Sprite's Keeper

Pony Express

Ah, Disney, you've done it again.

Our first day at Disney World found us in Disney Village, an area full of shops all attuned to the magic of the Mouse.

We entered the toy area, looking for possible holiday gifts destined for our nieces and nephews when Sprite was drawn to a low table set up in the middle of the store. On the table was an array of My Little Pony figures and assorted outfits.

"Pony!" Sprite breathed and was hooked. (Of course, this is the same kid who received a My Little Pony for her birthday last year from my sister and played with it maybe a few times before it was dismissed to her toy box.) While she played with the free entertainment and John supervised, I walked the perimeter of the store, finding the source of the Pony mayhem and a birthday gift for Elizabeth. Now, here's where WE were hooked. (Damn them!) For eighteen bucks, the store gives you a box and the opportunity to fill it with up to three Pony's, a bed, mirror, and as many outfits as you can squish into the smallish space. We were also given hints as to how to fill the box by a Cast Member who preferred to remain nameless.

John and I looked at each other while Sprite couldn't contain her excitement with the mountain of "Pony!" related possibilities in front of her. We agreed the price was pretty damn good for A LOT of items. We found every Princess outfit, accompanying shoes, hats, a Minnie Mouse get up, on and on, and filled the box to the rim, barely closing the top, a requirement to get all the items within for the alloted amount.

When we arrived at the register, the Cast Member asked, "Are you sure you got all the items?"

"Well, we could only fit two ponies in."

"You can have three though."

I considered this, "Um, I think two is okay."

She then rifled through the very full box. "You're missing shoes, some barrettes, a teacup.." As she spoke, she tossed more items in. I smiled as I thought of the various choking hazards my vacuum would face when these little shoes and such would be left helter skelter all over my house. (Although Harry would have a field day chewing on colorful plastic pieces.) (I think some of that chewing is in direct retaliation to the number of times Sprite has cornered Harry with a doll brush and rubber hair bands proposing to "do his hair".)

We finally left with Sprite's new fifteen minutes of fun and brought her back to the hotel where she spread her wealth out all over her bed. She formed a quick attachment to the blue Pony.

"What's the Pony's name?" John asked.

Sprite thought about it and then crooked an eyebrow. "Pony."

John rolled his eyes at me. "How about Colby?"

"Colby?" I questioned, fiddling with the Mouse ears barrette on the pink pony's mane. How flipping cute WAS this stuff?!

Sprite tested the name out. "Colby."

This Pony became her new best friend, an even better best friend than the Princess Minnie doll she had declared her love for when we first stepped onto Disney property. The Pony accompanied her to dinner, to sleep, to breakfast the next morning, to the park...

Yes, the park. Sprite had decided to "feed" Colby lunch while at the Character Play And Dine buffet, (which was amazing by the way, I have a post coming out about Disney on a whole for The Locals Love It on September 22 and I will venture further into the variety of diet killers we came across) and when John took her outside for some air while I paid the bill, she accidentally left the Pony on a patio chair in the middle of one of the busiest areas of Disney's Hollywood Studios on one of the busiest days of the year and said nothing about it until we were in the Pre-Show area of The Little Mermaid attraction on the other side of the park when she asked for her Colby.

I looked in her backpack. No Colby.

"Did she leave it at the restaurant?" I asked John, who frowned in response. I thought back to the visual sweep I usually do at a table before we vacate. Nothing noticed.

"No, she brought it outside... outside. Crap, it's probably gone by now-"

"What time is it?" I interrupted.

He looked at his watch. "12:40. The show starts in less than twenty minutes."

"I'll be right back."

I ducked out of the theatre and weaved through the queue, excusing myself and apologizing as I sidestepped others. (Others whose toes I would probably be stepping on once more when Sprite demanded in no uncertain terms to leave the show before Ariel finished her aria.) Once free of the population throng, I broke into an all out run across the main area of the Studios, backtracking to where we had (maybe?) last seen the Pony, still watchful for any familiar bright blue toys with shockingly pink sparkly hair, yet pessimistic that another child would possibly pick it up before I could rescue it and claim it for their own. I could only think of the disappointment and ensuing tears when Sprite realized Colby was never coming back. (And yes, I also thought of the possible second trip to Disney Village I would need to make for Colby to magically reappear that night.) (And how that eighteen dollar deal wasn't looking so good anymore..)

Once in the vicinity of the restaurant, I rushed to the grouping of tables on a lower level of the area and scanned the chairs. Nothing. Damn it.

Then my eyes landed on a Custodial Cast Member standing near the railing overlooking the lake, watching me, smiling, and holding our saving grace in his left hand.

"Little girl?" he asked, as he noticed my eyes light up with excitement and relief. He explained how he had found the Pony about five minutes before and decided to wait for the owner to show up before he turned it into Lost and Found.

I blew out the rest of the breath I was huffing out. "Thank you so much!" I panted, taking back the object of Sprite's affection and the possibility that the day would go well.

I ran back, somehow sure that the very people who questioned my running by the first time now understood my sprint had everything to do with the prize I now gripped tightly in my hand.

Manuevering back into the Pre-show area, I handed Colby over to an unassuming Sprite amid John's surprised "You found it?!".

I wiped the sweat off my brow, bending over to catch my breath. "Can I just tell you how much I love Disney World?"

