Sprite's Keeper

Patent Pending!

Sometimes, I need a Mental Health Day.

I made this term* up many moons ago when the stresses of work and child-rearing were turning my thoughts into incoherent streams of babble running across the bottom of my internal hard drive, like a CNN crawl going 80 miles a minute. I sent an email to my boss, letting him know I wanted to take a day off the next week and called it a Mental Health Day.

A Mental Health Day is a day to be used for yourself. You can do whatever you want as long as it benefits you. Get a pedicure? Sure. Watch hours of soap operas? Why not? Scrub your bathtub? Of course, as long as you promise to jump in it right after and soak for a while. Go shopping? Go nuts! Rob a bank? Um, we're getting off track here..

I spent the entire day reading, enjoying the calmness of my home while my husband was safe at work and Sprite was safe at Day Care. It was cathartic. It was addicting.

I have encouraged John to take a Mental Health Day in which he spent the entire day on his computer at home geeking with his cyberspace buddies. He is now looking forward to the next one.

Unfortunately, I have not been able to take but one Mental Health Day since Sprite brings home the sickness all the time and she always wants to share with ME. ("Honey, why don't you go lick Daddy for a while? Mommy's tapped.") Plus, sometimes, Sprite decides SHE wants a Mental Health Day and I have to dip into my Time Off Reservoir, which is going to experience a drought real soon. (But then again, for Sprite, EVERYDAY is a Mental Health Day!)

I was out with Susan over the weekend, keeping Starbucks in business, (Seriously, the way they keep popping up, I think my kitchen is being targeted for the next location. And I would become a regular if it did. ) and she mentioned possibly taking a Mental Health Day. Really? Is my term being used by more than 2 people? Apparently, it is. Susan has advised me that my sister is now a user of the term. Hm, this could get out of hand.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm flattered that people like the idea and the wording of the phrase. It really does articulate exactly what you intend it to and it has a nice ring to it. However, it was mine. I made it up. I started the trend. My ego is crying out for a little bit of credit. Maybe a patent or something in which people would do a small shout out when proclaiming a Mental Health Day. It will become a national requirement. Companies will have to write it into their Time Off Procedures, 4 Mental Health Days a year, one a quarter.

A Mental Health Day inspired by Sprite's Keeper. No. An OFFICIAL Sprite's Keeper Mental Health Day. I'll copyright it and everything.

"Hey, boss. I need to take a Mental Health Day."

"Is it an official Sprite's Keeper Mental Health Day?"

"Uh, no, it's not official."

"Get back to your desk."

Hey, you have your dreams. I'll have mine.

(*Editor's Note: I talked to John last night about today's post. He told me the term is actually popular and he has heard several people use it before. I have NEVER heard it used before, although I did Google the term Mental Health Day this morning and it refers to the National Mental Health Day in October which calls attention to psychological and mental disorders. My Mental Health Day refers to keeping your sanity in check, so I think there are some varying degrees of difference here. Therefore, I maintain my original statement.

I am asking for audience participation. It only takes a minute or two depending on how fast you type. Have you ever heard of or actually taken a Mental Health Day in the context as it is described here? Comment and leave your words of wisdom. Snark accepted too.)

(Oh, by the way, my readership is now up to 10. Please don't all comment at once or we may cause the site to crash....although that would be kinda cool...)

Was it something I said?

While getting ready for the day, John recounted a disturbing dream he had woken up from during the night.

"I went to the Super Bowl. You weren't there and neither was Sprite, since you couldn't make it or something. I had gone with some other friends and we were seated in bleacher type stands watching our team. The game ended, I think, because I was on the phone with you telling you I was coming home, when I heard machine gun fire. We ducked and started to crawl so we wouldn't get hit. As we crawled, we saw 2 guys coming up the stands with guns and rifles and shooting. So, we kept crawling and I think I turned a corner since I got separated from everyone else and was just trying to get out. Then, I came to this clearing where I could look around and I saw bodies on the ground, and a line of guys who were hand-cuffed, sitting there waiting, but still holding guns. Then I woke up."

