Only she didn't say fudge

I've basically got the Mother of the Year award for 2012 locked down already, sorry to disappoint those of you in contention yourselves. Not only did Marlo fall off her kitchen step stool and lose the ability to walk for 24 hours, she also said the F word. It's been a banner week of motherhood. She's walking again, although with a bit of a limp, and so far no more obscenities have been uttered.

If you're thinking, "oh Tori, you're being silly, surely she was saying truck or luck or duck," well, you are sweet but wrong. She was filling in the blank for me. I was attempting to fill out a long and involved online form when the page crashed. I said the first part, the "argh, what the" part, and she filled in the rest. Then repeated it. Then turned around and looked at her father and said it again, just so he could be sure that I had, in fact, successfully taught his daughter the correct usage of the word. I don't know why she had to sell me out like that. I think we did a pretty good job of not reacting, which is What They Say to do in that situation, but it definitely proves she is 100% paying attention. All the time.  Frankly, I'm surprised this didn't happen sooner.

It might be time for a swear jar.

As if my life weren't poo-centric enough

So Marlo has become obsessed with the potty lately, which is both very exciting and very not. She's had a potty book for a while that she has now pulled in to heavy rotation. We just bought her an actual potty chair the other day during a harrowing trip to Toys R Us. She's been sitting on it, fully clothed, reading books or watching TV.* I wondered if maybe I shouldn't let her sit on the potty in the middle of the living room, but then I thought, hey, how often do you get to sit on a toilet without having to miss (pause) the action in your favorite TV shows? Right now, it appears Elmo is taking a turn on the potty, while Elmo's World plays on the screen. What a narcissist.

If potty training wasn't such (alleged) ass pain, I would be ready to be in the throes of it. What I am more ready for is the burning of my entire cloth diaper stash, and two blissful years of disposable diapers. Lately the diapers have been way harshing my mellow, what with the three teething poops a day and all. And also there's the whole part where Marlo is old enough to have an opinion about everything, including diaper changes. Her opinions tend to be quite strong on the subject, and mostly negative.

Now she's eating her snack on the potty. I should probably stop this. Although I am getting more and more convinced she just thinks it's a nifty plastic throne. I was thinking the other day how much I wished I lived in olden times, where I would have a chamber maid to come in my room in the morning, throw back the shades,  wake me gently and hand me my pot - you know, eliminating that long walk to the bathroom. Then I realized that chamber maids DO still exist, and I am one of them. There's no justice.



* I mean, not watching TV. Ha ha, she's only 17 months old, why would I be letting her watch TV? More nervous laughter, ha ha ha.

Someday, I will be that crazy person

Sooo. The weekend with my mother in law. It was fabuu. Luckily she left yesterday, thus avoiding a weather-induced extension of her visit. I was able to spend extra time futzing around the internet and indulge in 30 minute showers, so all in all it was a good five days. We have two weeks to recover and then it's my parents' turn to test the bonds of our marriage.

In the mean time. Tomorrow is Marlo's first Kindermusik class, which is really more for me than her. I mean, if she learns sign language that's great and all, but mostly I like paying for an activity for which I have to get dressed and actually leave the house. Plus I'm hoping that she will pass on her sign language knowledge to her future sibling(s). Maybe I will have a miracle baby that will communicate by sign language at like five weeks old and then, THEN who will scoff at baby sign language class?

I'll tell you who. The old me. I used to be very anti-baby sign language. I thought everyone who did it was a moron or an idiot, probably both. Mostly because I knew a pair of idiot parents who thought every time their stupid kid pointed at something it was "her sign" for whatever that object was. If you see me start acting like that, please punch me in the face.

But a tiger IS my favorite large cat

Good thing my New Year's resolution wasn't to blog more often, eh? So glad that January is almost over and we can all quit talking about how we're trying to better ourselves and just settle back into our same old sad sack patterns.

Anyhoo. This Tiger Mother crap is everywhere, huh? Or is it just the people I associate with with whom I associate? I've only read the Wall Street Journal excerpt, but I suppose I'll download the book to my Kindle - which I've had for over two years but just started using. Boy was it top of the line and expensive! Perfect for a 30th birthday present. Now I just covet the new one. Consumerism at its finest! But I digress.