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Quick sidenote: Sprite hung onto that Pony for the rest of the day and even proudly showed it off to Abigail the next morning when we arrived at the Katz Cradle for Brunch. Of course, she promptly forgot the damn horse again when we left and didn't start moaning about it until we got home. Um, yeah, I couldn't handle a run that far, so the love of her life "Colby" arrived at our home Monday morning through a different kind of Express thanks to another understanding mother. Becca, I owe you.

Oh, and Becca? Did you have to mark the item down as livestock since it is a horse and all?

I'm not sure if it's allowed, but I completely intruded again on Travel Tip Thursday over at Pseudo's! Click the link and check out some other travellers while making yourself increasingly jealous that you can't see the kind of scenery out your window that Pseudo looks at EVERY DAY.
Don'tcha just hate her a little? Maybe you should Spin THAT up..

Point of View

She'll like the Little Mermaid attraction. She has to. It's the Mermaid. Her favorite movie of late. The line shouldn't be too bad since the shows are continuous.

So far, so good. There are plenty of other children her age in line. She doesn't even mind standing on her own.

Lots of things to look at in the holding area, but she's getting a little nervous. Better start prepping her for the show... Nope, she's more interested in watching another kid. Maybe there's nothing to worry about.

Okay, find a seat toward the rear, the more distance between her and the stage the better. I can feel her tensing up watching others dive for available seating. I should hold her a little tighter. Once we sit down, she will be able to look around and gain some confidence.

She's not calming down. The lights are going down and her whimpers are going up. She's not liking this. She won't even lift her head from my shoulder. Oh, bubbles! Point out the bubbles!... No, she doesn't like that either. Just wait until a familiar character comes out. Then she'll relax.

Sebastian! Look, Sprite! It's Sebastian! Please pay no attention to the pitch black nothingness behind him...Flounder? No? Just hold on tight, Ariel is coming...she's coming... Oh, thank goodness, look, Sprite! It's Ariel!

One look at Ariel and she's crying again. This is not working. People are staring at us. Please, Sprite, please, just realize that nothing is going to happen to you. No one will touch you. Just look and see your favorite characters... Ouch, Ursela is a lot bigger than I remembered. Have her eyes always glowed that brightly? Has this show always been that scary?

We give up. We have to. She's ruining the other guests' experience. WE'RE ruining the other guests' experience. I am so sorry, I am so sorry, I am so sorry, Damnit! Does this row ever end? What did I just step on? Where's the door?.... Sunlight!

Of course, the exit doors dump us right into the merchandise area. That Ariel doll she's eyeing may make her stop crying, but it will make me start.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mommy! See? It's Ariel! Mermaid! The mermaid is right there! Daddy! Did you see Mermaid? I'm going to see the Mermaid!

Look at all the other kids! This is so exciting! Put me down! I want to stand with the other kids.

Oh, this place is kind of dark and there's a lot of people standing around. Pick me up, please... Wait. There's a boy my age playing with a video game. Um, put me down. I want a better look.... Okay, what happened with the lights? It's getting darker. The noise is getting louder. I don't like this. Pick me up! Up!

Please don't pick that row. I want to be at the back. Do we have to sit?  No, I don't like this. I don't want to look at the stage. I want to see the sun. I want to go outside. I want to be anywhere but here.

The noise! It's too loud! It's too dark! A bubble touched me! No! I don't CARE if the Mermaid is on the stage! I don't WANT to see Sebastian! This is NOT like the movie! They don't look right!

Please, I want to take a nap! I want to be outside! I want to go to my room! I want a TIME OUT!

Please take me outside! No, I WON'T calm down! I WON'T be quiet! I DON'T LIKE THIS! CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?

Oh, thank you. Thank you for getting me out of there. I can see the sun. I can see everything in front of me.... I can see.. the Mermaid! I want the Mermaid! Can I have Ariel?

Please?

(To anyone whose toes John or I may have stepped on while booking it the hell out of the Mermaid attraction on Sunday, I apologize. And an extra apology for my butt being in your face, that was just cruel...)

"I'm just too far from where you are, I wanna come home."

A Buble' song is looping through my thoughts as I work to control the tears brimming my lashes. I know I'm sappy, but I'm ready to be home.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you are now free to move about the cabin. Welcome to Florida."

The words are lost on me. Why would anyone come to my state voluntarility in the summer time? I restlessly wait for my turn to grab my carry on and make my way off the plane.

John's text tells me they're waiting near Security. My steps quicken. My heart races. I must see them. I must touch them.

Following the prompts, I keep scanning the crowd as I happen upon the Security area. Where are they? Did they go to Baggage Claim to wait there instead? Why aren't they HERE?

I walk quickly now, still watching for two brunette heads and listening for John's telltale whistle if he should spot me first. Nothing.

I'm breathless now, but focused. Sidestepping a few slow travelers, I take my place on the escalator, descending to the first level. Will they be excited to see me? Will Sprite hug me as hard as I want to hug her? Will John hand over the child and run as fast as he can for the precious freedom he has been denied since I left him with a toddler who had only been in the throes of potty training for four days?

In front of me, I see a row of chairs. My two loves are sitting there in friendly companionship and sharing crackers. John looks up and spots me as my ride down comes to an end and I race over to stand in front of them.

