, thanks for asking.  Also important to note: exactly a week from the Sunday featured in the above post, James, Walden and I were baptized.  Because you can never be too careful.)

Some pictures of her more angelic moments...

 getting ready for Christmas...

  





 

Can we talk about this, please?

Here's what I think about this picture:

1.  HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAAAHAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHA

2.  HAHAHAHAHAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA

3.  Seriously?!?! No, wait. Seriously.

4.  I hate her.

5.  Can I be her?

6.  Whatever, I am her.

7.  HAHAHAHHAHHAHAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

8.  Those statue things are scary. 

This lady does not do the Mom Car.  This lady does not consider "me time" to be sitting alone in her car in the grocery store parking lot eating a to-go pack of falafel.  Furthermore, this lady does not almost choke on said falafel and then quickly take inventory of the puddles on the ground to see which ones would be sufficient to drink from if it really came to that.  Some people do things like that.  This lady does not do things like that.  I'm just guessing.   

I mean, this lady wears evening gowns when she reads to toddlers. 

Part of me thinks, "You go, girl!  You read that book with that fancy dress on while standing on that stain-free green carpet! You own that shiz!" And then the other part of me, a slightly bigger part of me, says "Dear Jesus, please let that darling little angel baby throw up all over her and her fanciness so that she's, at the very least, forced to change into a different fancy dress, one that's a little less stunning, and is late for whatever ball she's headed to after the kids go to bed. Amen."

I know. I'm terrible.  I'm Fab-Shaming.  This lady is just minding her own business being fabulous and here I am wishing vomit upon her.  I'm sorry.  

And she really is fabulous.  She's Kelly Wearstler.  I know she's beautiful, talented, businessy, sparkly...that sort of thing.  But seeing that she's all those glamorous things and an equally glamorous mom?  I JUST NEED A MINUTE, OKAY?!?

And yes, I know it's one of those stylized, magazine-y type photos that everyone likes to look at because it's so outrageous and beautiful and impossible and perfect.  I know she probably doesn't read to her kids like that.  I mean, she's holding the book in one hand and a child in the other, so you know turning the page ain't happening.  And toddlers don't wait patiently on pretty green poufs in real life.  I know it's not really real.  So my question is why?  Why are photos like this allowed to exist?  And if they are allowed, can there at least be a rule that for every one photo that you publish of yourself reading to your kids in an evening gown, you must put out two that show you falling down stairs or sneezing or something?  

Kelly, please, PLEASE, if you're reading this (ha, like she's not reading this)...STOP IT, I say! Except I know you can't because that's kind of your thing.  But you'd reeaaallly be doing us mediocre folk a solid by showing us all the hideous boils we know you're hiding.  Just once.  Mmmmkay?  

Thanks, Kel, you're the best. 

 

   

Hoarding! Thievery! Oh, and tasers.

Have you ever seen the inside of a car that belongs to a mother of small children?

Mom cars - and maybe I'm generalizing here - are like little motorized scenes from Hoarders.  Thousands of tiny socks, stray shoes with no matches, stickers with hair stuck to them, sippy cups with cottage cheese animals colonizing inside, at least 4 or 5 undressed baby dolls, and maybe a lone dirty diaper that got stuffed into that little pocket at the bottom of the door because that is where you put things that you need to throw away when you get home but you forget and whatisthatsmellgoodlord????  And the crumbs...ohhhhhh the crumbs.  The Mom Car is where the mom lets her guard down.  Sure, she may look put together, dressed in the finest sweatpants Target can provide.  Sure, she may be able to read One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish while talking on the phone and checking Pinterest and cooking dinner all at the same time because girl knows how to multi-task like she's getting paid to multi-task.  But the Mom Car is a place where the mom can be the person she really can't show to the rest of the world.  Mostly-empty coffee cup?  Throw it on the floorboard.  That note the teacher sent home which you read but don't feel like taking inside and filing in your neatly organized and color coded preschool binder just yet?  Floorboard.  Child hands you a booger from the backseat?  That's right.  Floorboard.  Because in the Mom Car, honey badger don't care.  It's a way of kind of biting your thumb at being clean and organized and put together in the rest of your life.  It's therapeutic, really.  You should try it. 

But like many things in my life, I kind of took the Mom Car idea too far.  I mean, there's Hoarders and then there's Hoarding: Buried Alive.  So a couple of weeks ago, I cleaned out the car and have been surprisingly particular about keeping it that way.  So when I got into my car Monday morning to find it in disarray, I called James to ask him very nicely, of course, if he had, perchance, rummaged through my glove compartment like a psycho and left its contents strewn about, with no regard to my new, clean car habit.  He said no. 

