Sprite's Keeper

Think Pink (And Yellow) (And Princess)

September

"Sprite, your birthday is coming up. What kind of party do you want to have?"

"A pink party!"

"That's it? No Princess?"

"A pink Princess party!"

"Okay.."

1 Hour Later

"You still want a pink Princess party?"

"No Princess. A pink party."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. With a castle!"

"But castles are usually with Princesses... Sprite? Sprite?"

October

"Sprite, I'm working on your pink party. Which friends did you want to invite?"

"I don't wanna pink party."

".... What? You don't want a pink party?"

"I wanna yellow party. Like Snow White."

".... So now you want a yellow Princess party."

"No, Mommy. A yellow Snow White party."

"Um... hmmm."

2 Hours Later

"Sprite, I'm sorry. I can't find anything for just Snow White."

"I don't want Snow White. I wanna pink party."

Oh, thank God.

November 11th

"Sprite, your pink party is on Saturday! Aren't you excited?"

"I don't WANNA pink party! I wanna blue Jasmine party!"

Can we conveniently forget to tell her about her birthday next year until we're on our way to the party?

When Parenthood Becomes a Spectator Sport

"Happy birthday, dear Kayla, happy birthday to you!"

Birthday season has officially begun.

Sprite has a close circle of friends she has known since the Infant room at our daycare center. There's four in all, these kids whose journeys into the world all fall within weeks of each other. Kayla is the oldest, Sprite the youngest. (It still confuses me that a mere 21 day span can qualify age rank, but then we're still counting in months, aren't we?) (Okay, I'm not counting in months, but it's mostly because I haven't been able to keep up with the equation since she turned two.)

We arrived at the park to celebrate Kayla's initiation to the number Three in style. (She wanted a "dog" party. She got one.) Of course, I had my camera to capture the invariable milestones of our children celebrating another year of life together and us as parents doing the same.

We sang the songs, chased some balls, ate the cake, and even made a teddy bear. (Instant party favor. Kayla's mom ROCKS.) Sprite even got to witness her first public present opening. (With only an initial refusal to believe that none of these gaily wrapped items were hers to have.) (Of course, promising her that HER birthday party would be soon was what ended that war.)

The weather cooperated, the parents chatted, the kids played, it was a wonderful day.

I uploaded my photos the very next morning and looked over the evidence of our merriment. And realized something.

Almost every picture I took of Sprite or her friends at the party were from a distance. Snapshots of Sprite and her friend Logan picking wildflowers (weeds), a great action shot of Sprite and other friends tackling a willing dad (not John) in the open field, Sprite and others gathered around the birthday girl, trying for a first peek at what she was unwrapping, eating lunch with her friends. None of these events involved John or me or really any of the parents. The adults were left to fend for themselves, only being called when food, drink, or the occasional potty break was requested. Sure, a few of us got involved in the fun play, especially when the kids got curious with the 3 foot high cliff overlooking the lake nearby, but mostly, we weren't needed to make the play...fun. Anymore.

In fact, thinking back to the last couple of months, I can see why I've been able to get so much cleaning done during the evenings when it's just Sprite and me. She doesn't ask for me to play every game with her anymore.

It almost feels as if my involvement in her everyday life has become more of a view from the stands.

Where I used to clean her up after a diaper event, she now only requires supervision and the occasional help with wiping. (But she's more than willing to entrust me with the clean up efforts after she's done her part.) ("That potty isn't going to flush itself, Sprite." "YOU do it, Mommy.")

Feeding her dinner has been reduced from lifting the spoon to her mouth to serving the meal and the repeated reminder that the meat should also be consumed, not just the vegetables and fruits. (And yet she survives... Medical mystery indeed.) (At least Michele would be proud of her promising Vegan lifestyle.)

Dressing her has gone from picking out her outfit and physically stuffing her into sleeves and what-not to "I do it!", my only involvement being verbal. "Wrong foot, Sprite." "One leg in each hole, Sprite." "No, pants are not very comfortable on your head." "No, you may not wear your nightgown to school." "Oh, for heaven's sake, you are making me LATE, child!"

Even bedtime has suffered. She doesn't want a book anymore. She wants "Daddy's phone" before she shoos us away for the night, relying instead on toddler games and the occasional sneaking of "Dumbo" which is conveniently saved on John's video file. (Apparently, she's become so good at handling his iPhone, she even reconfigured the settings and locked John out of it, of course forgetting the passcode since two year olds are only hardwired to remember things like their names, their desires, every Princess's name and occupation, and any bribes you promised months ago. John had to wipe out and reinstall a majority of the applications he had saved on there.)