John looked a little distressed. "Man, I knew it was a dream, but it seemed so real."

I reached over and gave him a hug. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry you had a bad dream."

I released him and smiled. "Now, you KNOW it was a dream. Your team would NEVER make it to Super Bowl."

I'm still waiting for him to forgive me.

A Little Off the Top

There is an end table in our living room which plays double duty. The adults use it for resting drinks on coasters and placing aside a magazine or book when we need to rescue one of the dogs from a certain toddler's clutches.

Sprite uses it as a tunnel. We had placed it in the middle of our sectional couch. John was looking to get some higher end tables since the couch arms were too lofty for our current drink resting destinations, however I thought these tables (which were passed on from my parents and are as old as me) could still do the job. Plus, I had broken a couple of toes in my childhood by running into them and thought some payback was still owed. (Visions of kindling dancing in my head...) So we pushed apart the two sides of the couch, slipped this puppy right in, and created a new look.

Sprite thinks this table is perfect where it is. She can have access to prime playing real estate in front of the couch with her toys, blocks, and other sharp stabby things which are great for little fingers not to hurt themselves, but my God, if you step on one, you're wishing for Fischer Price's head on a stick.  She also has access to the kitchen if she enters the little worm hole which has instated itself under this end table. (Yes, the universe could have stuck the worm hole anywhere it wanted to advance the numerous capabilities of its ever-expanding unknown and decided a toddler would make better use out of it. We're special.)  No more walking around the couch to see what Mommy or Daddy are cooking in the kitchen! Cover double the distance in half the time! Perfect for toddlers, toys, and snacks! Also doubles as a hidey hole!

I watch her when she crawls into the tunnel and then sits up. She fits fine (for now), but when she tries to peek her head out, she catches it on the lip and I hear a soft thunk. She never does it hard enough to hurt herself, but I'm fearing dents will start to permanently appear in her scalp if she keeps it up.

She does try to look up to see where the lip is, but her hair gets in the way. Sprite has some funky patterns in the way her hair grows. When she was born, it was all fuzz, a couple of bald spots, and some bright blue veins mapping her admittedly large cranium. ( I was warned my kid would have a big head, but it still took me aback a little..) As she passed the months, hair would start to fill in on top until she had a pretty rocking faux-hawk. Her hairstyle was inspiring me to dress her as a punk rock baby for Halloween, but alas, the sides grew in so she became a puppy dog.

The top continued to grow forward and down. Her sides and back were still long, but a Caeser look was starting to take shape. We snipped at the bangs to keep them trimmed (and were told repeatedly not to ever come near our daughter with scissors again since both of us obviously can't keep a straight cut), but it grew out so quickly. Finally, we gave in.

Sprite had her first official haircut this last weekend. John was corraling the dogs to get groomed, so my best friend offered herself up to the heavens and sacrified her adult life for the weekend to help me with Sprite.

We couldn't find a kiddie cut place in our area, so we went to one of the national franchises which apparently has rules when cutting hair for the non-verbal, cheerio throwing section of America. She had to be able to sit still in the chair on her own and not fuss too much, or they wouldn't do it. I envisioned the poor results my own attempts would bring about and took a chance.

Luckily, she sat still, animal cookies in both hands, staring at the bright safari print smock they placed around her. Yes, she teetered a bit on the big foam block that doubled as a booster, but was good for the stylist, Aunt Susan snapping pictures, and Mommy hovering around her to make sure her hands didn't venture near the scissors. She did fuss a bit about her animal crackers getting hair all over them, but whatever. We got out unharmed, although Sprite had been eyeing the shears for a couple of minutes which made me proclaim the cut perfect when a couple of tendrils still needed cutting, but I was thinking of safety first.

So, her bangs look much better now, she can see, and her face looks a lot cleaner than it did. Best part is, she now has a little more clearance moving through her tunnel.

            Sprite: Airee, is that what you look like? I can see you so much better now!

            Harry: Oh, crap. I'm outa here.