Shucking my backpack, I bend down to stare more closely at my daughter. "Hi, baby! I missed you!"

Sprite licks some of the Cheez-it dust from her lips and smiles up at me as if I had just come back from the restroom instead of four days away. "See my shoes?" She points down to her Ariel flats, the too big pair obviously high on her list of priorities.

"Very pretty," I respond, my heart breaking a bit. Where's the hug? The tears? The words "Never leave us again!" pouring from her pouty lips? Even the emotional scene she displayed when John returned from his weeklong trip in June? Was I not absent long ENOUGH?

John picks up on my vibes as he lifts my bag and leans in for a kiss. "Trust me, she missed you. I missed you. WE missed you."

We walk over to the carousel to look for my bag, checking off the last item for my trip to truly be complete.

Sprite turns to step in front of me, blocking me from proceeding, and lifts her arms. "Mommy, up!"

Finally.

I pick her up, settling her familiar weight on my right hip, brushing a kiss over her cheeks, lips, breathing in the very same scent I've known for her lifetime. Her head nestles into my neck and I feel the warm breath of her silent sigh, her body relaxing within my arms as her arm comes up to rest possesively across my chest.

"Welcome home, Jen," John says, slipping his arm around us and I smile back.

Now the tears can come.

Omigoodness! A post that has nothing to do with Sprite!

I don't think I've ever formally introduced you to our other niece Daniela. Where are my manners? Here, let me remedy that.

Blogosphere, meet Daniela. (She's the one with the bow in her hair.) (Just trying to help.)

Yes, she IS that beautiful all the time.

What? Well, sure, most babies can pull off a ridiculous level of cute, but she has something special. Don't believe me? Check this one out:

I thought that picture would do it for you.

Well, what do you expect when her parents look like this?

Beautiful family, beautiful daughter, completely beautiful, right?

Well, her dad is out to prove it.

He entered her in a Beautiful Babies contest for bragging rights among the playgroups. (And if the general public agrees with you, you automatically win any mommy or daddy war.)

So, I'm going to ask you to mosey on over and vote for this bright-eyed beauty since winning the prize could fetch them a nice five thousand Washingtons and a free professional photography shoot.

I mean, come on, wouldn't you vote for this?

And if she wins, her daddy promised me to design me a new masthead! (Um, Ryan? Can you design me a new masthead?)

So, if she wins, in a way, I win. (Yay, me!)

Wow, I made it through an entire post without focusing on Sprite. I'm kind of amazed.

Oh, hi, Sprite! Nothing to see here! Everything's fine. Just introducing everyone to Baby Dani.

Great, now I have to dig her out of the toys again. She has jealousy issues. If she gets this way with her cousins, imagine how she'll be if she ever gets a sibling..

Celebrating the family firecracker

Last year, I snapped this photo of Sprite and John as we took in the city's July 4th celebration, completely unaware that another kind of fireworks was happening elsewhere in the state.

That night, we came home, waterlogged from the downpour, and found a message on our phone. Our sister-in-law, still about a month away from her due date, had gone into labor and delivered our niece Alyssa, thus cementing our July 4th plans for the foreseeable future.

 

(I know, cute, right? You want one, don't you?)

I can't believe a year has passed so quickly and now Alyssa can finally claim a finger for "How old are you?" questions.

 

From a firecracker of a baby to a very laid back almost toddler, she has claimed her spot in the family with ease. I don't think I have one picture of a cross face for her.

 

..Well, okay. Maybe one. I'm sure she can hold her own against Sprite in the attention getting arena.
 

 

She's already trying..

Happy birthday, Alyssa.You may have to share your birthday with America, but we'll always say those fireworks are for you. (...Until you're old enough to know better. But let's leave those myths like fireworks and Santa alone so you can discover the truth like every other kid out there. In school.) 

To everyone else out there, have a happy and SAFE Fourth of July! 

Homecoming

He was home. His business trip was finally over.

I hung up with him as I turned into the airport's entrance.

"Okay, Sprite. Daddy's here. Wanna go get Daddy?"

I peeked at the rear view mirror and saw her staring dimly at the DVD player. It was late, too far past her bedtime, way too far past her logic's threshold. We were both running on fumes by now and  I had the feeling that I could have dangled the Princesses in front of her face and her reaction would have stayed the same.

Once we parked, the tired child immediately demanded a ride in my arms as we steered toward Baggage Claim.

I looked around, slowing my steps down, trying to peer through the throng of people  congregated around the only working carousel. "I wonder where Daddy is." Sprite's head stayed glued to my shoulder, not interested in my one-sided conversation.

Then she heard it. A whistle coming from about 100 feet ahead of us. She straightened and looked into my eyes. "Daddy?" Her voice sounded hopeful after a week of only seeing him through the computer camera.

The whistle sounded again. This time, I spotted him in the crowd.  Stopping, I put her down and pointed him out to her.

"Daddy!"

She had spotted him. Forgetting about the distance and the people she would have to navigate to get to him, she bolted.

He leaned down, his arms opening wide while I fumbled for my camera to try to capture the moment they made contact with each other. I didn't quite get what I wanted.

 

I watched them embrace and heard her scream with excitement and him exclaim over her dress and her hair, compliments he knew she wanted to hear, the musical voice he knew she loved. He pulled a Belle doll out of his carry-on bag to present to her, but the doll played second fiddle to him. She was much more interested in him.