She really is becoming her own person, isn't she?

That was a hypothetial, folks. I know she is. She reminds me every day..

Let me clear my throat.

Cough! Cough!

"You okay?"

Cough! Cough!

"Sprite?"

Cough! Cough!

"John, she's doing it again!"

Dear world at large,

Yes, I know my daughter is coughing. Repeatedly. No, she's not contagious. No, she's not sick. I GUARANTEE you it's not Swine Flu. (Thanks for asking.) (Repeatedly.) Yes, we've taken her to the doctor to verify this. Yes, the doctor gave her a clean bill of health. Remarked it was allergy related most likely since she can't Harumph! to clear her throat with the rest of the population, so we're giving her some Zyrtec to help with the excess phlegm while we start teaching her how to hawk a loogey and other fine nasal passage clearance techniques.

We do appreciate your concerning looks (and will ignore the condemning ones) but we're okay. She's okay. No, she is not going to stay home from school to make sure your child is not exposed and yes, I am more than willing to laminate the doctor's note to state my case.

And yes, we promise to work with her on covering her mouth when she lets loose.

Sincerely (some snark may have been added here and there, but definitely here)

Jen

PS- You may want to check your own kid's nose. If it's green, then quarantine!

The Death of "Noah"

Amy, this goes out to you.

**********************************

"I want A cheesestick!"

"Okay, I have Mickey Mouse cheese slices. Do you want those?" (Sold at Walmart. By Sargento. Cheaper than cheese cubes by Kraft. Heaven to a Disney loving toddler.) (I just realized that sounded like an ad. Nope, not paid for it. Just really happy to spend less money on making the kid happy at snack time.)

"Yes! And Clacklers" (crackers)

"You got it."

"In a cup!"

"Okay, in a- wait, what?" I peered over the open refrigerator door to where Sprite was sitting (wrongly) on the couch, peering back over to me from her (wrong) position. 

"In a cup, cheese and clacklers, please." She smiled, proud to remember her manners.  (Which still needs reminders most of the time.)

She asked for a cup. A cup.

What happened to "noah"?

Ever since Sprite was able to assign labels to objects, any cup has been called a "noah". We've never been able to relate the term to anything tangible and I've even turned to you all for help on this site when the restrictions of my own mind stopped offering solutions to the puzzle.

As I assembled her snack, I realized it HAD been a while since I had heard the term "noah" used. While she is almost three, she still uses some "toddlerese" or "Sprite Talk" for certain things, although "noah" was her most notorious.

In fact, in the last few months, her vocabulary and speech patterns have changed drastically. John and I used to stand as the official interpretors of Sprite's World, but our position is more of a honorary title these days. Where her demands centered around a noun awash in a sea of jibber-jabber, she now adds verbs and adjectives. Sure, she's still a grammar teacher's nightmare, but at least the grammar teacher would now know what to correct, not just stand there and look to me for a general direction. 

She really surprised us when we were buckling her into her car seat to end our Halloween night. After enjoying herself immensely, she called out to her best friend who was being strapped into her own car seat in the parking spot next to us. "Bye bye, Kayla! See you next Monday!" 

John and I looked at each other in shock and asked "Did you tell her to say that?" in unison as Kayla's mom called over incredulously, "What did she just say?"

No one had prompted it. She just said it. 

I'm not sure where she stands in the spectrum of speech, if she's ahead or behind. I hope she's average since being behind would bring on a whole nother slew of worries (over my already overflowing cup of concern) and being ahead means I have to bone up on my rebuttals sooner for when she comes at me with a new scheme.

John says her leaps in la language are because I talk to her like an adult. (Sometimes. I'm as guilty as others for getting "pitchy" when I'm trying to drum up excitement about taking a nap or going to bed.) I would have to say it's more due to her day care. The majority of kids in her class speak this way, which is why I tend to drop Sprite's verbal talents into the average category. (Which I'm more than okay with.) 

Still, with her changes in height, weight, and volume (Yup, that goes up too..), she's abandoning the last remnants of the toddler days in preparation for the preschooler phase. 

I always thought I would be ecstatic when she stopped saying "noah", knowing she was ready to join Webster's Approved World of Words. I wouldn't miss the words like "noah", "batty" (butterfly), and "Sleeping Doody".

I was wrong.

HASAY: There's a Bugg in my bed. And maybe a nod to Halloween. Just because.

