Dirty Little Secret

Tonight at dinner (which she had to delay coming to because she had to “check her email” on her baby computer) Ironflower shared this:

Ironflower: Daddy, do you want to hear a joke?

Daddy: I’d love to.

Ironflower: What do you call a bear with a sock on its foot?

Daddy: I don’t know.

silence

Daddy: Well, what?

Ironflower (giggling and shaking her head in a “silly Daddy” way): A joke!

Ironflower, Lovebug and I go to the library every Monday. We don’t usually go to the small library in our town but to a library with an amazing children’s room (Goddess bless the powers that be that made the county libraries a consortium). It’s virtually empty on Mondays, which I really appreciate. (No, we don’t go to story hour. It’s hard for Lovebug and Ironflower to focus on the stories/crafts when they could be socializing and the times always conflict with naps and/or Ironflower’s school. Plus, you have to sign up and where nametags and stuff. I hate that.)

Since the library is virtually deserted, however, we are very recognizable. Everyone who works there knows us. And the nanny who occasionally comes in with her small charge recognizes us too. Normally this is not a problem. After many humiliations at the library in Kansas City and our local library, I have finally figured out how to handle the whole enterprise without tantrums.

Er, usually. Yesterday Ironflower lost it at the library. Because, as she put her coat on, it got stuck on her head. And instead of letting her struggle for ten minutes and scratch her forehead with the zipper, I helped her. So she started screaming. And I snapped, “I was just trying to help you and if you don’t calm down I’m going to put your hat on too.” Not my proudest - or wisest - moment. Her response was to start pushing me. While still screaming. The entire library could hear us and the nanny was watching us.

Telling her repeatedly to calm down and that I’d only helped her a bit and that wasn’t she embarrassed about throwing a temper tantrum didn’t neutralize the situation. She kept screaming and pushing and all skills I’ve ever had as a mother or a teacher flew out the window. I probably should have just grabbed them both and left, but I felt bad leaving a mess and I didn’t think Lovebug deserved to lose all the books he had chosen simply because Ironflower had lost it. I turned her around and basically put her in a restraint hold (had to learn that when I had some crazy students) so that she would stop pushing me. Then I told her that she would not push me and that she needed to stop. I reminded her that she was three and there was no reason to have a tantrum over a little bit of help.

I probably repeated all of my admonitions a thousand - or ten - times. Finally she stopped screaming and settled into crying. I gave her a brief hug, then got up to pick up all the toys Lovebug had taken out again during her fit. She started screaming again that she needed a hug.

I contemplated ripping my hair out. I wondered if I could escape out the door to the reading deck. I thought about using Lovebug’s headbanging trick. I said, in the most agreeable voice I could muster, “Come and get a hug, then we’ve got to finish cleaning up so that we can leave.” Ironflower wailed something about not being able to walk. I quickly picked up the toys and went over to give her an (admittedly desultory) hug. I try never to deny the hug thing. Then I told her it was time to go to the check out. I could feel the nanny’s eyes on my back, but when I turned to smile she looked away. Ironflower wailed, “I don’t want to walk!”

“Well, I have to carry the diaper bag and two bags of books. I can’t carry you too. You’re going to have to walk.” I said it as calmly as I could because what I really wanted to yell, “Why the fuck are you acting like such a brat?” She glanced at me, made a pouty face and started walking. She asked to stop and look at the fish while I checked out, to which I agreed. Magically the fish turned her into a normal child again. We had no more problems. Except the smirking of the librarians, the wide berth the nanny gave us and the odd looks from the other patrons.

(Lovebug was around during this whole time, but he just did his own thing - Thank God).

So, is she insane or am I? And does anyone have any tips on what to do next time? Or to prevent them altogether?

Free day at play space

so many kids and their moms

I am exhausted

Ironflower smiles

Lovebug cannot stop grinning

ball pit so much fun

Most other kids nice

Except for that one kicker

You handled it so well

I am so so proud

you two are great in public

should we go out more?

Dear Ironflower and Lovebug,

I love you two more than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone. You are beautiful, brilliant and funny.

But sometimes I want to send you to boarding school. I know that you are only three and not quite two, but just hear me out. Every time you have a baby-sitter (be it grandparents or family friend), I hear about what amazingly well-behaved children you are. Ironflower, your teacher says you NEVER whine at school. She was genuinely surprised when I picked you up yesterday and you started whining. And Lovebug, you NEVER do your screaming thing in public anymore. You only do it for me - you’re already up to four screaming fits this morning. And well, children, I’m getting kind of tired of the tantrums, whining, screaming and general defiance.

Sometimes I think I must be doing something wrong and that’s why all of your unpleasantness is saved for me. And that’s where I got the boarding school idea. At boarding school, you wouldn’t have to assert your independence - you’d already be independent! Isn’t that what you want? At boarding school you would be able to be your INCREDIBLE public selves ALL THE TIME.

And I would get to spend a day or two free from screaming, tantrums and defiance.