I walked over to the two of them lost in their greeting, one spilling over with words she didn't quite understand to fill him in on everything he had missed in her week, and the other studying her closely for any signs of change that may have possibly happened while he was away.

Reaching them, I stole a kiss for myself, happy that my partner was back, my co-pilot in parenthood. We secured his luggage and walked out of the airport quickly, as if that would expedite out return to normal, at least the normal we knew.

A few moments later, I realized they had stopped. I turned around and caught them still chatting and soaking up each other's essence. This time, my camera captured exactly what I wanted to see.

 

Only he can make her smile like that. And only she can make him smile like that.

Happy Father's Day, John. Sprite and I love you very much.

And a happy Father's Day to everyone else out there too, especially if you can make your kids smile just by coming home.

I want my Mommy.

The other shoe has dropped. (John's trip being the first foot in need of a Dr. Shull's.)

When we heard about John's upcoming (read: now) trip, I pulled an Ace out of my sleeve to keep my life semi-normal. I dangled the grandchild card in front of my mother and she took the bait, offering a week of services ranging from plain ole' house sitting to child distraction to company to another body to make the house a little more full to detract possible intruders who would somehow KNOW there was another body in the house and decide to pick on the house two blocks over. (This is the way my mind works. Scientists are looking into it..)

She and her arsenal of quilting crap rode into town late last week and all was good. John left, Dad came and left, and the toddler turned to Baba for everything, somehow realizing that even though I make the rules, I call Baba "Mom", and since I call someone else "Mom", I am no longer the  "Mom" Sprite thought I am, therefore my throne has been usurped in Sprite's eyes, and Baba is now Supreme Ruler. She's WRONG of course, but two year olds tend to skip steps when it comes to logic (kind of like men when reading instruction manuals), so we'll let it slide for now. But still! All was good!

Then the call came. (In the middle of us watching Harry Potter, no less. So rude.)

An issue had arisen, not one I can speak of since it's not my business to speak of it, you hear? Or not? (Everyone's fine. I'm not even fully aware of it myself, but everyone is fine. And that's all I know about that.) Anyway, my mom was needed back on the East side of the world that is Florida, and she asked me if it was alright if she left, even though her plan was to stay on through Sunday morning.

"If you have to go, go," I answered. "We're okay here. We love having you, but if you're needed, then you should go."

Crap. She believed me. I was hoping she would call my bluff and see how much I wanted her to stay.

Mom left yesterday morning and I texted John to tell him the news. He wrote back that he will gladly take the child off my hands for all of Sunday when he's back safe and sound. (Especially since once Sprite realizes it's just me and her, she will turn the dogs into her little minions and stage a coup on my sanity. And you know what? I think she'll win.) He had offered this little prize on Sunday morning when I drove him to the airport, but I laughed it off since Hello! My mom will be here! This is gonna be a cake walk! I have since had my lawyer draft a contract insuring John's agreement to take over toddler watch on Sunday and am waiting for the fax from John and his notary.

This post may come off as a little (a lot? My judgment is skewed.) whiny, but I am only in the "breaking the ice" stage of my pity party so allow me a few vents. (Plus, it's my blog. I'll whine if I want to.) (Sorry for the subconscious song download into your frontal lobe.. I should go back and delete that last tangent.) (Nah.) As much as I love my independence, a trait Sprite surely inherited from me, I have also realized that sometimes it's just NICE to be able to depend on my mom. It's nice to be able to "tag out" when I need a breather. And it's sobering to realize what a cake walk my life has been so far.

I always take John's presence for granted in the fact that I can bitch and whine about him putting the kid to bed since "it's been a day" and sometimes, when John sees a certain look on my face predicting the ensuing night will not be a fun one, he even offers it just to give me a break. Do you know how lucky, truly LUCKY I am to have this kind of teamwork in my home?

So when he has to leave town on business, do I take on the extra responsibility without complaint? No, I call my mommy. And I was getting away with it too. But, she's needed back at home. She's wanted here, but not needed, truth be told.

After my mom called me from the road on her way home and I realized Sprite and I would not have our favorite Mom there when we arrived home, I suddenly became very tired as I pictured a long night and an even longer bedtime as Sprite ran rampant over my inert body splayed across her hopscotch rug. I also imagined I was about twenty pounds lighter, so the daydream wasn't ALL bad.

Once home though, things weren't bad at all. The dogs were walked, the toddler was bribed with M&M's to eat one stupid piece of ground turkey fed, got a dunk in the tub, and even had a video conversation with John on the computer, before she asked for endless stories got one book and tucked in. The night ran long, but we survived! And we will survive tonight, maybe even tomorrow. And Friday night? I am going to stick a DVD on repeat play and hope she stays still while I crash somewhere nearby, maybe even on the hopscotch rug, which seemed pretty comfortable in my daydream may even have a sleep over with her!

Basically, we will get through this. I will man up and parent my kid like so many single parents do out there without the option of giving themselves a time out. I honestly respect the hell out of my sister who does it day in and day out with my nephew.