HASAY: What we lack in weight loss, we gain in moral support. (Hm, that may not attract new members... Casey, maybe it's best not to use this motto.)

Do you watch The Biggest Loser? Do you pay attention to the contestants? Do you roll your eyes when they sneak a plug for chewing gum or a water filter or freezer bags into the show? Alright, I'm getting off track here (When am I ever on track?), but I wonder just how much people notice when they watch. 

If you look closely at all the contestants throughout the show's season, you'll notice those black bands around their biceps or calves as they undergo their "LAST CHANCE WORKOUT!!!" or any time they're exercising. Those bands are called Body Buggs. 

John looked deeper into the mystery of the Body Bugg and found out that this contraption actually tracks your physical activity and calories burned throughout the day. You can then take that data and work out exactly what you're doing and then, after inputting your food intake for the day, it will predict (pretty accurately) how much you should have lost. (Helpful hint, don't hit up the Golden Corral when trying to diet. Am I the only one who refers to that chain as the Golden Cholesterol?)

He bought himself a Bugg on Ebay and it has amped up his interest in losing weight and staying active. He wears it all the time and even to bed, since you can actually burn calories in bed, you know. (Well, there's THAT way and just burning the REM, you people with your one track minds.) In the last month since buying the Bugg, he has lost 10 pounds.

Let's not talk about me. I've back down the four I put on over the summer, but can't seem to work up the energy to do more than say "I really need to hit the treadmill" so again, let's not talk about me.

Halloween pictures! Or more appropriately, how to be a Princess:

 

First, you need to get into character. A Princess does not look nervous.

 

Nor does she stick out her tongue..

 

When trick or treating, you must hold your own pumpkin. Pawning your heavy load off on the nearest adult will immediately cost you one pack of M&M's. And a Milky Way. Maybe a Twix. Definitely a Whopper.

 

If you should run into another Princess who is wearing the same outfit, greet her with enthusiasm. But not TOO much enthusiasm that she starts to protect her own stash of candy.

 

When you are done with your royal duties, it is important to keep your smile regal. Melting into a puddle in the middle of the street only costs you more M&M's. And Reese's. Skittles too..

Psyche- We lied.

Ring!

"This is Jennifer."

"This is a courtesy call-"

"Is she okay?" Damnit, give them a second to tell you why you're cutting your day short!

"-Sprite doesn't have a fever, and her attitude seems okay, but she's had two loose BM's, so we thought we would give you the heads up. Has she been alright with that lately?"

"Well, um, she did have pizza this weekend which may have caused, um, did she do it on the potty at least?"

"I don't know."

"Oh. Well, um, let me know if she does it again and I'll pick her up."

"Okay, thank you."

---------------------------

Ring!

"Hello?"

"John, your daughter's loose."

"Wha-?"

"The school called. Sprite had two loose ones today."

"In the potty at least?"

"I don't know. The manager didn't know."

"I wanna know."

"I know! Me too! She's been so good with it.... Can you call to find out?"

"Jen, I'm really busy-"

"Never mind. I'll do it."

------------------------

Ring!

"Thank you for calling [redacted], how may I help you?"

"Hi, this is Sprite's mom again. I'm sorry, but I have to ask. When did these accidents occur? Before lunch? After lunch?"

"I'll check for you....................................... one before lunch, and one after."

"Did she at least try to make it to the potty?"

"Um.....hold on......................................... I just spoke to Ms. Jen and she told me that Sprite doesn't show any interest in the potty when she's here."

"That can't be right. She's been perfect for a week. No accidents at all."

"That's what Ms. Jen says."

"Are you sure this is my Sprite?"

"She DID say-"

"And Ms. Jen isn't Sprite's teacher."

"One moment, I need to investigate this a little............................. I am so sorry."

"Wrong Sprite?"

"Yes! I just called her room and the teacher told me she's been perfect all day. They called up with the wrong name from Sprite's old class."

"So, I guess we're okay?"

"Yes, false alarm. Again, so sorry."

"No worries. I'm just happy I don't have to do laundry tonight."

Duck and Coldcuts

"Mommy, the playground, I see it! We go to the slide, o-KAY, Mommy?"

"First, we eat dinner and then we go to the slide, o-KAY, Sprite?"

She grins up at me, completely oblivious to my gentle mocking and allows me to steer her toward the Subway just feet away from the children's area.

Once our sandwiches are purchased, she immediately demands outdoor seating so she can "see the birdies and the owl!", referring to the plastic scarecrow placed in the risers above to scare off the finches from pestering the seating area.

