Magic Word

Angela is on a half day schedule with preschool.  The result- I have one of my partners in crime around for the afternoon.  I actually like having her home with me for part of the day.  For the most part, she is pretty chill.  Angela really enjoys her solo downtime.  She has the television, the toys, and me all to herself.  Sometimes I almost forget that she is home.  I think most of my mom friends would agree that the joy of the youngest child is their self sufficiency.  This is hyper developed due to the never ending quest of keeping up with their older sibling (s).  I also find that Angela's play is much more imaginative than Alice's was at this age.  Again, this is due to the example of her older sister, whose flights of fancy not only require a passport but a visa too. 

All of this reinforced itself Wednesday afternoon.  I was in the kitchen putting various ingredients into the slow cooker for dinner.  Angela came into the kitchen with a handful of toys.  She had a toy pet carrier complete with a stuffed bunny inside, a pirate ship, a resin figurine of Max (the dog from The Little Mermaid) and Tiana ( from The Princess and the Frog).  From what I could gather, the bunny was locked in a cave containing treasure.  In a blend of altruism and greed, Max and Tiana were trying to rescue their friend and get the treasure.  Unfortunately, a magic spell was placed on the cave and the daring duo could not penetrate it.  I suggested that perhaps the friends use a magic word themselves to break the spell and open the cave.

Angela agreed with my suggestion.  She arranged Max and Tiana at the mouth of the cave and had the two utter the most powerful magic word that she knows-  "Please!"

It is nice to know that all my demands for politeness are sinking in.

Let's Keep This Treasure Buried

Having both girls in school, at least for the morning, has spoiled me a bit.  I can shop alone (gasp).  I can browse, contemplate, and compare to my heart's content.  Shopping does not need to be a blitzkrieg anymore.

The other key reasons why I enjoy solo shopping is the lack of embarrassment.  I keenly remembered this reason last Friday while standing on line with Angela at Kohl's.  We had reached the front of the line and we were waiting for the next available cashier.  I glanced down at Angela who had become unexpectedly quiet.  She was happily picking her nose.

I gently pushed her hand away from her nose and reminded her that, "We don't pick, honey."

Angela looked up at me. "But, Mommy," she implored as she showed me her finger.  "I found treasure."

Brevity

I finally relented and let Alice join the mini company at her dance studio.  I do not have anything against dancing.  She has been doing it for three years now.  I was initially reticent because I wanted her to experience other activities too.  Now that she is in school full time, and has homework, her free time is very limited.  Four hours of dance a week seemed a bit much.

Until her ballet teacher talked to me and explained (rather passionately) that Alice really belonged with the company dancers.  Hearing this from her (and not the owners who would gain financially from Alice's program switch) caused me to amend my initial stance.  I filled in the paperwork and registered Alice for her new dance program. 

Later that evening, I read over the policies and code of conduct paperwork.  I saw that Alice had a new dance uniform.  Good-bye leotard and tights combo.  Hello dancer shorts with sports bar.  I have to admit I cringed a little when I read the clothing (or lack thereof) requirements.  Now, the logical and cultured side of me understands the need for such brevity of attire.  How else can a teacher or competition judge assess form and position?  I do understand the aesthetics of the thing.  But, then there is the mom side of me.  That part is internally screaming, "UGH....SHE IS NAKED....I CAN SEE A BIT OF HER BUTT CHEEKS...UGH!!!!!"

Nevertheless, being the rules oriented person I am, I went to a local dancer supplies store and got the required uniform.  Since this store caters to child and adult dancers, I asked the saleswoman for a bit of help finding Alice's top.  She combed the racks and pulled out a very minuscule gold lame top.  I am not really sure why she thought I would go for this one.  I do not think that the Uggs, cargo pants and Pugs and Roses t-shirt I was wearing gave off the vibe that this is a woman who purchases gold lame things.

"Do you have anything less tacky?"  I asked.

Thankfully they did (and the saleswoman laughed at my question).  I walked out of the store with the requisite tiny pieces of cloth.  At least I can take solace in the fact Alice is flat as a board.  There are no charms to display- for now.

Intervention Time

Last Friday morning started off like most weekday mornings.  I dropped the kids off at their respective schools (on time, whew!).  I decided to hit the gym.  Power yoga was on my mind.  My travel mug of tea was the perfect temperature for red light sipping.  The sun was shining.  I was singing along with songs from the currently playing CD.  And, then, the horrible realization- I was singing along with one of the Yo Gabba Gabba albums.  Did I mention that the girls had been out of the car for about 15 minutes by this point?

I quickly switched to the heaviest metal station Sirrius has to offer, but it was too late.  The damage was done.  I began to think about all the ways "kid" stuff has infiltrated my "adult" life.  I was surprised by the sheer number of items that erupted in my mind as I created this mental list:

I am ecstatic when I see a birthday invitation from Bounce U.  This joy does not come from the fact my kids love the place.  Rather, it is due to the fact that they allow adults into the bounce houses.

I have been known to go into the playroom to shut the television off only to become mesmerized by an episode of the Disney show "Good Luck Charlie".