Give Me 10 Good Reasons

10 reasons why I need to be a better mother according to suggestions made by Day Care:

1. I obviously do not know how to clean my child's nose for the teacher is offering to TEACH me how to effectively clean it to reduce the amount of times THEY have to clean it during the day.

2. My child is drinking from a certain sippy cup, which I am being told is inferior to the sippy cups brought in by other parents, which are much easier to clean than the extra part my child's sippy cup contains which is wasting a precious second of rinsing every day.

3. I need to be prepared every morning since my child is either under-dressed or over-dressed for whatever activity they are participating in that day (which changes depending on the teacher's whim).

4. My child has too many diet restrictions and I need to be more flexible and more understanding if my child is fed hot dogs instead of a cheese sandwich due to under staffing and their difficulty in monitoring what she puts into her mouth. (Luckily, she doesn't have a peanut allergy...)

5. I should not be spending so much time with her in her classroom when I drop her off in the mornings since my van is taking up a parking space during their busiest time.

6. I obviously didn't know my child is missing a third Hib vaccination which could result in my child being kicked out of day care if I don't get on that RIGHT NOW and I need to be more informed about what vaccines my child is being given. (National shortage, which the front desk seemed to remember only AFTER I spent 2 hours of my work day on the phone with the pediatrician to find out why she was missing a "critical" vaccine.)

7. When my child was in the infant room, the bottles I was providing were too small, too big, not enough, too much, too few, too many, too hard to open the caps, too easy to open the caps which resulting in spilling, etc.

8. Some of the other children are working simple puzzles and my child is still stacking blocks only. I should help her with this.

9. Some of the other children are eating with forks and spoons and my child is using her hands and a spoon some of the time. I should help her with this.

10. Another child in the classroom is biting other children, and I am being given instructions on how to to be more watchful of my own child's actions and watch for her own behaviors, because evidently, it's contagious.

10 suggestions I would like to give Day Care:

1. If you are not a parent yourself, please do not offer advise on my parenting skills.

2. If I am meeting the criteria for objects to bring in for my child, why are you questioning the brands I pick?

3. Your brochures say nutritious snacks are provided. Since when did cheese doodles become a nutritious snack? Is it right there under the cheezits on the Food Pyramid?

4. If I say not to give my child peanut butter, it is not a recommendation, it is a request.

5. I already pay you an exorbitant amount of money weekly to keep my child under your roof. If you are going to send her home with information on fund raisers to repaint your building or buy more toys,  please provide me with a breakdown on how my money is REALLY being spent.

6. When my child is running low on diapers or wipes, you are supposed to remind me before you run out, giving me at least 24 hours notice to restock. Telling me she has two diapers to last the day is NOT considered notice.

7. Suggestion Number One

8. Do not suggest that I tell the administration office about what a bad teacher "so-and-so" is. That's YOUR problem, not mine or my child's.

9. Do not compare my child to other children in the classroom.

10. Exception to above rule: If my child is clearly the better ball thrower, painter, colorer, stacker, cleaner upper, compare all you want. Loudly...

The Kiss Off

"Smooch!"

I love kisses. I love John kisses. I tolerate Blue kisses (beagle breath can be pretty rank). Harry kisses are few and far between so I love them when I get them. Most of all, I love Sprite kisses.

I love the way she leans in and purses her lips together, her eyes not quite closing, as she gets closer. She doesn't make a sound as her tight lips buzz yours. You have to make the smooching sound for her or the kiss does not end.

She does discriminate in who gets to bask in her affection. Mommy and Daddy usually get first dibs on her kisses and then it's luck of the draw depending on her mood and whether or not she's giving you the stink-eye. For Sprite, the stink-eye goes to whomever is invading her personal space without her permission and whomever she is deciding to ignore at that particular moment. Don't take it personal. We're trying not to. (sniff)

During morning rush, John and I can get a kiss with little effort from her. Once I get her to school, it's a different ball game. We stomp into her classroom where the teacher and a couple of other toddlers are already congregated, and Sprite's attention wanders off along with her hearing.

"Sprite, I'm leaving. Can I have a kiss?" She walks farther away to inspect a spot on the wall.