We find a table quickly in the deserted area and settle in for our meal amid Sprite's chattering depiction of the scenery.

"That door is dark, Mommy. Why is it dark?"

I glance over to where her stare is trained. "Because there's no store there, Sprite." (Even the two year old recognizes the Recession.)

"Ducks!"

Huh?

She's emitting sharp notes as her finger points over my shoulder. "Ducks! Mommy, look!"

Looking into the short distance, I can see white ducks standing on the cement edge of one of the outlet mall's many fountains. Yup, they're ducks alright.

"I see that."

"I feed the ducks, o-KAY, Mommy?"

Feed the ducks? Where did she come up with this one? "Have you ever fed a duck before, Sprite?" Our petting zoo experiences have been woefully scant, given that the Avian and Swine varieties are just swimming in rumors diseases.

"No, Mommy. I not feed the ducks." She picks at her turkey sandwich.

"So how do you know what to feed them?"

She keeps her face and eyelids lowered as her pupils come up to meet mine in a classic "You really ought to know this" look. "Ducks eat bread, Mommy. I feed the ducks bread."

"But how do you-" I stop myself, realizing the futility in interrogating the child over her knowledge of duck food. "Do you want to feed the ducks?"

"Yes, Mommy!" She scrambles from her seat as I correct myself.

"AFTER you finish eating!"

She considers my addendum and looks back to her barely touched meal. The only thing she's really consumed is the cheese she had picked off immediately and the apple slices. She picks up the sandwich, takes a bite, and places it back on the wrapper. "I done," she announces, her mouth full.

Giving up, I clear our discards, asking Sprite to hold onto her sandwich for the ducks. We walk over to the fountain, Sprite counting the number of pure white tails she sees as we get closer. Her voice rises in anticipation as she chants, "I feed the ducks. I FEED THE DUCKS. I FEED THE DUCKS! HI, DUCKS!"

She's drawing an audience, two elderly couples stopping to watch the adorable cherub with her fist full of duck appetizers.

Leaning over, I start to tell Sprite that we need to take the turkey out of the bread before we break it up and Sprite gives me a repeat glare. "I feed the ducks, Mommy. I do it. O-KAY?"

All right. Fine. I'll just-

"HERE, DUCKS! EAT!" She lobs the entire sandwich, still heavy in its volume, at one of the nearby birds, nailing it in the head.

THUNK!

SPLASH!

The ducks respond in quacking fury, visibly shaken by the attack and attempt to clear the fountain in a chaotic formation, almost sideswiping one of the women who had just been commenting on how sweet my child was. You know, before she became a prime target for PETA.

The woman's husband steps forward. "She should have said 'Duck!' " His attempt at levity sinks with the now waterlogged sandwich as I smile back at him in response.

Sprite stares at the sandwich and the still visible and still agitated ducks marching off toward the lake just beyond the mall. "Bye, ducks!" she calls out, waving off her fowl friends before looking up at me. "They eat later, o-KAY, Mommy?"

I spare one more look to the sandwich sitting at the bottom of 2 feet of water. "Sure, kid. Now how about that slide?"

Skin Deep

Winter is coming. The humidity is waning, the dry skin is starting to make an appearance.

This is the ONLY reason I detest the cooler season.

I hate Eczema. I hate what it does. I hate how it looks. I even hate the way it's spelled. (I always have to spell-check it which makes me curse my laziness, then double-curse my perfectionism, then triple-curse Eczema again for making me have to spell-check it.)

Neither John nor I have been cursed with this affliction which can raise its head whenever it feels like it's being neglected, but Sprite, poor Sprite, has been assaulted from October to April for the last almost three years with dry, itchy skin.

Of course, her prescription for this dermatological malady is to scratch the skin that is tickling her senseless. This does not bode well for school pictures next month.

Despite repeated trips to the medical plaza, the nasty Eczema keeps trumping our Ace. We've been trying Aveeno, oatmeal baths, one doctor even recommended to dress her in wet pajamas and then let her sleep that way. Uh, what? I know we live in Florida and all, but that seems a little too redunkulous, thanks. And changing the bedsheets all the freaking time? We'll just keep slathering on the moisturizer.

Here's some other suggestions that came from our pediatrician:

"Cut her nails as short as possible. That will stop her from hurting herself too much." Every other night, I come after her with clippers. 1. Her nails grow way too quickly. I may need to cut back on the veggies as it appears they work a bit TOO well. 2. She thinks I'm nuts. "No, you did that yesterday! No more!" Hey, she understands what yesterday means! Score one for the milestones!