We were just talking about this (parenting?) last night, how one of our friends had a creative solution to her kids' messy playroom that was on the one hand perfect, hysterical and just what those kids deserved. On the other: kind of a temper tantrum. The yelling and screaming over piano practice described in that WSJ piece seems like a temper tantrum. Kind of like how another mother I know used to break the toys that weren't put away when a certain little girl's room wasn't clean. I don't like the idea of fear as motivator. I don't like the idea of parental rage as a consequence. Maybe I'm idealistic and naive and new to this parenting game and whatnot, but I would like to minimize the temper tantrums on my end. But, who am I to say? Marlo has yet to willfully disobey me.

Distract me, won't you, while the baby cries

Now comes the unfortunate part of motherhood...pissing your kid off for their own good. I'm sure in the future there will be lots of doors slammed and I HATE YOUs shrieked. Maybe even a couple of middle fingers thrust at my turned back. But for now there's just the crying from the pack n' play.

We'll see how long this lasts. But for now we're in sleep training mode. I'm conflicted. Part of me buys into the whole concept - the baby wants to stay up and play, but the baby needs sleep, so put the baby to bed and don't let her out. However, I also buy into the equal and opposite hippie concept: the baby needs love, and to feel validated, and so pick her up whenever she cries and don't make her sleep when she obviously just wants to love you.

I'm paraphrasing of course.

My goal is to get baby girl's naps consolidated. Right now, she wants to sleep for about 40 minutes of every other hour. This makes it quite difficult to get anything done. You know what else makes it hard to get anything done? Listening to a baby cry for 20 minutes.

I could use some vodka.

It's all fun and games 'til the baby gets salmonella

Let's count all the ways I'm endangering my child's life in this picture, shall we?

Now, before you take any umbrage, let me assure you that she did not actually ingest any raw cookie dough. That I am aware of. She was just really, really in to grabbing that spoon. She actually got a hold of it while I was still in the butter and white sugar only phase, and got butter and sugar everrrrrrywhere. Husband was none too concerned about getting it cleaned up. "But she'll be all butter-hands!" I protested, to which he replied, "better than butter-face!" Hearty har har. Such a wit, that one.

On to child-endangerment, part two. Look at how perilously close to the edge that Bebe Pod is! I actually didn't realize that at the time, and was sort of shocked when I saw the pictures. Wait, don't tell me - she shouldn't be up there at all, right? Right. I know. If it makes you feel any better, she's on the floor now. Watching TV, as a matter of fact. Damn, I can't win.

The Spite Pee

Rocco, dog of the house, has earned himself the right to sport a diaper every time he's left home alone. He earned this special privilege through his tendency to spite pee.

Spite pee you say? Never heard of it. In fact, you probably heard from the dog whisperer or some such expert that it doesn't exist. No bad dogs, just bad owners. Etc.

But I am here to tell you - and I am sure that there are other owners of little terriers out there who would back me up if they were among the seven readers of this blog - spite pee totally exists.

Today, for instance. I needed to run off to the strip mall and do strip mall things like mail stuff, get some coffee at Starbucks, eat teriyaki, get some shoes cobbled, take a karate class...well, not really. But I did have errands at the neighborhood commercial center. I figured I would be gone an hour at most, and seeing as Dog had just been O-U-T not an hour before, I thought it would be a better use of everyone's time (mine especially) if he just waited until I got back to go out and pee. So I strapped his little denim diaper on and went on my merry way. Came home not even 45 minutes later to a soaking wet diaper. WTF, dog? See, that was a spite pee. It wasn't that he needed to pee SO BAD, it was that I didn't let him out the door with me when I left. Spite pee.

He then totally threw me off my game by proceeding to go outside and taking a dump, a feat which is always rewarded with a potty treat. So now here I am, with this belligerent little dog who just spite peed me, kicking up the grass like a bucking bronco - because he knows I owe him the cookie despite what he did in his diaper, because of what he JUST did in the yard. Well played, sir, well played.

I guess I will just consider it free parenting lessons and move on.