Mothers, Daughters and Other People's Daughters

The day my mother realized I was never going to embrace shopping as my one true savior, she died a little on the inside. It is also the day she began praying to the Lord of Sparkly Dresses, Designer Labels and Great Deals to grant her a granddaughter who would make up for her own daughter's tragic flaw.

The Bean will turn one year old next month and I have an amazing fact to share with you: Humans are born with nearly 300 bones in their body, but only have 206 bones by the time they reach adulthood. Also, I have only purchased one item of clothing for my child. Ever. And she has not even worn it yet.

Nana has been busy.

When I first informed my mother I was pregnant with a baby girl, she showed up with enough clothes to outfit The Bean for the first few hundred years of life. This was great; especially since, at the time, I was blowing extreme amounts of money on supporting my ice cream habit.

Every few weeks since The Bean's arrival onto this planet, I end up shouting, "Holy crap kid, quit this growing business! You're going to force me to go shopping because we're out of clothes you fit into. And if I have to go shopping, I promise I will torture you with a closet full of corduroy pants when you hit middle school."

Lucky for The Bean, Nana's superpower is sensing when a fashion catastrophe is imminent. Within the next day or two a new shipment of clothes comes in; keeping The Bean baby chic and me from having a mall meltdown. Win-win-win.

Recently, my mother asked me how The Bean was enjoying her newest shipment of fashionable frocks she lovingly picked out piece by trendsetting piece.

Crap.

My daughter inherited two things from me. An inappropriate love of pickles and a complete lack of interest in sparkles, ruffles, glitter or Ralph Lauren.

Pretty sure Nana was envisioning this.

The reality is, every time a new box of clothes from Nana arrives, The Bean looks inside and then crawls off to make raspberry noises as loudly as possible, preferably while banging on metal objects. Meanwhile the nanny's daughter lovingly pulls out each item, examines its craftsmanship and beauty then struts around the house with her favorite pieces as if she was working the runway in Milan - glancing down at us proletarians and style simpletons.

I did what any daughter would do. I told my mother the horrible truth - that her granddaughter was also fashion-backward. Because daughters like nothing more than getting under the skin of their mothers; even when the child is 34. (And yes, I realize I will be getting my just desserts someday soon; that's the joy of it all.)

Last week's fashion delivery consisted of two matching shirts (in different colors). As Nana put it, "One for The Bean and one for The Fashionista." A truly lovely gift for the girls, but mothers always have the last laugh. Nana's one request: send me a picture of the girls in their shirts.

Do you know what's impossible? Getting two toddlers to sit still at the same time for a photograph.

Here is our photograph(s):

Fashionista: I'm out of here.

The Bean: No seriously guys. She's gorgeous, I must kiss her.

OH MY GOD!!!! PUFFS!!!!!!!!!! I need my fix.

Why did she get more than me?

This'll show you, you greedy biatch. POW. The rest of the Puffs are mine.

What do you mean this is the last of the puffs? (Side note: this was the best shot we got of them together.)

Must have more puffs...

Are you sure there are no more puffs? I'll sit still.

Stumped

I've got nothing. So please pardon this break while I try to find my funny again. In the meantime, go ahead and follow the blog on Facebook if you want a notification of when I manage to get a new post up.

I Went Away...But Can't Post Because of the Sex Dolls

I am desperately trying to write a post about my first true trip away from the child. A momentous occasion on many fronts.

But I can't.

I turned on TLC and have been sucked into episode after episode of My Crazy Obsession. Every time I try to concentrate on writing, they show a piece more bizarre than the last. Culminating in one about a husband who buys sex dolls (some used!!?!?!?!) - a habit condoned and encouraged by his wife. Because it's not sexual for them (uh, maybe not for you lady) and has brought them together since now they have something to talk about again (cut to the scene where they are having tea with one of the dolls and the two living humans are talking to the silicon doll and not each other).

So you can understand why I am finding posting so difficult. The level of judging and ridicule these people deserve requires a large amount of my time and brain power. I have nothing left for you people.

But I will pull myself together enough to share with you the photo I received this morning from my husband ASSURING me the child and he both made it through the night alive without being under my watchful eye.

VERY. REASSURING. Isn't it????

ALVIIIIIIIIIIIN!!!!!

Somewhere in the house a noise caught my attention. As a mother, you become acutely aware of all types of noises and can instantaneously sort the noises into categories. "Act NOW. Go go go!" or "Ignore. It's just a dog licking some inappropriate body part for the 10 billionth time today."

This noise set off the "Hmmm. What IS that?" reaction series.

I followed the noise into the hallway where the cat was scratching feverishly around the litter box. Not IN the litter box...around the litter box.

Well that is odd.

Then Edison let loose with his battle cry - a distinct cross between a broken sprinkler and squeak toy on its last squeak. 

Oh no...he's hunting.

I cautiously looked behind the litter box to see if Edison had removed the legs from a spider, punched a hole in the wings of some unsuspecting moth or if there was a crumpled up ball of tinfoil stuck in the corner. That's when I saw the tail.

20 minutes later, I stopped screaming and peeled myself off the ceiling. 