"Long sleeves no matter how hot the weather is." Again, Florida. It's not ALL air conditioning no matter what the Northerners think. She's in daycare where the kids are expected to do things like run around the playground and, you know, play VIGOROUSLY since those poor teachers are praying for the tots to wear themselves out before they fall mercifully onto their mats for two hopefully quiet hours. Sure, our days are cooler now, but the sun still shines and generates heat. This would be the prime way to find out if people really do melt. Nope, sorry.

"Cover her itchy areas in band-aids. That will stop her." You know, this worked at first. Sprite loved nothing better than to apply several Princess band-aids at one time so she could present herself as one big animation cell. (Disney should have paid her commission for all the advertising she was doing.) However, as 2 year olds often do, what comes on can also come off. You know how toddlers like to pick the boo boos? They like to do the same with the band-aids. And look! A bonus boo boo to pick! Neverending fun at twice the cost and twice the time to heal!

"Don't bathe her every night. Let her go as long as possible." Um, she's an active toddler/ pre-schooler. After a day of running around at school and most likely coming into intimate contact with every imaginable bacteria source  just short of licking it, (on second thought, maybe we shouldn't rule out the licking, toddlers are still quite mouthy) chances are she should be scrubbed down twice a day. Plus, the dogs are prone to smell on her rather than what I'm making for dinner. Apparently, SHE'S what's cooking.

So, we're working on it. We have the prescribed salve which gets brought out every time she favors a new spot to scratch and a kid who looks a little worse for the wear in some areas. And while we listen to the doctor's orders (most of the time), I think we'll keep plugging along the way we are. After all, she still is a happy kid. Just an itchy one right now.

Curse you, Eczema!! 

Brooding over Baked Goods

 

Don't worry. She ate it.

Cupcake conundrums rarely take long to solve.

It's the guilt theory immediately following that always carries the weight one.

Running The Track

(I recently went through some of the drafts in my files and found this one, one that must have slipped through the cracks. I actually remember when I wrote it almost a year ago, when Sprite was newly two, more active than vocal. Now that the words have caught up with the legs, I'm sure the shopkeeper would be thankful she got the younger version of Sprite..)

"Baba! Blanket!"

Sprite took off from where my father and I were standing, on a course for her grandmother. The quilt shop was actually doing business, the door bells chiming every couple of minutes. Every time, the bells rang, Sprite dove for the safety of my arms, before deciding it was safe to venture out again.

With my mother debating over patterns and matching colors, my dad and I took over Sprite watch. And she was in rare form.

"She's a little excited today," my father observed, as she meandered at high speed into numerous bolts of fabric filled with flowers or animals or trucks or trains. Quickly, she found a small table island piled high with colorful cotton and began to run around it.

Deciding it was easier to let her run the track around the table rather than try to capture and contain her, which may start a resistance, my father and I stood back in silent agreement with each other that we would only step in if danger was imminent or other shoppers were disrupted. While she was being noisy in her persuit of the invisible carrot she was chasing, she wasn't being obnoxious. Yet.

I looked around the store and noticed a clerk, older, obviously past her own years of child-rearing, and she watched Sprite intently, her eyes slightly squinting, almost waiting for a chance to call out the child for being, well, a child.

She must have noticed my watching her watch my daughter, for we quickly made eye contact and she smiled, knowing she had been caught in her judgement. We spoke without words. "I'm watching her, your store is safe." She cautioned back, "You'd better."

As I turned back to Sprite and scrutinized her actions, I confirmed that nothing was being disrupted, other than the peace and quiet of the area. Once another person entered that section, I immediately disrupted Sprite's race against herself and relocated her to another part of the store.

"I remember those days of trying to keep you and your sister quiet and entertained while shopping," Dad mused as we walked around, Sprite wanting up and then down.

"Oh, yeah? Did we break anything?"

"If you did, I've supressed that memory."

Sprite wriggled within my grasp once more, her sights now set on a new track to navigate near the floral patterns.

I tossed another smile back to the store's matron standing guard at the register, letting her know we would be wreaking havoc over here for a bit while my mother finished her perusal. As Sprite began her warm up near the basket of fat squares, I stepped back to stand with my father once more, bored with the store's selective offerings, amused with my kid's antics, amazed with my father's own response to Sprite's charms and (semi-) wild behavior, and kind of wishing she would hand off her baton to me to take over the race, to be that irresponsible, to run the track of my imagination, and have my own parents smiling at me from the stands.

But I'm the parent now. I don't have access to that race anymore. Or do I?