It Happened!!!!!!!!!

Just after bath time, after hair brushing and teeth polishing......

......she says to me, "Momma, I wanna go potty".  I'm thinking, sure you do, this potty thing has become a novelty instead of a waste receptacle.  But I put her on it anyways and give her the "Once Upon a Potty" book to peruse for inspiration.

"Momma I peepeed."

Doesn't necessarily mean anything.

"Ok."

Then I look over at her, she's peering down into the potty...at a small yellow puddle.

"AH!  Omigosh!  You peepeed in the toilet!  That's so awesome!  Do you see it?  You did it!!!"  And so on for about 5 minutes.  She didn't forget the promise of a chocolate chip upon completing such a task.  So of course she got one, post teeth brushing and all.

I haven't been so excited or thrilled about something in a long, long time.  My heart is beating faster, I wanted to (and did) dance around and throw her a party.  It was awesome!

"Don't be mad Mommy"

Ohmigawd.  I'm having a conflicted parenting moment.

After laying down for a good twenty minutes, my kid is heard lurking in the doorway.  I say, "Are you ok Rosanna?", to which she replies, "Don't be mad at me Mommy".

WHAT?!

Pros: The kid is forming complete and logical sentences and is willing to be a request for what she wants.
Cons: She assumes I'm going to be mad at her.

For the record, it is only upon her second, third and fourth attempts to free herself from bedtime when I become stern.  Not an ounce of mad, mind you- but stern and unyielding.  Her response to my increasing sternness is melt-down.  It's a voice and attitude that I rarely take with her and I think it shocks her a bit.

It makes me sad that she wants to avoid me being mad at her....then again, she is two and her interpretation of the word "mad" and mine are vastly different.  As you can see I have attached negative connotations to it, which is something I'd like for her to avoid and instead accept that she and I can be "mad" and it's ok, it's not something to actively avoid.  It's just normal.

Ergh.

Run ragged!

My baby is napping.  As she should be, we ran her ragged this morning.

It started with visiting a house.  A two bedroom house (!).  Could this be the one we have been waiting for?  Nope.  The landlady was absurdly difficult to be in a conversation with (she wanted to share about all her ailments, trials, etc....I just wanted to make an appointment), the house smelled like a smoker, the street parking was lacking and the landlady's dog (she lives next door to this house) barked the entire time.  That's a big, fat thumbs down.  Too bad, really.  The house itself was, in my opinion, perfect for us.

Next, my mom and I took a lovely hike.  Ro cruised in the stroller until we went off road, then that lil' sucker held pace nearly the entire time (we walked for a good two hours!).  We wandered down paths whose end we weren't sure of, and decided to come back before we got too far.  What an adventure we had!  Butterflies were everywhere, my mom even caught one to give to Ro, but she liked them better on the flowers.  The shallow, flowing run-off was speckled and wriggling with wee little tadpoles- so cool!  We caught some and put them in Ro's hands, but she liked them better in the water.  We threw rocks in a miniature waterfall that was pooling up all gorgeous-like, making us wonder if it was worth scaling down the rocks to get our feet wet.  And while we were on the home stretch, with Ro tightrope-walking the narrow edge of the canal, I quickly pulled her up to me as the tip of her sneaker met the nose of a baby rattlesnake who was sunning in the path.  A few minutes later, I snagged her to me again.  Two baby snakes, how exciting!  'Tis the season?  Oh, and add "first poopy diaper changed in the wild" to the baby book.  BOOM.

So now she is napping.  I always feel like a "good mom" (whatever that means) when I sufficiently wear my kid out so that the nap is well deserved.  Otherwise, I feel like I am enforcing a rest on a rested child.

Now you know.

Sleeping baby

There is nothing more simply divine, more perfectly precious than my sleeping child.

Throughout the hours of the day her voice is a constant, her expressions twist and shape her face.  She is a little girl with a swinging pony tail and quick running legs.

Deep into slumber she is my baby.  Her face is soft, round and warm- relaxed.  I can kiss her and snuggle her and she won't pull away to busy herself elsewhere.

I am reminded that she is still so small, despite her outspoken preferences and blooming independence.  She really will always be my baby.

It's over, S.F.

I used to have a somewhat romantic relationship with San Francisco.  I can remember arriving to the city, off the Bay Bridge and into the darkened streets.  The buildings loomed and crowded out the sun and there was a melee of cars, people and muni-wires crisscrossing the streets.  It was chaotic for my mellow foothills-trained brain to make sense of.  It was chaotic and magical.  So very different from our hometown, it was like entering another world.  I felt like I didn't know how to communicate with these people.  They were abrasive, impassioned and abrupt.  Some walked around with faces toward their feet, moving desperately.  Others meandered, imploring for interaction, speaking to whomever.

In Berkeley today, outside of Nobolom Bakery

The entire experience would leave me shaken and strangely yearning for more- it was exciting!

Fast forward to today.  Everything is the same save for the "yearning for more" part.  Oh, and now I am charged with driving the streets myself.  Erg.

Raining today in S.F.

