Whatchoo doin’ with the apple? Yuck apple! Don’ eat it!– Dictator, trying to save Snow White
It's 9:56 a.m. and Dictator is Still Sleeping
This could make today very, very good, or very, very bad.
thefootlightclub replied to your chat: Drunken Texts from thefootlightclub I am not in bed! It is 11:57 PM and I am WIDE AWAKE!
Drunken Texts from thefootlightclub
I'm going tostay up late! Like a real 2 year old!
35 year old!
Fuck me. I AM 25!
The Husband and I have a friend who, along with his sister, refused to eat turkey while growing up. Not willing to let her kids ruin traditional family meals, his ingenious mother started serving “big chicken” for the holidays instead of turkey. For years, our friend and his sister gagged at the thought of turkey, but man - did those kids love them some “big chicken”! We...
I need chocolate!– Dictator
That's Where I Keep Mine, Too
Me: Where's your baby?
Dictator: In the cage.
Me: In the cage?
Dictator: In the CAGE!
Me: What cage?
Dictator: THE CAGE!!
Me: Show me.
Oh... in the suitCASE. Well. That makes MUCH more sense.
Dictator (who generally recoils at the thought of temporary tattoos): I want princess tattoo, Mama.
Me: You do? Are you sure?
Dictator: Please? I want Ariel.
Me: Sure. Show me which Ariel tattoo you want.
Dictator: I want this one... right here [points to arm]. Mama have Snow White here [points to my leg].
Me: Okay. Come here and let me put Ariel on.
Dictator: Mama do Snow White. Then Ariel!
Me [after applying my tattoo]: Your turn!
Dictator: No. No tattoo for Dictator.
What the Princess Wants, the Princess Gets
The Dictator turns three today, and to celebrate properly, we held a “Royal Affair” yesterday afternoon. All of the guests, adults included, were invited to dress up in their most regal attire for the event. The Husband & his dad sported crowns, my stepmother-in-law donned a purple satin gown fit for a queen, and I squeezed into a slightly small, floor-length, puffy-sleeved, yellow...
Me: Does Mama look pretty?
Is This One Of Those Times Where If I'm Worrying...
Currently questioning my ability to parent. The in-laws are visiting, and I can’t tell whether the Husband’s stepmother’s comments about Dictator’s behaviour are passive-aggressive or just general, no-ill-will-intended commentary. For example: “Someone likes to make a lot of noise, doesn’t she?” (Um… Yes. She’s three. If you tell her to...
The Next Family: Nature vs. Nurture (Meika Rouda) →
Nothing would validate my beliefs about open adoption more than if Dictator grows up being able to say, “I got that from [birthmom]” or “I love ___ just like [birthdad].” Sure, she’ll probably grow up loving to read because the Husband and I spend a lot of time reading with her. Yes, she’s likely to love (or absolutely detest) camping because it’s...
Those Who Can't Do... Teach?
Dictator spent about ten minutes today teaching a stuffed frog how to use the toilet: “You haffa pee potty, Fwog?” “Run quick quick quick, Fwoggy! Quick quick quick!” “Sit on potty, Fwog! No wiggle! Sit still!” “Shh! Listen, Fwoggy! Listen for the pee!” “I hear it! I hear the pee! Yay, Fwoggy! YAAAAAAY! Goooo job, Fwoggy! Goooo...
My Little Leo
Dictator and I are both Leos, with birthdays two weeks apart. If you don’t know any Leos, then your life may be lacking highly opinionated, extraordinarily self-centred, bossy people. (Also passionate, affectionate and loyal people, but that’s not the point of this story.) In the car today, the Husband was asking what I’d like for my birthday, which was a nice change from all of...
Avoiding the Question
Dictator [returning from the kitchen]: I ate it!
Husband: What did you eat?
Dictator: In my tummy!
Husband: What's in your tummy?
Husband: What did you eat for snack?
Husband: What kind of food did you eat?
Dictator: My food!
Husband: But what kind of food?
Dictator: In my tummy! I ate it!
She Should Be Working for Crayola
Dictator has started naming colours according to the Disney princesses they represent. We just took off her red Ariel nail polish, and she’s now proudly displaying her yellow Belle toes, although there seemed to be some significant internal debate before she decided whether she would go with Belle or Cinderella (blue). Apparently, I’m sporting a Rapunzel pedicure. Where do they...
The Daddy Complex: Night Terrors
Me: Okay, guys. Here's how this is going to go down. I'm going to read two stories, then sing one song, then lights out.
Boone: Sounds good.
Me: Stories, song, then sleepy time.
Wyatt: Dude, we got it. Jeez.
Me: Lately, you guys really throw a fit at bedtime. So, I just want the routine to be clear.
Boone: C'mon, man. The routine hasn't changed for, like, two years.
Wyatt: We're not morons.
Me: Then, why are you guys suddenly reacting like the end of the bedtime routine is a surprise.
Boone: We're at a developmental stage in which we're finally making our own decisions. You ask us what shirt we want to wear or what we want for dinner or what show we want to watch and we get to decide. That kind of participation is a new and wonderful thing for us. We're establishing our own identities—our likes and dislikes. We're exploring the world around us and realizing each choice we make, no matter how mundane, serves as a deeper interaction with the world.