"Sprite." The teacher is noticing my trouble in getting her to look at me. I walk closer, determined to make her acknowledge me. "Sprite."

She turns to me and smiles as if this is the first time she's seen me all morning.

"Mommy!" I open my arms and she leans into my embrace.

I lean forward and make the smooching sound as I pucker my lips for a goodbye kiss. She turns her cheek.

Rejection from a one year old?

I release her and pat her firmly on the tushy before leaving. Once out the door, I stop at the classroom window for a few seconds to make sure she's playing and not crying. She walks over to her friend Logan and purses her lips, leaning in. He leans back, not wanting to play this game.

I have to smile. All's fair after all.

Some People Just Aren't Trying Anymore

Seen: a woman in her mid to late thirties wearing a red cami top with black mesh overlay, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. The hair on her head is brownish-auburn. The hair (extensions) after the band is jet black and crinkly like straw. She is also wearing hot pink tap pants (yes, that's right, we're lucky she didn't bend over) and clogs (did those come back in fashion?). She is standing on line at a well-known bookstore waiting to pay for her purchase.

Seen: a woman in her early thirties wearing a black sweater over gray slacks, no roots showing, desperately biting the inside of her cheek, and drawing blood from the effort, to keep the snark in and not say something to the woman standing in front of her.

And the first woman has the nerve to turn around and size up the second woman and sneer at the second woman's outfit!

People, snark has a taste. And it's bitter. But, on the upside, you DO get used to it after swallowing it a lot.

The second woman was good and smiled at the first woman and caught a glimpse of the first woman's purchase. A self help book on improving your image.

Two Wrongs Don't Make a Right, But Three Lefts Do..

I was sitting with Sprite in the cafeteria area of her day care, waiting for Sprite's day to begin so I could go to work. She was quietly sitting in a seat at a table, playing with a book and smiling at Austin, her little friend from the one year old room, who also sat quietly at the table with a pacifier in his mouth.

Two older boys were sitting at the next table, and when I say older, I don't mean by much. They must have been about 4. One of them was obviously strung out on sugar, judging by the sandwich baggie of fruit loops he was clutching as he jumped in and out of his seat.

He moved toward the table where Sprite and Austin were sitting and pointed at Austin. "Diaper Baby! Diaper Baby! You need a pacifier!" (Very un-original.) I looked at Austin to see if he would react. He just watched the older boy, his binky moving quickly in his mouth.

Then the boy pointed at Sprite. "Diaper Baby! Diaper Baby! Ew!" He looked at the other boy who was reaching for his forgotten fruit loops. "She smiled at me! Yuck! Diaper Baby smiled at me! I'm going to die!"

I don't know why I took this personally. Sprite is so young, she doesn't understand when she's being mocked or insulted. She just continued to smile at the boy.

I leaned over and spoke to Sprite softly. "You see him over there?" She pointed at the boy, who was back to bugging Austin. "That's a big baby. Big baby." (Yes, I know. I shouldn't have done it. I should not be pushing Sprite to call names. I should be telling her to ignore the mean boy and continue being Mommy's best little girl, but I swear I didn't know she would do it.)

Sprite called out, "Big Baby! Big Baby!" as she pointed to the boy, still smiling, unaware she was insulting him.

The bully looked stricken. "I am NOT a baby, Diaper Baby! YOU'RE a baby, Diaper Baby!"

Sprite kept smiling as she pointed and he faltered in his comeback.

The damage was done. She had struck back. He hadn't expected it (especially from a 1 year old) and was now out of material and stopped talking. As he slunk back to his seat, I could see the plastic pull-up diaper riding above his waistband.

Irony counts for something here, I think.

Pitching the Pacifier A/K/A A Couple of Tangents Short of a Straight Thought

When I was pregnant and my ideals were still intact (Sigh, how naive I was....), I was reading up on breastfeeding since it was my plan to try it. The book said no pacifiers. I was on board with it. John was on board with it because I was on board with it and I was hormonal, so he pretty much said yes to whatever I wanted. (Smart man.)