Guys, someone broke into our car.  Right in our own driveway!  Right under our noses!

Well, they really sort of just opened the door and took some stuff because someone (rhymes with Lames) left the car unlocked.  But still, that is NOT ALLOWED.  Under the cover of night, the dirty rats opened my car door, sat inside, ransacked my things and then took my GPS and my empty Altoids box.  What the hell, dirty rats?  And you know what?  I don't even care about the GPS.  I do care about the empty Altoids box because I was saving it to make this...

Source: ohsweetbabies.com via erika on Pinterest

...but if they really wanted my GPS, all they had to do was leave a post-it note stuck to my window, explaining that they're having a hard time finding their way around lately and could really use some help in that department and then provide a forwarding address and I would have mailed it to them.  Overnight even!  With a note saying that Emily (that's what we call her) can be very temperamental at times and totally neglects to notify us of traffic jams but to take good care of her anyway because she's been good to us and has taken us on some mighty fine adventures in our short time with her.  That's what I would have done, because I am nice. 

But they did not do that.  No.  

Thieves, take note:  YOU DO NOT GET TO BE IN MY CAR.  It is my car.  My Mom Car.  You do not get to breathe my car air.  It is my car air.  And more importantly, it is my baby's car air.  You do not get to sit in my seat and leave all your little thief cooties all over the place.  You do not get to touch my things with your little thief hands.  See, it's the touching and the breathing that I have a real problem with.  Don't get me wrong...I would prefer to keep stuff that belongs to me.  Stuff like GPSes and Altoids boxes.  But I'll move on from that because, for reasons unknown to me, you did choose to leave the Cracker Barrel gift card that I keep in the glove compartment for emergencies, and therefore, there is a teensy, smidgen of a chance that I may forgive you for the stealing at some point.  But consider this your only warning.  Hands off, you dirty rats.  Pull this kind of thing again, and you will be hunted down and you will be tased.

"Get your damn hands off her [Mom Car]." - George McFly

On a completely unrelated note, does anyone know if Target carries tasers? 

Sometimes I Pee A Little When I Jump Rope {And Other Indignities}

The first few weeks, and maybe even months, of Walden's life took about 87 years.  I was lost, didn't know what I was doing and every moment was a fight to keep myself from jumping in my trusty Delorean and blazing a trail back to 1985, when all I had to do was sit in an empty refrigerator box, eat raw turnips and watch The Little Prince through the hole my mom had cut.  Simpler times. 

But then somewhere along the line, someone hit the fast forward button, because I swear it's only been about 2 weeks since I last blogged...and yet, the date on my last post says September 9, 2011.  What happened?  I think maybe I started having a little fun with this crazy thing called motherhood?  Maybe? I mean, I still don't really know what I'm doing and I still dream about taking trips backward in my Delorean, although maybe the date sometimes changes and maybe sometimes I take a gander at 1992 in order to fully appreciate the fact that I no longer have bangs that start at the back of my head and burst forth in what I like to call "the hyperactive chicken" but YES, for the most part I've been having fun and, you know, time flies and all that.  That and...I'm still doing that thing where you sleep when the baby sleeps, and it is very hard to blog when you are napping. 

Speaking of going back in time, I am headed to my Almost 15th High School Reunion in a couple of weeks.  Remember when I mentioned that thing about having chicken hair?  Well, most of the people who will be at this reunion were present during that darling little stage of my life.  If they weren't, then they were almost certainly around for my "white-t-shirt-tucked-into-mom-jeans and Birkenstock" phase and if they weren't around for that then maybe they'll remember that time I dressed like a nun and sang in front of the entire student body which, of course, was during my "pageant" phase.  And just how I am supposed to show my face to these people again?  Well, obviously, Jamie - you're probably thinking - OBVIOUSLY you are not that person anymore.  Obviously, they will see that the awkward specimen you once were has now morphed into the beautiful, not-awkward butterfly you are now, the epitome of grace, style and sophistication.  That is obviously what you are thinking.  Well, you would be right if this were 2009.  In 2009, I was all of those butterfly things.  I was.  I promise. 

But in 2010, I became a mom. 

Most new moms, at least in the first several weeks, go through somewhat of an awkward stage - wonky belly, losing hair, smelling like an onion, that kind of thing.  (If a new mom isn't at least a little bit awkward, it's perfectly acceptable to hate her guts and then spread one or two mildly offensive rumors about her.)  I went through this stage after having Walden, and when it was over, I thought, "Oh, whew.  Glad that's over.  Now I can go on with my bad self." 

But I'll be damned if I haven't blossomed in other awkward ways.  Like, for example, sometimes when I'm at the gym and I'm jumping rope, lo and behold I wet myself a little because apparently I'm 92 years old.  And then the way I comfort myself afterward is to tell myself, "Oh well, maybe they'll just think it's crotch sweat."  