So no more complaints! I'm going to be a manmom and suck it up until Saturday night when I arrive at the airport with a bathed and nightgown-ed toddler in my arms ( I swore I would never take my kid out in public while dressed in pajamas, but this vow was made before I found out that Sprite has a penchant for her sleepwear. I'm willing to be "that mom" for a couple of minutes and may even go the extra mile and let Sprite ride the baggage claim belt for a few. Only if she's good, of course..), and when I see John come up the concourse with a big smile on his face and his arms opening wide, I will shove said toddler into his waiting arms and excuse myself for a stiff one welcome my missed and under-appreciated husband home with a big kiss and THEN shove the kid into his arms and buy myself a drink.

Now, I'm asking all of you. To the married's whose spouses sometimes skip town for a few, what do you do to  make things easier on you and the kid? To the singles who I am raising my glass to, how do you keep it together the way you do? I have until Saturday evening and I don't want to resort to counting down minutes. (The hours have already been calculated.)

Is it Saturday yet?

And now the conclusion to our story!

In case those tuning in missed out on yesterday's fun,

Just click on this here link and read over Part One.

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Reacting to the nurse's words, I drove Sprite in to be seen,

Even though of an expensive co-pay, I wasn't really keen.

She wasn't crying anymore, but her hands remained clasped tight,

Never moving from their eternal post at her belly button site.

She still refused to walk and stand when we got to the parking lot,

So, I carried her in and registered my mysteriously broken tot.

Yet, once the bracelet was applied and we were in the waiting room,

Her gray cloud disappeared and took with it the haze of gloom.

She started chattering excitedly, looking around in glee,

And taking a few steps at a time, between the chairs and me.

As soon as the triage nurse called for Sprite's name,

Sprite jumped up and smiled broad, was this some kind of game?

When the nurse tried to examine her, she started bouncing about,

The nursed glanced back at me patiently, taking in my look of doubt.

"Don't worry, you're not jumping the gun, she should still be seen,

These symptoms you've described should be checked, her bill of health marked clean."

We were taken to the exam area, where John found us soon,

And listened with amazement (and a little relief) to Sprite's happy tune.

She no longer resembled the sad little waif I had described on the call,

In fact, she was jumping on the hospital bed, not looking sick at all.

The doctor ordered an X-Ray and a catheter to get pee,

Yet, now all of these tests no longer seemed needed to me.

We described what we had seen and heard and what we knew as fact,

While thinking somewhere deep down in that this may have been an act.

Finally, the doctor returned with an X-Ray and the scoop,

"All this white stuff that you see? Is a few days worth of poop."

And as she explained the interior of Sprite's intestinal map,

John turned to his treasured girl and quipped, "Kid, you're full of crap."

"An enema for now," the doctor said, "and the rest in time will pass,"

As John thought of the expected bill, "That is some expensive gas."

The nurse brought in the torture device and began her intrusion,

As Sprite held onto John's neck, screaming with shock and confusion.

To add insult to injury, she had to walk the corridor,

For the stuff to work even better, I helped her pace the floor.

For a few minutes, it was a grand ole time, she had a cheery greeting,

For every patient we passed on the ER floor, every child she was meeting.

Until it happened, quick as a shot, a wave of fear passed through my pup,

And she held up her arms, her eyes wide in alarm, and shouted at me, "Up!"

I somehow got her back to base and knelt down in front of her,

And opened my arms for my poor little girl whose insides began to stir.

The noise made quite a symphony, and John thought I was daft,

Because it struck me as funny, and I laughed and laughed and laughed.

All the while, Sprite held on, her knuckles surely white,

Us both in tears for different reasons, we must have been a sight.

Finally, the explosion passed, and she relaxed in quiet relief,

Happy to get the poop party started, thankful the hurt was brief.

An ER trip, enema, and blocked up bowels, three milestones all in one,

Who knew that this trifecta of firsts would be so much fun?

So to sum up my epic poem and find closure to the frustration,

She went in with possible! appendicitis, and walked out with constipation.

Our night was over before it began, and we made our weary way home,

Sprite to bed, John to WoW, and me to this here poem.

So my friends, that is all there is to this tale of woe,

We may have missed Must See TV, but we definitely got a show.

(Yes, she's feeling much better now. Sprite was back to her usual shenanigans the very next morning.)

Redux Reflux

(Editor's Note: Lately, I've been looking back on my archives, just trying to remember the frame of mind I was in when I first posted them, and as I went 2/08 through 2/09 posting every day, there was a lot to comb through. Would you believe I have almost 600 posts in this site? I know, talk about hot air! If the government could develop hot air (which is not steam, I checked) into an energy resource, this site would probably be able to power up Manhattan for a day at least. Anyway, I happened upon this one post which reminded me of my post last week when I joked about how much of a failure I am. Please to read this one and enjoy with me how much of a hovering parent I was just one year ago, when organic cookies and unsweetened applesauce were just as important as the child's safety. And this was AFTER I had already shed most of my hover-iness. Such a wreck... Meh. At least I can look back and laugh.)

(Editor's Note II: This may be the laziest post I've ever written. Feel free to flame me for this.)

Foresight (For Naught?) (Originally posted May 21, 2008)

Not to be confused with foreskin. (Sooo glad I have a girl so I could dodge that circumcision knife...)

For those who are thinking more towards foreboding, then you and I are on the same wavelength. We work well together, you and I. (And just between us, if I wasn't happily married and trying to convince my husband that a second baby is EXACTLY what our budget needs, I would totally be into you...)