Because kiddos, I would probably only make it without you for about two days. And then I’d have to rush up to your boarding school for hugs. And there’s also the fact that you MIGHT have some separation anxiety without me for a couple of days. Especially at bedtime

So maybe the boarding school idea won’t work.

So I guess that means we’re going to have to improve your behavior right here at home. Got any ideas?

All my love,

Mommy

The Binky Bitch wrote a post about how she found out she was pregnant. So did Karly at Wiping Up Snot. They were both inspired (or was it ordered?) to do so by Swistle (somehow I had never read her blog before, unfortunately). Anyway, since I am nothing if not a bandwagon jumper (except for Uggs, of course) I decided to share my story too.

When I got pregnant with Ironflower, Hubby and I were living together. We had just gotten engaged but had no intention of doing the whole formal wedding thing, so we hadn’t bothered announcing the engagement yet. We got lax about birth control, but I figured that as a thirty-two year old smoker my chances of getting pregnant were very slim at best.

So three months after the birth control rule relaxation, imagine my shock at my late period. Not-Hubby-Yet hardly reacted. He calmly suggested that a buy a test. I bought a two pack. I did it one morning before work, as Not-Hubby-Yet slept upstairs. It was positive.

I did the other one just to be sure. I didn’t know what to do. When we talked about it theoretically, he’d been excited. When I’d told him my period was late, he’d seemed pretty reserved. I left the tests in the trash and went to work. I spent the day trying not to cry tears of joy and terror. I wondered if he’d noticed the tests. I wondered what his reaction would be.

I came home to a clean house and a lovely dinner. Apparently, he knew exactly when it happened and hadn’t been at all surprised. Unlike me, for example. I was flabbergasted. I went to Borders that night, hoping some reading material would turn me from a thirty-two year old party girl into a responsible mom-to-be. Sometimes I think I must have skipped a few chapters.

With Lovebug it was even more of a shock.

I didn’t realize I was pregnant until I was four and a half months along.

No, I’m not kidding.

I breastfed Ironflower. My period didn’t return in any normal way during the months I breastfed. A GP told me that it could take a month after I stopped breastfeeding to get my period. So the lack of period didn’t clue me in.

I hit a plateau of losing baby weight. Nothing seemed to work on the last ten pounds. When I went back to teaching, I was so stressed out that I turned to one of my favorite comforts - food. Even as I gained weight, I just assumed it was because of my lack of self-control and the fact that I’d had a baby in my thirties. I even assumed the belly was because of how Ironflower had stretched me out.

I didn’t feel especially tired and I never felt nauseous.

The strange flutterings in my stomach did freak me out a few times, but I assumed they were gas - that’s what all the early movements felt like to me.

We had not been lax about birth control.

When I got pneumonia, Hubby took me to the ER. Before they took me for my X-ray, they asked if I could be pregnant. Thanks to an incident two weeks prior, I said there was a slight chance. They did a test. It was positive. Hubby and I stared at each other, panicked. Ironflower was only 11 months old.

Later they did an ultrasound to see how far along I was. And there was a twenty week old Lovebug, showing off his penis to us all. And I fell in love. When they returned me to my room at the hospital (something about making the pregnant woman with pneumonia actually rest and get lots of antibiotics), my OB-GYN was there, laughing at me.

Sometimes I want to have another baby just so I could the whole thing with INTENT.

On Saturday my parents and I took Ironflower to see the Nutcracker. My mother has been looking forward to this occasion since Ironflower was born and I’m pretty sure she was the most excited. Though I was pretty curious to see the old production - we saw the same one that I was in as kid (choreography was the same, but at the costumes are improved). I prepped Ironflower by telling her the story several times before we went.

Naturally a huge man came in and sat right in front of her just as the ballet was about to start. And just as naturally, my daughter would not switch seats. She would not sit on laps, either. If she hadn’t consented to sitting on everyone’s coats, she would have missed the whole thing. Sometimes her stubbornness amazes me. During the intermission we even showed her that she’d be able to see better if she switched seats, but she just wouldn’t do it. She started screaming when we tried to overrule her.

Other than that, her behavior was pretty good until near the end. During the Sugar Plum Fairy’s solo, Ironflower lost her PlayDoh. She had held on to it the whole time, rolling into it a ball and then stretching it out. I think it had really helped her focus (I used to have an ADD kid who was able to listen whenever he had Silly Putty in his hands, regardless of whether he took medicine or not, that’s where I got the idea) and remain relatively still. But dropping the PlayDoh and not being able to find it was too much for Ironflower to bear. She started whining and crying, her brother’s PlayDoh would not do. So we had to go into the lobby and wait.

It wasn’t until the next day that Ironflower wanted to talk about the ballet. And while she was able to tell her father about most of it and name her favorite costume, all she’s really wanted to talk about is how Fritz broke the Nutcracker in the party scene.

“Why did Fritz break the Nutcracker, Mommy?”

“Because he was jealous the Herr Drosselmeyer gave it to Clara.”

“Why was he jealous?”

“Because he wanted his own Nutrcacker.”

“Why did he want his own Nutcracker?”