Or when I'm in a conversation with a group of other preschool moms and they're all cute, saying things like, "I mean the glitter in these art projects!  It just gets everywhere!  I find glitter in my hair all the time!" and they laugh and toss their pretty, glittery hair and I'm just standing there like...

 ...sputtering stuff like, "I LIKE SHINIES."  Because someone stole my brain.

THIS IS WHAT IT'S COME TO.  Incontinent, incompetent....awkward.  Physically.  Mentally. Socially.  Just awkward.  I'm bringing it back. 

Maybe I'll cut myself some of the ol' chicken bangs so no one at the reunion will notice what I've become. 

Lord have mercy.

...and to get that whole image out of your head, here's a better one...

what a difference a year makes.  first day of school. also, i put her dress on backwards.

 

Around the Target in 13 minutes

Had a little situation yesterday.  Thankfully, no one was hurt, but I will tell you that it was a pretty close call.

Walden discovered jeggings.

~

It went like this:

3:47 pm:  Walden and I enter Target.  Happiness abounds.

3:52 pm:  We find ourselves in the baby department (you'll want to remember this part for later).

3:55 pm:  I spot something out of the corner of my eye.  I pick it up.  I am suspicious.

3:55:10 pm:  I look around to make sure we are, in fact, in the baby department and not, in fact, in the Snookie department. 

3:55:15 pm:  I inspect pair of jeggings.  Pair of jeggings has tag that says "Size: 9 mo." I am holding baby jeggings.

3:55:15 pm - 3:57 pm:  I am incredulous.

3:57:05 pm:  Walden grabs jeggings out of my hand.  I am not quick.

3:57:07 pm:  Walden and I have brief conversation about not being ready for this jelly.

3:57:20 pm:  I help Walden with this concept by removing jeggings from her grasp.

3:57:21 pm:  Happiness ceases to abound.

3:57:21 pm - 3:59 pm:  World War III

3:59:01pm:  

 

3:59:56 pm:  I ask Walden if she even cares that everyone in Target now thinks that I'm buying a pair of jeggings.  For my baby.

3:59:59 pm:       

 

4:00 pm:  I ascertain that the answer is "no." 

Like I said before, crisis averted, but just barely.  Thankfully, someone walked by and told Walden she was cute, so while she was posing for them and basking in their adoration, I did away with the jeggings without further incident.

But seriously...jeggings?  For babies?  I don't think I'm ready for that jelly.

Annual Review

Name:  Walden Nicole Scribner
Date of Hire:  7/20/2010
Job Title:  Baby

The following is a 360 review of Walden's performance in the position of Baby from 7/20/10 to 7/20/11.  

Areas of Strength:  We applaud Walden's efforts and superior performance in Smiling, Giggling, Squealing, Being Cute, Clapping, Bathing, Feeding Lucy, Going Places, Batting Eyelashes, Getting Dirty, Rocking Out, Giving Hugs, Giving Kisses, Cell Phone Operation, Scoping out Danger and Lunging Towards It Fearlessly, and General Manipulation of Supervisors.

Areas of Opportunity:  We hope to see Walden beef up her efforts and performance in the area of diapering.  In Q1, Q2 and Q3, Walden was focused and team-oriented, but finished out the year being less of a team player than we had hoped.  While we are happy that Walden has mastered the art of wiggling like a deranged squirrel, we encourage her to find a more appropriate time and place to do it other than while diapers are being changed.  As with diapering, Walden's attitude seemed to become more unpredictable in Q4.  While she generally exhibits a positive attitude most of the time,  when faced with certain challenges (such as getting her face wiped, getting hugged by the wrong parent or having bows put in her hair) she can become more...shall we say...aggressively vocal than we would prefer.  While we appreciate that such willfulness is also an asset in many ways,  we do recommend that Walden let her mama put bows in her hair, because that is what mamas do. 

Summary:  Walden is a valued member of the Scribner Team, and we have decided to renew her contract for the coming year and to promote her to the position of Toddler.  Congratulations, Walden!

Signed,

Head Supervisor

promoted

walden + big fish

hot date. separate rides.

walden's world.

party time.

excellent.

polka dot party

cupcakes with just one pink dot look like boobs. add more dots.

yum. maybe.

presents.

hugs.

giggling + grammie

secrets, secrets are no...well, actually, secrets are pretty fun.

being a mommy is hard enough when the baby is fake

cold

for those about to rock, we let our daddies dress us

wee

Happy Birthday to Walden!!

the happy birthday girl

more posts and pics to come...

xoxo