Where's My Cape?

All I ever needed to know, I learned from Shrek

Girl: What's this?

Me: It's your nipple. We all have two of them.

Girl: On Shrek, I saw one person had only one eye.

Medical Advice Monday: Anatomy of a Dinner-time Meltdown

*not pictured:
screams, grunts,demands, perseverance, insanity, obstinacy, satanic possession

Probably a step up from 'Ariel'

"Mommy? When I grow up, can I marry Boy?"

Sank you, Lord.

[How we start dinner at the KC household]

Dear Lord,

Sank you for da food. Sank you for all da bwessings.

Sank you for Mommy not getting stuck.

Sank you for Mommy taking me to school, and sank you for Daddy picking me up from school.

Sank you for da kids playing on the bwack top.

Amen.

Dat's a good prayer!

Do not read if you are not a woman

Girl: What's that?

Me: *looks up to see Girl's face in the crack of the bathroom door* *holding tampon on a string*

Me: Um...Hmmm...It's a tampon.

Girl: Is that for tea?

(this recalls the time Girl saw a wrapped tampon and asked if it was a straw)

Lessons in French at the dinner table

Girl (holding up her kiddie cup): Cheers!

KC, Husband: Cheers! (touching wine glasses to her cup)

Husband: Do you know what they say in Spanish?

Girl: Yes! (Pause) Tell me.

Husband: Salud!

Girl: Saloo!

(touching of glasses and cup)

Husband: Do you know what they say in Chinese?

Girl: Tell me!

Husband: Ask Mommy.

KC: Gan-bei!

Girl: Gan-bei!

(touching of glasses and cup)

Girl: Do you know what they say in French?

(waits for answer)

Girl: Ooh-la-LA!

(holds up cup)

Zero ABC

One of the few episodes of Nanny 911 (or was it Supernanny?) I watched involved an issue with a child who CONTINUALLY got out of bed at night. Each time, she would have to be walked back into her room, tucked in, only to have this repeat in a never-ending cycle of parental pain. All night. I can't even remember if we had Girl yet, but I do distinctly remember thinking: PLEASELORDNO.

From that point on, I dreaded the day that this would come. It gave me mental dry heaves.

So, imagine my delight to discover that somehow, Girl came to believe ALL ON HER OWN, that she was not supposed to leave her bed once tucked in at night until we came to get her in the morning. I mean, hello! Awesomeness! Occasionally, she would resist going to bed and not want us to leave, but once we pried ourselves away, she was in. For the night. If she woke up earlier than when we came to get her around 7 am, she would read her books in bed and otherwise ENTERTAIN HERSELF. And, thus, the Golden Age of Bed Confinement (GABC) continued. The King and Queen of the Land were mighty satisfied.

The only real problem that came out of the GABC was that if there was some issue, even minor, say, her needing the fan to be turned on, turned off, socks on, socks off, wax on, wax off...she would need to summon us to her. Usually this would begin with inaudible articulations - mamamamamamama - moving to louder MamaMamaMamaMamaMama - until finally crescendoing to a MAMA!WAIL!MAMA! WAIL! cacophony of discontent. The speed at which this occurred was slightly chilling.

Yet for a long time, we tolerated this because DUDE let the GABC continue. It's better than the alternative!

The only other problem with the GABC was the dependency on The Night-time Diaper. To our defense, we figured she couldn't be possibly ready to ditch it (despite otherwise being potty-trained for 1 1/2 years) since every morning, it weighed approximately 10 pounds. Seriously. You could do bicep curls with it. However, we did not consider that it was 10 pounds because of almost 12 hours of bed confinement. Yes, well.

Meanwhile, the crying episodes were increasing. Being scared started accounting for a large percentage of cries and I was getting up sometimes several times at night to soothe her. (The Queen of the Land was far less satisfied with this turn of events, and the fact that the King always wore his royal earplugs to sleep.)

I realized, though, that we were essentially reinforcing her to cry in order to get her needs met. Which was not our original intention (that was purely selfish). So, we took a deep collective breath this week and declared the end of GABC.

We told her that she was able to get up and get us if she needed something. She could get up and go to the bathroom is she had to.  Empowering her.

Today was the 3rd day in a row she woke up with a 0 lb diaper, having gotten up 1-2 times at night to go on her own. She has not cried because of being scared. She has even turned off her own nightlight because it was "too bright." And she has been beaming with pride every morning with her night-time successes, so proud to be a big girl.

Empowering the girl. Amazing how the rest just follows. Embarassing to not have done this sooner.

Speaking of frugal tigers

So, it will come as no big surprise that Girl wanted to be a tiger for Halloween this year. Again.

Last year, we got her this awesome tiger outfit of the non-plastic-face variety. It had a removable tiger head! A tail! Soft fur! Mind you, I spent a large chunk of my childhood in broke costumes a la Blue Light specials. When your entire framework of children's Halloween costumes involve vinyl aprons, flimsy elastic bands, and shallow plastic face shells with pointy eye holes, the tiger costume was QUALITY.

Of course, hearing her pronounce that she would be a tiger again was music to my ears. Rejoice! I was also feeling especially fortunate that this was a unisex costume that, BY GEORGE, Boy will be clamoring to wear a couple years from now (think: masterful subconscious manipulation). That costume is going to be used 4 times by this family come hell or high water! I am ALL ABOUT unisex clothes these days.