John knew about my contempt for pacifiers. I would always point out children with the binkies in their mouths, almost looking zoned as they lounged in their strollers at the mall. "That pacifier is a PLUG, I tell you", I would always crow to John. "His mom is just trying to keep him quiet."

In November, 2006, I was already behind the eight ball. Sprite had decided to sit Buddha (breech) in my belly, stealing the opportunity to go into natural labor, so I was moved into the C-Section category, the scandalous category our childbirth coach so abhorred. Us wanna-nursers were given signs in class that read in big bold letters, "NO PACIFIERS! NO BOTTLES!" We were told to put these signs on our room doors to dissuade the nurses and attendants from launching a binky assault. (The sign is still in my car where I originally put it, thanks for asking.)

After the surgery, it was hard to get Sprite onto the breast since all I seemed capable of touching her with was my eyes. I think we may have practiced every couple of hours, but my mental state wasn't all there since I'm pretty sure I remember President Bush visiting at some point. (He didn't bring flowers though, so he won't be getting MY vote in the next election...) (Not funny? Man, you're hard to please!)

The numerous tests they subjected Sprite to would cause her to cry and her growing hunger wasn't helping either. My milk wasn't in and the kindly (or WAS she???) nurse snuck a soothie pacifier into her bassinet for some help. John gave it to Sprite and she sucked on it until sleep took over. (OK, I have to stop everything right here. Let's think about the fragile state of a new mother and father less than 24 hours after giving birth, staring at a squalling infant, unsure if it's gas, hunger, diaper, or even existence that is causing this newborn to cry. More often than not, the nurse becomes the all-knowing expert and even achieves a Demi-God status until the parents leave the hospital and figure out the nurse was just trying to keep one squalling infant from triggering the rest of the babies on the maternity floor. Whew, I'm done with that tangent. Back to the story...)

(Are you with me? All right, I'll wait here. Go review and we'll pick it up when you catch up. Geez, the things I do for you.)

(Yes, I'm going somewhere with this.)

(No, we're not there yet!)

"Just this once." That became a mantra we repeated from time to time in the first couple of months as I struggled with nursing and Sprite struggled with sleeping. The pacifier became a constant companion and "Just this once" became "Just until she's four months."

Why 4 months? I had read that habits are easy to break with babies until about 4 months ago when they start to associate objects with the emotions they invoke. Babies should be put in their crib drowsy but awake to start soothing themselves to sleep (ouch, something else we've done wrong, but we've already gone off on ONE tangent, and we're now behind schedule, so please try to keep up here...). Pacifiers should not be used for soothing objects as when the child wakes up during the night and the binky isn't there, the child won't know how to soothe himself back to sleep.

The first four months passed quickly and Sprite had become used to the pacifier. We had them all over the house, under her bed, under our bed, in the sink, on her dresser, in Harry's crate ( I've already thought about it and I don't know how it got there, but it was thrown out when I found it, so don't worry..).

Sprite started teething and the pacifier then became everyone's best friend. So, of course, "Just until she's four months" became "As long as we get rid of it before she turns one..."

(time moves on...)

"Happy Birthday!" (Oh yeah, the pacifier thing....still there. Don't JUDGE me!)

Sprite was hooked on the binky. We only gave it to her for sleep, but found ourselves looking for it every time bedtime came. Milk? Check. Blanket? Check. Rupert? Check. Pacifier? Check.

This last Friday, Sprite fell asleep on the way home and woke up briefly when I changed her into pajamas. Without the pacifier, I placed her in her crib where she immediately turned tushy up and settled back to sleep. Hmm, didn't ask for the pacifier. I had it with me, ready to give it to her, but she went down without a peep. (She DID go down with a poop, but that's irrelevant.)

Saturday came and went quickly. We dragged Sprite all over the city, finally drawing our day to a close with a very loud parade (which I may post about once my irritation with the Army's float is below snark level) and Sprite, again, fell asleep in the van and, again, turned tushy up after being changed into pj's. 2 nights without a pacifier.

I turned to John. "This may be our chance to boot the binky."