All mothers (at least the ones not in the news for really horrid reasons) have some type of foresight when it comes to their kids. You know, the sixth sense, a mother's intuition, inner voice, etc. Fathers do too, but I have seen one case where the dad obviously had his inner voice's volume turned down or on mute since he thought letting his toddler walk on the ledge of a mall fountain was perfectly acceptable while every mother in the vicinity was mentally preparing to adopt this child as soon as they hit the speed dial for DCF on their already whipped out cell phones. (I couldn't find mine.)

My foresight is what gets me into trouble with John sometimes. While we were staying at my folks' this weekend, he took Sprite to see his parents while I joined my sister and best friend for a girls' night out. I walked him and Sprite out to the car and kept reminding him of what not to do thus earning some points on my Frequent Flying off the Handle Miles.

"She has organic cookies and unsweetened applesauce in her diaper bag. Don't give her any other sweet snacks. No chocolate. No candy. No sugar. No ham." (In my defense, baked ham is coated in sugar and pineapple slices, so it fits...Wanna fight about it?)

John gave me the look. You know. The look. The one that says "Don't go there."

I gave him my look. The one that says, "I've been there since late 2006. I own there. Come on over. The weather's nice."

I kept going with my check list anyway since I knew I would be thinking about it later and it made better sense to ruin his next 10 minutes than my entire evening. "Make sure she stays away from the liquor bottles (you know, she may try to pour a little Kahlua into her milk and she's not a happy drunk) and keep a constant eye on her."

John stared at me for a few seconds as he sat in the car. I stared back, unrelenting.

He sighed and drove off.  (Granted, I sometimes go overboard when I talk to him or others on the safety and care of Sprite, but I have to remind John, I do this more to appease my own inner voice than nag him just for the sheer joy of it.) (Okay, sometimes, just for the sheer joy of it, but this time, I swear, my inner voice needed some appeasement.)

I am forever looking into my crystal ball at cause and effect. Cause and effect is what makes Sprite's World go round.

Example: If Sprite stands on that table and acts like a bed-jumping monkey, she may lose her balance. This will cause her to fall. And Mommy will be forced to put down the laundry/phone/blog, so it's best to circumvent the fate that beholds the teetering tot before it happens and save the tears for something more serious, like when Mommy doesn't let her sit on Blue. (Blue doesn't realize how much I really do for her. Get a rub or avoid possible injury? Guess what wins?)

Yes, this can be tedious and annoying to others. I'm not going to defend why I do it. I know it's annoying. But, it's me. And that's my kid. No, not that one. That one.

John is more laid back in his approach. He takes the "Maybe she won't be interested in the outlet/broken trike/lawn mower and there will be no problem." or "Let's burn that bridge when we get there." avenue. My crystal ball shows me a lot of pot holes in his ass-phalt (no, not a typo, shut up Typepad), but I have to live with it for the most part.

John's foresight has not been entirely clear in the past, but never where Sprite is concerned. He's always really careful with her and is more gentle with her than, say, the dogs. He thinks nothing of body slamming our beagle (she's not complaining, PETA, okay?), but won't let Sprite get her hands too close to a door jamb to protect her little fingers. (If you think his reasoning is off, you're obviously not a parent.)

I see this. My mind registers that I see this. So, why do I have to say it? "Make sure she wears a sweater if it gets cold tonight." His automatic reply is usually, "I know" and an eye roll. I know he knows. He knows I know he knows. And now you know I know he knows I know he knows. You know? (No?)

Maybe instead of muting my foresight, I should mute my mouth. (Oh lordy, I can hear him agreeing from across the house.)

Nah, John's life would be much easier. And I don't want that..

(Hm, he's quiet now.)

(That's much better.)

Not to be confused with foreskin. (Sooo glad I have a girl so I could dodge that circumcision knife...)

For those who are thinking more towards foreboding, then you and I are on the same wavelength. We work well together, you and I. (And just between us, if I wasn't happily married and trying to convince my husband that a second baby is EXACTLY what our budget needs, I would totally be into you...)

All mothers (at least the ones not in the news for really horrid reasons) have some type of foresight when it comes to their kids. You know, the sixth sense, a mother's intuition, inner voice, etc. Fathers do too, but I have seen one case where the dad obviously had his inner voice's volume turned down or on mute since he thought letting his toddler walk on the ledge of a mall fountain was perfectly acceptable while every mother in the vicinity was mentally preparing to adopt this child as soon as they hit the speed dial for DCF on their already whipped out cell phones. (I couldn't find mine.)

My foresight is what gets me into trouble with John sometimes. While we were staying at my folks' this weekend, he took Sprite to see his parents while I joined my sister and best friend for a girls' night out. I walked him and Sprite out to the car and kept reminding him of what not to do thus earning some points on my Frequent Flying off the Handle Miles.

"She has organic cookies and unsweetened applesauce in her diaper bag. Don't give her any other sweet snacks. No chocolate. No candy. No sugar. No ham." (In my defense, baked ham is coated in sugar and pineapple slices, so it fits...Wanna fight about it?)

John gave me the look. You know. The look. The one that says "Don't go there."

I gave him my look. The one that says, "I've been there since late 2006. I own there. Come on over. The weather's nice."