I encourage my children to do crafts because I enjoy them.  Paint?  Glitter?  Decoupage?  Bring it on!

I relish tea parties.  I will even break out my semi good teapots and cups for a tea party every so often.  I will also make little dainty snacks for them.

I have been known for building forts out of cushions and old tablecloths.  When John complains about the dishevelment of the house, I blame the children.

I love cartoons.  In addition to my comprehensive knowledge of the literature cannon, I know all the episodes and songs to the Backyardigans' various seasons.  I know the motifs which play in each Phineas and Ferb episode.  I could probably build an argument for the sexual frustration of the Yo Gabba Gabba creator.  Admit it, you too have thought that the red monster looks like a giant dildo/penis.

Bubbles fill me with glee.  I enjoy blowing them, popping them and watch them float.

Rocket balloons rock.  Alice and I will often shoot some off in the backyard.

Although I have not reached the mastery of husband, I do enjoy Play-Doh and creating fun things from it.

I have been known to break out crayons and coloring book during a long phone conversation.  In this vein, a new box of crayons makes me giddy...the smell, the pointy goodness....yikes, I sound like a drug addict.

I still see a pile of potential from a mountain of blocks.

There is nothing so wonderful as a long empty smooth driveway and a bucket of sidewalk chalk.

I have a hard time saying no to butterfly hunting expeditions.

I too love finding a little hidey hole and looking at books or magazines.

I do not immediately bring cardboard boxes to the recycling center.

There's more...lots more, but I think you get the idea.  In a way, it is comforting.  It is nice to know that you are never too old to continue to have a happy childhood.

Middle Names

Angela is very curious about every one's name; and, I mean every one.  Thank goodness I do not have a social anxiety disorder because a simple trip to the grocery store would require a heavy dosing of medication.  Sometimes, when she is in a particularly silly and playful mood, Angela will ask the family members what their names are.  She realizes it is a game and giggles as she asks, "What your name?" for the millionth time.  I guess one day I was feeling particularly silly and playful.  I decided to stump her by introducing the concept of middle names.

We were in the car.  I heard giggles from the backseat before a little voice piped up, "Mama, what your name?"

"Angela, you know my name," I teasingly reminded her.  "Do you know your name?"

"An ga ga," came the quick response.

"Do you know your middle name?" I countered.

Silence.

"Your full name is Angela Margaret Barile.  You were named after your great grandmothers and so was Alice.  Do you know what Alice's middle name is?"

Without missing a beat, my little peanut answered, "In Wonderland."

Although it has a nice ring to it, I had to regretfully inform her that "In Reality" it is Louise.

A Shitty Post

There are many times when I think God is laughing at me.  There are times, however, when he does show some pity for me.  This mix of amusement and compassion was definitely present on Thursday afternoon while I was in the women's restroom at Kohl's.  As you read, the humor will be very apparent.  God's mercy evidenced itself in the fact that no other women were present to hear it.

It is wonderful having two children who are potty trained.  Still, I find I spend a great deal of time while running errands in the bathroom.  While looking in the toy section of the store, both Alice and Angela announced they needed to use the bathroom urgently.

Since Angela is still relatively new to the whole bathroom situation, I went into the stall with her and let Alice do her thing in the stall next to us.  While I waited for Angela, I heard very loud grunting next door.  It looked like yet another time to teach yet another topic that I never thought I would need to teach- bathroom etiquette.

"Alice, keep the grunting to yourself," I admonished.

"But, Mommy," Alice replied, "It's stuck."

I was tempted to tell her to "use manners" a la Beavis and Butthead, but I did manage to restrain myself.  I just sighed deeply in response.  Finally, I heard a plop from Angela.  Next, a plop emanated from Alice's stall.  "Thank goodness," I thought to myself as I helped Angela wipe and flush.

"Hey, Mommy.  It looks like a dog."

"Oh, Lord, help me."

Yet More Reasons My Hair Is Turning Gray- Besides Genetics

"Too smart for her own good." 

I used to wonder how an overabundance of intelligence could ever be considered a bad thing.  In an age when stupidity seems to reign supreme, one would think some smarts would be a major plus.

And then I gave birth to Angela.

I am oftentimes amazed at Angela's astuteness.  Take for instance, a mere half an hour ago.  I was putting clean sheets on Alice's bed.  Angela was upstairs in her own room.  I kept hearing her door open and shut.  Nothing drives me more batty than kids playing with doors.  All I could picture was Angela's finger caught in the door jam.  Damn, when did I turn into my mother?!  Anyway, I let the first openings and closings go before issuing the warning.  No sooner did the words leave my mouth then I heard another round of open and shut. 

"Angela,"  I hollered.  "Quit it with the door!" 

Before I drew my next breath, Angela was behind me trying to look innocent.

"Mommy, I didn't do it."

"Oh, really?"  I said sarcastically.  "Then who did it?"  Her sister was downstairs dancing to a Yo Gabba Gabba CD.  Checkmate...get out of this one kiddo.

"My hand."

Lord, help me.  I think this kid is going to be a politician.