John looked skeptical. "We can try, but she's been using a paci for over a year. Don't you think she'll give us a fight?"

I was in agreement with a possible tantrum coming, but we hadn't heard one complaint from her in 2 nights. We committed to try.

Night 3, a Sunday. We stayed home most of the day, there was nothing to detract from the bedtime routine, which we had strayed from 2 nights in a row. Would it work again? Sprite was given her bath, helped with her teeth brushing (does sucking on a toothbrush equal brushing?), shown a book or two, and placed in her crib, still awake. John and I said our goodnights and left the room. Not one sound.

"Oh, this is too easy! Those parenting books tell you to expect crying and screaming for hours and Sprite isn't complaining at all! Either those books are wrong, or we are just THAT good."

The books are not wrong. We are not that good.

Just to finish the story, because I know you're getting impatient, Monday and Tuesday, she DID cry and DID scream for a good ten minutes each time before finally giving up (hope?) and falling asleep. Tuesday morning, I walked into her room to wake her up and there were dolls all over the floor, thrown from her crib. It was a scene out of "Saving Private Ryan", only with Elmo and Cookie Monster. I made my way over to her crib, careful not to disturb the casualties of her war, and looked in on Sprite. She was sprawled across her mattress, one hand clutching Rupert, the other hand clutching her blanket, the only two things spared from her fury. I called her name softly and her eyes opened. She smiled and sat up, seemingly oblivious to the pandemonium just steps from where she had been sleeping.

Wednesday morning, her room looked tidy. Sprite was in a good mood. The sun was shining. Her dolls were intact.

I think we've beaten it.

Next up, potty training...

(You can go now. We're done here.)

(Oh, you want to know if we've thrown the pacifiers out? We're saving one. Or Two. Come on, we're not THAT brave...)

Wanna play? Just sign the release...

Welcome to Sprite's World! We're happy to have you here!

Please watch your step and be mindful of the toys.

There are a few rules in my world. As long as you follow the rules, we will get along just fine.

1. Any food you are about to eat must be inspected by me first. If I find it appetizing and want to eat it myself, you must relinquish said food immediately.

2. My nose is my nose. You may not clean it, pick it, run a washcloth across it, try to wipe it, or stick a nasal syringe into my nostrils. "No!" means no. No exceptions.

3. When I lift up my shirt to show you my bitty (belly button for those new to Sprite's World), you must respond in kind. Failure to do so will result in me lifting your shirt up for you and pointing out your bitty to you since you obviously didn't know you had one.

     3.a. Add on to above rule: I may decide to grant you a raspberry on your tummy while your shirt is lifted. Do NOT, under any circumstances, wipe the raspberry off while in my presence.

4. Shoes are considered community property in Sprite's World. If I decide to try on your shoes, you must assist me to stand in them and also help me walk around. Failure to do so may result in me getting hurt and any bruises inflicted upon me while granting you an audience will be deemed the responsibility of you.

5. If I touch it*, it becomes mine immediately. (* "It" can be referring to the object I touch itself, or may be expanded to encompass the object it is sitting on and the room it is within. In certain circumstances, "it" may encompass the entire dwelling I am within. Please act accordingly.)

6. Tantrums are to be dealt with in the following manner (no deviations):

    Tantrum on the floor in my home- hug and a cookie

    Tantrum in a public setting- hug and a cookie and a purchase of the item which initiated the tantrum

    Tantrum in a body of water- what kind of idiot would allow me to have a tantrum in water? Immediate removal from Sprite's World!

7. If I am ignoring you while playing, this does not constitute a dismissal. All requests to exit must be approved by me.

8. If I request my cup or any snack, all activities must be suspended upon my request until further notice. All activities include but are not limited to making dinner, putting on clothes, going to the restroom, showering, and whatever may happen behind locked doors.

9. If I become ill with a cold or virus, it is mandatory that all within my world become infected with the same ailment. To ensure this rule is enforced, kisses will be bestowed upon everyone at frequent intervals.

10. Any rule listed above is subject to change at my discretion and if I am unable to enforce the above rules, please refer to my second-in-command, Rupert.