I kept going with my check list anyway since I knew I would be thinking about it later and it made better sense to ruin his next 10 minutes than my entire evening. "Make sure she stays away from the liquor bottles (you know, she may try to pour a little Kahlua into her milk and she's not a happy drunk) and keep a constant eye on her."

John stared at me for a few seconds as he sat in the car. I stared back, unrelenting.

He sighed and drove off.  (Granted, I sometimes go overboard when I talk to him or others on the safety and care of Sprite, but I have to remind John, I do this more to appease my own inner voice than nag him just for the sheer joy of it.) (Okay, sometimes, just for the sheer joy of it, but this time, I swear, my inner voice needed some appeasement.)

I am forever looking into my crystal ball at cause and effect. Cause and effect is what makes Sprite's World go round.

Example: If Sprite stands on that table and acts like a bed-jumping monkey, she may lose her balance. This will cause her to fall. And Mommy will be forced to put down the laundry/phone/blog, so it's best to circumvent the fate that beholds the teetering tot before it happens and save the tears for something more serious, like when Mommy doesn't let her sit on Blue. (Blue doesn't realize how much I really do for her. Get a rub or avoid possible injury? Guess what wins?)

Yes, this can be tedious and annoying to others. I'm not going to defend why I do it. I know it's annoying. But, it's me. And that's my kid. No, not that one. That one.

John is more laid back in his approach. He takes the "Maybe she won't be interested in the outlet/broken trike/lawn mower and there will be no problem." or "Let's burn that bridge when we get there." avenue. My crystal ball shows me a lot of pot holes in his ass-phalt (no, not a typo, shut up Typepad), but I have to live with it for the most part.

John's foresight has not been entirely clear in the past, but never where Sprite is concerned. He's always really careful with her and is more gentle with her than, say, the dogs. He thinks nothing of body slamming our beagle (she's not complaining, PETA, okay?), but won't let Sprite get her hands too close to a door jamb to protect her little fingers. (If you think his reasoning is off, you're obviously not a parent.)

I see this. My mind registers that I see this. So, why do I have to say it? "Make sure she wears a sweater if it gets cold tonight." His automatic reply is usually, "I know" and an eye roll. I know he knows. He knows I know he knows. And now you know I know he knows I know he knows. You know? (No?)

Maybe instead of muting my foresight, I should mute my mouth. (Oh lordy, I can hear him agreeing from across the house.)

Nah, John's life would be much easier. And I don't want that..

(Hm, he's quiet now.)

(That's much better.)

Great Expectations

I caught a post over at Momformation by Kristina Sauerwein in which she was celebrating her son Ryan's first birthday and thinking back to the expectations she had envisioned while anticipating her c-section. She thought/hoped her son would be born with a head full of hair, hopefully adopt his sister's napping rituals, and she would also be able to tackle his, well, tackle box, which is something I think all new mothers or mothers with only female experience wonder about.

I shared a smile over this and remembered my own expectations when I was pregnant with Sprite. Sure, I had hopes and dreams for how she would be, but I also had hopes and dreams for the kind of mother I would be.

I would be perfect. (Stop snickering over there! I have a point!)

Whenever my little angel cried, I would immediately find the answer to her problems and she would quiet down into the sweet cherub who slept like clockwork.

Diaper blowouts? Of course, my diaper bag would store 2 replacement outfits within its arsenal and I would never leave the house without confirming I had enough diapers for an overnight stay. This included trips to the store. 

I would never yell at my darling girl when she broke a rule, instead I would come down to her level, make eye contact, explain in a clear and concise voice what should be done, and she would do it.

I would never spank my child either, instead using my words to teach a solution thus earning her respect and her earning my respect in return.

I would answer all of her questions of "Why?" and even encourage them, giving her as much time as she needs to grow into an independent thinker.

I would keep up with my child, playing with dolls and sipping my "tea", and not resorting to repeated movies to get through the day.

My child would never be seen in a store without shoes and I would be able to cast judgment on those who actually thought it was "okay", because my daughter would be wearing her footwear.

My child would never question my authority, because I would never give her the opportunity to do so. My word would be law and she would know better than to disregard that law.

And of course, I would have my child potty trained by 2 since my child would obviously be perfect like my ideals.

(Where's my drink?)

Let's fast forward a couple of years and see how I've lived up to those expectations, okay?

I'm not perfect. (Do you REALLY need examples?) (Okay, fine..)

Crying: For the first three months of her life, Sprite had a crying fit every night at 7PM that lasted for about 60 minutes, which John and I quickly named "The Witching Hour". We realized it was all a part of growing, and while she was most difficult to deal with during her venting session, we were getting off lucky. But NOTHING calmed her down. Smooth jazz? NO. A pacifier? UH UH. A guarantee that she would be the absolute favorite child no matter how many kids came our way? I'm serious! I was thisclose to calling a notary! NOT EVEN A PAUSE. I should have known then that she was setting me up for a big fail-a-ganza. (FOOL!)