This was not just any intruder. My initial thought before I was gripped with the panic of being eaten alive by a rodent the size of a Snickers bar was "Holy crap! A mouse." But upon closer inspection (read: as he darted from behind the litter box into the open door of The Bean's room and sent me screaming into the living room), I saw we had a chipmunk on our hands.

Somehow I bypassed my natural hunting response of paralysis and closed the door behind the cat and chipmunk. I was half hoping for an epic cage match to ensue - clearing me of any involvement in chipmunk removal. But it was The Bean's room and chipmunk guts aren't good for growing girls. Besides, within 5 minutes the cat was clawing and mewing at the door to be let out. 

Stupid cat had given up the chase once the chipmunk had crawled into the furthest corner of the room; safe from cat claws...under THE CRIB.

That's when the nanny showed up.

In retrospect, I deeply regret not having a nanny cam set up. By this time we would be internet stars and I could retire on my YouTube fame.

There was the screaming. The jumping back in terror for no reason roughly 203 times. The moving every piece of furniture in the room with extreme trepidation and dropping it and running in fear every time a tuft of dog hair moved. All from two grown women seemingly responsible enough to raise children.

The following items were used in The Chipmunk Hunt and Extraction of 2012:

* A Mary Kay box emptied of my skin care regiment

* A stuffed giraffe from Crate and Barrel

* A burp cloth

* A lazy, disinterested Labrador Retriever

* A cookie sheet

Shockingly, this arsenal of weapons wasn't working. It was time to get serious.

I marched out of the room and detailed the new plan to the nanny, "OK. We need to go old school. All the old cartoons show people chasing rodents with a broom and a shoe box. Those are our new weapons. When I find the chipmunk, you'll know because I'll start screaming like a little girl. That's your cue to come in behind me and catch him in the box as I chase him with the broom."

Yes. That was my plan.

Yes. It was as hilarious to watch as it sounds.

Yes. It worked.

Maybe Rednecks Do Have it All Figured Out

The child is growing her top teeth. 

I'm willing to let her go toothless just to make the whole experience stop.  How important is corn on the cob in the grand scheme of things?

When one's gums hurt, everything hurts 500,000,000 times more. So when The Bean touched a paper box, her head popped off her neck. When she sat on the carpet, her neck started shooting flames into the air. And when she stepped on a piece of dried grass one of the dogs dragged into the house, one of those flames landed on her pajamas and set her whole body on fire.

The upside is I've convinced her baby Tylenol is delicious candy and not poison.

So there's that...

Impulse Control

The Bean sat herself down in front of the toy and began pounding the crap out of it. Buzzers were going off, lights were flashing, plastic pieces were popping up and down - she was having a great time with it. Until the little girl next to her stole the toy right out from under The Bean's nose.

No worries. There was a full box of toys. 

We reached in and pulled out an equally annoying xylophone and handed The Bean a stick which she used to pound out a sorrowful ballad of love lost. Until the little girl made a beeline for the xylophone and ripped it out of The Bean's hands.

Michael and I took a collective deep breath. 

The Bean found a calculator to play with. The xylophone was forgotten. The Bean meticulously pushed buttons and finished our tax returns. Until the little girl swiped the calculator from The Bean.

My eye started twitching. 

Michael grabbed the first toy, now strewn aside and neglected by the thief child, and placed it back in front of The Bean. Friends reunited. The pounding of switches and snippets of the alphabet song filled the room. Until the little girl pulled the toy from The Bean's grasp. She must have heard Michael's agitated foot tapping. The next thing I knew, she was shoving the calculator back into The Bean's hands, nearly knocking her down in the process.

Since the thought was there, despite the violent execution, we said a falsely cheerful 'thank you' to indicate sharing is nice. 

But child law being what it is, as soon as The Bean started tapping on the calculator keys, the little girl needed the calculator. Now. And having 3 years and about 30 pounds on The Bean, it was quickly hers again. And The Bean was toy-less.

Michael was rolling up his sleeves and cracking his knuckles. I quickly reminded him that good hippie parents do not interfere in such social interactions. Rather, they let the child figure out how to handle the situation on their own so they do not turn into miserable, entitled adult gits looking for handouts. 

We focused our attention back on The Bean who had found a plastic box with a marble inside it. A treasure that the little girl promptly pried from The Bean's increasingly tighter grip.

I sighed. Michael stood up to drop kick the little girl to the next room when The Bean having had quite enough of this rude behavior let out a little shriek of annoyance. There was only so much she would tolerate. So The Bean crab crawled her little butt over to the little girl and stole the box right back.

We couldn't be prouder.

Apparently I Fell Off the Earth, But Then I Came Back Because I Missed Pizza

Yeah, yeah. It's all or nothing with me; what can I say? I'm probably in the top 54 bad people on the planet because I can't keep a blogging schedule to save my life.

But I can explain.

You all...you're not going to believe it, but I'm having a great time in the land of Mama. People say it takes 4 or 5 months until you start to reap the benefits of parenthood and really begin to enjoy yourself. I guess the "give or take 5 months" was implied.

The Bean has turned into a human over the last month or so and we actually have fun together. That or my standards for what I find interesting in another human has dropped significantly - which is entirely possible since I work in a home office and am surrounded by 3 annoying dogs and a pissy cat all day.

But it's a nice change to hang out with someone who thinks life is pretty super and we should probably just laugh at all the things.