“Because he liked it.”

“Then why did he break it?”

“Because he was jealous and mad.”

“Why was he jealous and mad?”

And so on and so on. We have now had that conversation four times.

And I thought seeing the Nutcracker would cause her to pester me about ballet lessons.

As a teacher it seemed that every year I had one of THOSE parents. One of THOSE parents who couldn’t pick their kid up on time. And I couldn’t understand it. School let out at the same time every day, why couldn’t this person get his/her act together and get there on time? Of course I understood about occasional delays - I’m pretty sure every parent was late at least once. But I couldn’t understand those people who were habitually late. Especially the ones who didn’t have jobs.

Ha-ha on me.

I was late for the THIRD time today. For the THIRD time, Ironflower was the last kid picked up from her class. Thank God she couldn’t have cared less.

But I do. Because I’m pretty sure that Mrs.G now thinks of me as one of THOSE parents. In my defense, the snow storm had started about an hour before school let out. I left myself an extra ten minutes to get to the school, but I actually needed twenty minutes (because seriously? Lexus drivers really do suck). It’s always traffic or a Lovebug tantrum that makes me late.

Leave earlier, you ask? I can’t. I’m one of THOSE parents.

Dear Ironflower,

Today you are three years old. You still love your kitty, just like you did when you were six months old. But now you’ve created a special voice for kitty - she even told you Happy Birthday this morning. You love all the Shrek movies and routinely request that Daddy and I make-up stories about all the characters (though you seem to have added in a few extra dragons). Your favorite color depends on your mood and who you’re with, it seems to alternate between pink, purple and green. You can play Little People for hours, though you like them best when mommy and daddy play with you. You love to do art projects and climb at the playground.

Everyone who meets you remarks at your beauty. Some people think we are crazy for not making a child model. But what I think is super cool is that while you believe that you are beautiful, you are also quick to think that other people are beautiful. You love to give compliments. You growl when you are angry. You see imaginary creatures everywhere and have complete faith that you can deal with them. The only anxiety you ever had about preschool was that you didn’t want to leave. You are quick to demand things but you almost always remember to say thank you. I love it when you ask for hugs. You like to try things yourself first, then ask for help (or not).

I hope that you never lose your utter faith in your abilities. I hope that you always see the beauty in yourself and others. I hope you never forget how to ask politely and assertively for what you want. I hope you always feel how much we love you and know that nothing you could do would ever change that. I hope you can always tell me anything.
love,
Mommy

(Cake update: When we braved the bitter cold to go to the grocery store this morning, the kids chose the same blue car cart we had last night. After settling them into the car part, I swung my purse into the top part. . .next to a can of chocolate frosting. I turned it in and bought a new one though.)

Tomorrow is Ironflower’s birthday. When asked what she wanted her special treat to be, she asked if she could make and decorate a cake with Daddy. We thought that was a great idea. Knowing that Hubby was going out of town Friday afternoon (yes, that does suck on so many levels), cake time was set for Friday morning.

But actually, Hubby had to leave town Thursday afternoon. (Which we did not realize until it was too late for him to take the train to Newark Airport and I had to drive home from there and it was HELL. HELL. But I’m going to stop bitching about it. . .now.) So today I baked the cake with Ironflower.

I took both children to the grocery store so that Ironflower could choose her flavors and decorations. That was a challenge in itself, since I had to run across the parking lot to snag one of the car carts (the only ones Lovebug deigns to ride in without screaming. Much.). Then we spent ten minutes in the baking aisle because I couldn’t find the damn sprinkles. They were in a bin, not on the shelves - like I was supposed to know that?

Anyway, we made it home. Ironflower and I began baking. But after buying all the ingredients listed at the top of the box (what? Like I’d risk my daughter’s birthday by trying something from scratch?), I soon discovered that we’d missed something. Far down in the directions, it mentioned that I needed to grease the pan (was I supposed to know that? I bake cookies. That’s it. I don’t grease things.). We do not have shortening or lard or even cooking spray. I called Hubby, hoping that he would not tell me that I had to go back to the store. On his directions, we coated the pan with vegetable oil.

Everything else went according to plan. I didn’t even burn the cake while simultaneously making (microwaving) dinner. Though the edges look a little crunchy. But I blame the vegetable oil for that.

However, I discovered another problem when decorating time came. I lost the frosting (and if you think I would have the ingredients or the know-how to make frosting, you must be new here. Welcome. But don’t assume I have anything that normal housewives have. Because I don’t.). It was not on the counter. Nor in a cabinet. I checked the garbage. I checked the car. I checked the garage. The frosting had disappeared.

Ironflower took it well. Especially after I promised her another trip to the grocery store tomorrow morning to pick out new frosting. Won’t THAT be fun?

I am so tired
How long does tryptophan work?
I was up too late

Lovebug had a dream
He was so unhappy that
he could not calm down

Poor little baby
He seems very happy now
I am relieved

Ironflower sits
enchanted by Little Bill
no bad dreams for her

Daddy is sleeping
how long should we let him rest?
He hates the morning