Diaper blowouts: I remember a moment during my first Mother's Day breakfast out with family when I smelled that yeasty breast milk hint and felt something on my arm as I held my adorable little spitter. She had experienced a blowout and needed changing fast before our meals came. I called my sister in (she was sitting next to me) for reinforcements and we set off for the ladies room to change Sprite quickly. As soon as we got her onto the changing table within the cramped restroom, I quickly realized that I had one dress/onesie (which was already used and pushed down into the bag to be forgotten until that very moment my pancakes were being delivered to the table) and one diaper left. Oh yeah, and no wipes. My sister and I took turns holding my "Just learned how to turn over, let me show you my neat trick, Mommy!" wiggler and running to the sink to wet down paper towels so we could clean her off. We were just short of giving her a bath in the sink, she was so covered. Why hadn't I checked the bag before we left? Why hadn't I followed my own orders to make sure I was prepared for this possible scenario? Free failing, people.

Yelling: At the first sign of Sprite's ultimately large sense of self, I was extremely patient with her and turned every discipline worthy action into a teaching lesson for both of us. Looking back on this, I was just excusing her behavior and not nipping her actions in the butt bud, but then, when she was one, everything was done for curiosity's sake anyway. Now, she blatantly defies authority again and again for attention, whether good or bad. I find my voice rising all the time in outright shock, "Sprite! Stop pulling Blue's tail!" "No, you may NOT sit on Harry!" "Do NOT close that door!" "Get away from the oven! Hot! HOT!!" and my all time favorite and most repeated "What did I just say?" when she neglects to put on her "listening ears" and tries the same thing again, usually right in front of me. (Mom, I can already see your fingers itching to click on "Post a comment".) (Oy.) (I can envision her comment now, "Dear Jen, Fail. Love, Mom. PS- What goes around comes around.")

Spanking: I still have yet to spank Sprite, but then again, most of her crimes are considered misdemeanors and corporal punishment should be reserved for felonies. My parents spanked us on occasion (read "when deserved") and Lee and I grew up just fine, same for John, but I still hold onto the idea that words are much more meaningful and can strike a bigger blow than a slap across the tushy. I want Sprite to know when I'm disappointed and work hard to avoid me telling her that. I want Sprite to apologize for her actions, not cry (or worse, laugh) when I'm punishing her. So, the jury is still out on this one. (But, I have been tempted a few times..)

"Why?": At first, I entertained her questions. Now, I understand why the standard adult answer is "because I said so." It's the only answer that doesn't invite the next "why". It's final. It's law. Move on, little lady. Nuttin' else to ask. I haven't used it though... Yet. (I think I have a Pass on this one!)

Energy: Hey, some days, I can hack it and run circles around Sprite. Some days, if she skips just beyond my grasp, I can only sit there, because the very thought of moving makes me even more tired. So I try to entice her back into grabbing distance with questions like "Do you want to wear this pretty dress I'm holding?" or "Wanna cookie?". And yes, I have succumbed (a few times) to another showing of "The Little Mermaid" so it will keep her in one room (even if her attention is elsewhere) and keep my ass in one spot (and hopefully my sanity as well). (Er.. half a fail, okay?)

The shoes: I kept my word on that promise until one day not so long ago when we had just come back from a long road trip and needed to make a quick stop at Walmart on the way home. Sprite has a habit of removing her shoes and socks right before we stop, no fail. We could be in the car for 20 minutes or 20 hours and she will somehow know when we're getting close for you hear the THUMP THUMP of her Kiddie Keds hitting the floor. And in our van, she usually tosses them behind her head into the cavernous back. John and I were in a hurry to just get in, get out, and get home to collapse and I didn't have time for a search effort so I unbuckled her, placed her on my hip and hurried in. While walking through the store, I looked down at Sprite sitting in the child seat, looking disheveled from the long ride, her shirt smeared with Goldfish dust and possibly the remnants of an earlier sneeze, her diaper obviously full to bulging through the seams of her shorts (Ouch on the wedgie! Yet, they never complain until you fix the Huggies. What's up with that?), and her bare feet dangling down. She looked like THAT kid. Which made me THAT mom. I immediately apologized (albeit silently) to every other mother I had ever ridiculed before(silently) (Hey, I'm not stupid.) and forced myself to choke down another sip of irony and failure.

Authority: Oh, the ones! How easy it was to deflect and divert! If Sprite wanted to climb onto the coffee table or scale the tv cabinet, I would just turn her attention to something less arduous like blocks and toddler friendly activities. Then she grew a memory. And an opinion. And an attitude. My authority is merely an obstacle now, something to be overcome with charm or plain determination. Our wills battle daily and if she loses, she merely moves on to the other obstacle known as Daddy. Le fail.

Potty training: She'll be three in November. FAIL.

What am I getting at here? Well, the expectation that I would excel at this parenthood thing laughed in my face and revealed me for the fraud I really am. I am not the perfect mother. I'm a good mother because I tolerate my kid's antics (and even encourage them sometimes), but I am so far removed from who I thought I would be, I don't think I would recognize the expected me if the expected me gave the current me a LOOK on the playground.

I wish you could have seen me when Sprite was still malleable and easy to manipulate, basically before she went vertical. I was living up to my expectations (for the most part) and honestly believed I could carry it on until she was eighteen.

Once her personality woke up and she grew into a sprite, I had to drop those expectations because they no longer fit the new expectations: Keep her alive and keep my sanity. 

I just received a book about surviving toddlerhood which I will be reviewing. Maybe this book will give me new expectations on the type of mother I will become.  Maybe it will just reinforce what I've already learned, which is to expect nothing but surprises.

You can expect my review next week. No fail.