Anyway, I knew I'd be missing Halloween due to the conference this year, so I didn't think much more about it. Old tiger costume it was!

Seeing the pictures, though, of Girl squeezed into that tiger costume this year smacked me with guilt. Clearly, she had outgrown the costume. The back didn't close all the way. The front hung down lower than ideal, exposing a non-matching colored t-shirt underneath. The legs were short. There were apparently wedgie issues going on. It's like when I send her off to school with wonky pig tails since I apparently missed the mom class on Doing Girls Hair Properly 101. (What? I'm not proud of my remedial hair festooning skillz.) The way she looks is a direct reflection of (poor) parental oversight.

I was telling an incredibly smart and awesome friend today about my costume-inspired guilt when she asked me if Jolie was happy in the costume (why, yes, that's what I heard) and that I wasn't there to see the joy that was in her steps as she pranced from door to door. True.  And that's what counts most, right? She probably won't remember the too-short-legs and the slightly-tight head and the butt wedgies; hopefully, she'll  only remember GRARing in all her tiger glory and getting CANDY in return.

Mental note: destroy all photographic evidence.

The Little Mermaid and God

Girl's bedtime stories have become increasingly complex. This guarantees a running commentary of Why? Where's the King? Who's that? and a certain amount of parental driving on with the storyline, hoping to run over a few questions along the way. This is necessary for mental survival (ours). And for bedtime to occur before dawn.

At times, it seems that her actual comprehension of the stories is dubious as we hear a "Who's that?" late into the story. How could you not know who that is now? That's the name of the story. Lord.

I think of blue birds flying inside one of her ears and out the other, happily chirping their woodland songs.

Yet, she seems to be drawn to these stories, these tales with complex words that make the blue birds fly in circles. Also, many of these stories, including classic fairy tales, have so much violence that I never remembered! I'm not comfortable telling her some evil villain wants to kill or maim someone. Instead, I'll say "send away" or some other euphemism for whacking. As in, Prince Eric finally made Ursula, the sea witch, go away. Why all the violence, Disney?

I also wish every story wasn't about a beautiful young maiden who *yawn* falls in love with a handsome prince, overcomes some obstacles, usually with help of some beasts or inanimate objects or some kind of magic jazz, and, lo, they get married in the end. What about a contemporary book of fairy tales? Like, the Empowered Girl's Book of Awesome Fairy tales From the Hood, yo.

The other day, I told Girl she could have two bedtime stories and asked her what she wanted me to read. Her answer: The Little Mermaid and God!

Girl's godmother gave her a beginner's Bible which she loves. There are nice pictures, simple language and she absolutely loves the story Jonah and the Big Fish. Of course, we get to field a whole level of questions with that, including, "Where's God? Who's God? Why?" Questions that make blue birds fly through my ear and out the other.

Well, he's everywhere.

Where?

Um...hey! Look! Blue birds! Coming out of my ear! Where'd they come from?

I suppose this move to more advanced stories despite her lagging comprehension is good for some things. For one, I am less bored out of my skull reading these stories and she is getting the cadence and rhythm of speech, kind of like how dogs and some cats do. Plus, I'm sure she'll be grasping more and more as we keep reading them.

And the good thing about reading the Beginner's Bible is that maybe I can learn a thing or two as I lacked formal religion growing up and subsequently, always tanked my answer streak watching Jeopardy when a category was "The Bible."  Quiz me now on the Sneaky Snake. Go ahead.

Anyway, if anyone's interested in writing the Empowered Girl's Book of Awesome Fairy tales From the Hood with me, maybe we can collaborate.

Remember this when it seems like so long since they were babies

Remember, you, how his chubby legs would kick under the high chair tray, whenever he was happy.

Remember crawling into her bed, arms draping around each other, as her hand stroked your hair with the gentleness of the early morning.

Remember how she insisted to be the one to give him Cheerios, spreading a few for him on his tray, and a few for her in the far well.

Remember how, tonight, he nursed, his eyes slowly moving under his half-closed eyes. How he quietly came off the breast, slipping in a thumb just in place. How his body rested perfectly cradled in your arms, form-fitting your nooks with his head, and torso and legs. How his eyes still moved, ever so slowly, under mostly closed eyes, still barely sucking his thumb. You didn't want to leave.

Remember all lying on her bed, at bedtime, reading first prayers and singing Joy to the World, her favorite. In chorus.

Remember dancing the tango with him, cheek to cheek. How you would hold his hand in yours, his tiny fist clasping your thumb. How he'd laugh with delight with every pivot and squeal with every baby dip.

Remember sitting on the porch swing with him, waiting for her to come home from school. How she'd light with excitement upon seeing him. And you.

Remember how he'd follow you everywhere, crawling to catch up. How he'd want to be held every so often. By only you.

Remember conspiring with her. When you felt like her best friend.

Remember walking though the back door and seeing him after a long day at work. How you would coo and fawn be filled with joy. How you would pick him up and hold him to you like you were savoring the most delicate treasure. How you couldn't stop kissing him, over and over. You would close your eyes and breathe him with every breath.

Remember leaving for work, blowing her kisses through the car window. And sometimes air hugs.

Remember how much she loved him. Just how good she was to him. Because she is so good. And loving.

And how he loves her. Kicking his feet under the high chair tray to see her.

Remember this, you. Remember this time.