11. So there.

There now, that's not so bad, is it? I am actually quite agreeable and friendly!

Just don't touch that. Or that.

Mine.

Regards,

Sprite

Blue Needs a Clue

"Aaaeeeeiiiii!" (I think I'm leaving out a couple of a's and e's.)

Sprite's battle cry pierces the calm as she descends on Blue. The poor beagle sits there, just grateful to be in the child's focus as Sprite manhandles her.

"Ear", she says and grabs one of Blue's long floppy ears, pulling and squeezing. John and I try to free the dog from Sprite's clutches and Blue yelps in pain as the ear tugging becomes too hard to bear. We finally separate the two and Sprite's battle cry sounds again. Blue, who has not learned from the lesson taught 30 seconds ago, again sits and waits for the grabbing and the heavy handed petting to occur.

This is becoming a daily war. Sprite thinks Blue is some kind of pin cushion for her tyrades. "Not nice", we admonish time and again when Sprite is slamming her hands on Blue's tender belly as if Blue is the bongo and she is Tito Fuente. She repeats "not nice" and then starts to tenderly stroke the by now sore skin she was just reddening as she chants, "nice, nice, nice..." almost as if she has to remind herself with each stroke. Then, you guessed it, she cackles and begins the drumming again.

We're trying to teach Blue to move out of Sprite's reaching distance and stay under the radar, but poor Blue, the damn dog is either too stupid to interprit Sprite's motives or just too much in love to discourage Sprite's advances.

Blue has nursed a crush on Sprite since the beginning when they met. When Sprite was too young to do anything more than sit there, Blue would like to lean in and swipe a taste from time to time. As Sprite became more mobile, she was still too slow to dodge Blue's nose and tongue as Blue would swoop in and sample whatever Sprite had been eating that day and was now wearing. Now that Sprite is walking and close to running, the tables have turned and Blue has become the all too eager prey.

I'm sure that one day, long down the road, Sprite will be ashamed and embarrased by her earlier behavior and bully status in the house. And I will probably not help things by reminding her that Blue, the very recipient of her painful love, laid down in Sprite's doorway the first day I brought Sprite to daycare (kind of like a canine sit-in), and would not budge until her favorite human was back in her sights. (Luckily, to add to the guilt factor, I took a picture!) I just hope that day isn't too far down the road since Blue will be eight this year. Hmm, maybe Blue's age explains why she allows the abuse to happen. She has patience. Or she's just lazy. (Lazy gets my vote.)

Harry has been avoiding Sprite since the day she started crawling. He somehow knew Sprite would be trouble. Now that she is semi-coherent, "Airee" becomes a warning. Once she says his name, he is diving for under our bed, a region she hasn't discovered yet. He only comes near her when she has a squeaky toy that he thinks would make good snacking or she has found his chew rope. Sprite knows that Harry likes to fetch (..almost as if she's studying their weaknesses and using them to her advantage..no, she couldn't be that advanced, COULD SHE?) and will grab his toy and wave it in front of him so he engages in play. Harry indulges her halfheartedly until he gets fed up and just takes it. (I know dogs can't roll their eyes, but Harry is getting sooo close...)

Of course, we watch her carefully, making sure she doesn't push the limit with the dogs and are careful to stop her from going too far. Neither of the dogs have snapped at her and I'm hesitant to add the word yet to that sentence because I just don't believe Blue capable of it. Harry has never been pinned down long enough for her torture, so he has not had reason to snap at Sprite, but we still watch closely.

The average observer would think our child is a little bit evil in her actions with the dogs, but John and I can see the love behind her gestures, even if her gestures swing a bit wide of normal affection. So, the war continues. Sprite's battle cry once again disrupts the stillness and we must aide Blue in escaping relatively unharmed. Hopefully, some day, Blue will understand Sprite's intentions and be able to move out of harm's way on her own. Or, maybe, she already knows exactly what's coming and just loves Sprite so much, she's willing to take Sprite's affection any way it comes, by stroke or slap.

Poor Blue.