Wyatt: So, when you say, "Lights out," it's something we don't control. You step in and stomp all over that freedom we spent all day establishing. It sucks, man.
Me: I never thought of it that way.
Boone: So, you understand that explaining the bedtime routine isn't going to do any good.
Me: Yes, I... Wait. What?
Wyatt: We're still going to throw a fit.
Boone: Every night.
Wyatt: For a while, anyway.
Me: How long is "a while?"
Boone: Could be up to a year.
Me: Hold on, now.
Wyatt: You stomp on our freedom, dude.
Me: I don't stomp on—
Wyatt: No more! ¡Viva la revolución! Arab Spring!
Me: It's just bedtime. Everybody has a bedtime.
Boone: We'll see about that.
Wyatt: Attica! Attica! Attica!
"Mama...? Mama, I yuck. I..."
And then she threw up. She yuck, indeed. Current status: Working from home while kiddo sleeps off the “yuck”.
We have recently developed a moth problem in our house. Joy. Dictator calls them butterflies, and engages each of them in conversation. “Whatchoo doin’, buhrr-fly? You flying? You have nap, buhrr-fly?” We don’t enjoy them nearly as much as she does, so instead of engaging them in conversation, we’ve been killing them whenever we can. Call me callous, but I like my...
Oh, I See How It Is
Me: Good morning!
Dictator: Goooo morning!
Me: I love you.
Dictator: I love Clive.
She'd Make SOME 50's Housewife
This morning, while I was ironing my pants for work, Dictator shared this gem of a feminist statement: “Mama! Mama! No iron your pants. Mama iron Daddy pants.”
michaeladaily replied to your post: Being a Working Mom is Hard My six year old nephew asked me in front of my boss once if he was ‘that guy you hate so much’ and then looked him up and down before sort of sauntering away. Kids are great. They really are. That is awesome.
mediocremommy replied to your post: Being a Working Mom is Hard perhaps you read in my blog already but Jack asked me if I was going to “crap my pants” in front of a clerk at Costco Sweetbabyjesus. I missed that one, because I’m sure I’d remember it. That’s too good not to remember. (I take back my earlier reply to your shower post!)
Being a Working Mom is Hard
Reasons why you should not set your Bluetooth to auto-answer when you have a small child: You will be outside the car, putting air in your tire, when the phone rings. You will not get back into the car fast enough to look at the number and put on your business voice, or silence your child’s running commentary of the world at large. Your child will refer to the caller as...
At Least She Used a Cup
Our tiny Dictator is growing fast, becoming more and more independent as she reaches the ripe old age of three. This suits our inherent laziness desire to foster self-sufficiency just fine, and yesterday, after getting up 437 times to fetch her a glass of water, the Husband decided to tell the Dictator to help herself to water from the bathroom, since her step stool is a permanent health and...
bujnik replied to your post: Can I Get a Price Check at Till 3? …please tell me it’s this one. wordsthroughpictures.tu… We have the low-end version of that one - it’s exactly the same, minus the fancy-schmancy produce scale. That, and Dictator’s is excruciatingly bright pink. I would also love nothing more than for it to break. The fact that it beeps for as long as the button is...
Can I Get a Price Check at Till 3?
We just spent the better part of the last hour playing an extremely compelling game of “Grocery Store” with Dictator’s little plastic cash register - complete with annoyingly high-pitched realistic scanning gun! (No one would blame you if you admitted that you’re jealous right now.) When she got tired of Grocery Store, Dictator started randomly scanning other things in the...
More Coffee Required
We’re interviewing for a boatload of positions at work right now. One of the hiring managers just sent me an email with this subject line: “Check References on Guy for Accounting Position”. I just spent five minutes going through our interview files trying to find my notes on this mysterious “Guy”, since I could not remember ever speaking to someone named Guy for any...
I got up early so I could go into work early.
I’m still sitting on the couch. This is a much better use of my time, I’m sure.
It May Be Time to Broaden My Topics of Discussion
I just Wordled my Tumblr. Sorry about all the pee talk, folks.
Day 1 of No Diaper at the Sitter's
Dictator kept the same pair of underwear dry all day. I was super proud of her and told her so, and we picked up celebratory cookies on the way home. Five minutes after we walked in the door, she peed all over the floor. Sigh. It’s still progress. It’s still progress. It’s still progress…
whatever, etc.: no shit. →
inkdot: This weekend I was told a story which, although I’m kind of ashamed to admit it, because holy shit is it ever obvious, is kind of blowing my mind. A friend of a friend won a free consultation with Clinton Kelly of What Not To Wear, and she was very excited, because she has a plus-size body, and wanted some tips on how to make the most of her wardrobe in a fashion culture which...
That Doesn't Sound Legal
Dictator: My mama!
Husband: She's your mama, and she's my wife.
Dictator: My wife!
Husband: Your mama. My wife.
Dictator: Dis my wife, Daddy! Mama my wife!
Well, that's one way to get around a grammar...
Dictator: I can't want jam.
Husband: You don't want jam.
Dictator: I can't want jam!
Husband: No, you DON'T want jam.
Dictator: I. Can't. Want. Jam!
Husband: Say "don't". You don't want jam.
Dictator: No jam, please.