I am not longer in love with San Francisco.  The past three times have left me stressed and disappointed.  Restaurants that get great yelp reviews turn out to be lacking in every way: mediocre food, stuffed into a small space down a grungy street with grungy people hanging around outside.  The metered parking keeps me in a panic about the number of minutes that have passed and the location of my next quarter fix.  We arrived a few minutes late to our car and were the lucky recipients of not only a parking ticket, but a $100+ ticket for no front license plate.  I can hardly complain, we were guilty of both charges.  It did add a special sprinkling of irritation of which there was already plenty.  Oh, and let's not forget the time I stepped in bum poo.

E got a kick out of this

Add to this the spastic drivers (left turn is yield on green, where do you want me to go?!?), the rotten smell every few blocks, and the 10 minute drive it takes to get 2 miles and we're looking at a break up.  I've outgrown you S.F.  I see you through my 30 year old, married, Mommy eyes and I'm not buying.

Upside?  We bought the BMW we came to see.  Cool, huh?

Easter....eggs...oh, no

It's safe to say that I am hyper-aware of the things I want my child to remember.  As if I have a choice, ha!  I treasure and fondly reminisce on yearly traditions I had as a wee-one.  I am certain most of the memories weren't choreographed by my parents either, which takes my hovering to a new silliness-level.

So consider me: mom who wants to create smiley memories at every turn, and add into the mix Easter (a holiday traditionally marked by egg coloring)  along with new-found veganism.

My tradition-o-meter was flashing and honking and steaming and raising a ruckus that had my blood pressure rising and tears forming in my eyes as I considered that egg dying my not be in my child's future.  I spend a good few minutes freaking out about this.  Then, all hail the internet, I checked in with my vegan brethren and found my new traditions!

As my wise old Uncle Joe told me (nearly 6 years ago- so don't quote me verbatim): we are making a new family, with new traditions and new habits- you are a new unit, the old one is still there, but this one is for you to take and make your own.

My Uncle Joe married us, but before he would he wanted to meet with us and chat some.  Good move, Uncle.  I remember that ALL the time.  I cherish it.  It gives me permission to be a new family, unbounded by the old one and free to make new choices, if that is what we want to do.

Our new tradition looks like this: cover a small balloon with tissue paper painted over with a flour/water mixture, let it dry and pop the balloon to get it out.  Fill the "egg" with goodies (this year will be stickers, Annie's gummy bunnies, and something else) and then hide the eggs Saturday after the wee-one falls asleep.

OH MY GOSH I CANNOT WAIT!

I love, love, LOVE watching my kid explore new experiences.  It's like crack for me- I get so amped up to see what she'll do, how she'll problem solve, her excitement at figuring things out.  What a rush!  I guess vegan Easter won't be ruined after all.

On a related note: stay tuned for an unlikely Easter bunny story, coming soon to this blog near you.....

Today is not the day

Today is not a day where I think, "Hey, look at what a cool chick I am!".  Or, "Wow, I'm pretty good at this 'life' thing!".  I'm not going to use this day as a prototype for future days.  Nope.

Granted- it's only 2:30pm.

I feel like my frustration cup is brimming, overflowing while my patience cup sits dry and forlorn.  I'm going to have an ugly-face day.

Most mornings, this one included, my husband wakes up feeling less than stellar.  Some new ache or ailment, some barely audible croaking about not getting enough sleep.  My morning attitude has taken a turn for the worse, thinking, "Please, just don't say whatever it is", I feel judgmental and irritated.  Not my best wife moment.  So I get up, change a diaper and shut him into the bedroom while Ro and I scrounge around for breakfast (quesadilla, anyone?).  We, inevitably, are too loud in our weensy house and the big man doesn't get the rest he so desperately desires.

Now he's grumpy, his 'tude is transferring onto the toddler and frustration coupled with epic whining are all my ears can hear.  The logical next step of course, is that now I'm irritated.  My victim-brain says to my situation, "Why do  always have to be the adult?  Why am I the one who is left to handle it all?  Why am I left taking care of two little kids?".  Of course none of this is true.  Being the victim is so much easier than being responsible.

So off I went.  Whisked myself and the child away to a friend's to do crafty things.  With my irritation level on high alert, it was a relief to find my friend had actually set up an activity for Ro to do, unlike all the crap I brought witch was not toddler friendly.

Eventually we left, Ro was getting into all the things she was asked not to (and who could blame her, there wasn't much for her to do) and it was nap time.

For 20 minutes, she tossed, turned and practiced gymnastics while laying in bed.  I called it quits.  I left her there and told her to please go sleep now.  The calmness with which she agreed was creepy, and short lived.  Dramatic crying and sobbing about how she was sad followed with requests to be done sleeping were not far behind.  Throw in a few other annoyances (see: cat while I'm trying to eat) and I'm spent.

The thing is, this isn't unlike most days.  I must only have so many that I am able to cruise through before I max out and freak out.  I feel like my heart is tight and my head is heavy.  I've got the, "I don't give a f*ck" feeling pumping through me.

The feeling sucks.

The kid's asleep now.