Really, child? REALLY?!

On Friday morning I received one of the more bizarre phone calls in my life. Noelle's teacher was on the line sounding absolutely bewildered and flummoxed. She stammered something about Noelle and Justin and scissors and put Noelle on the phone. I asked Noelle what was wrong and her small voice came back, "Mommy, I cut my hand with scissors." Or at least that is what I thought she said. So I asked her if she was okay, was she bleeding, did she go to the nurse, etc. She reassured me she was okay as gave the phone back to Mrs. Richmond who then clarified it was not her HAND that she had cut but her HAIR.

Well. This put things in a completely different light so I asked to speak to Noelle again.

"Did you cut your HAIR?" (I may or may not have shrieked this at her.)

Small voice. "Yes."

"WHY?!"

Teary voice. "Because I wanted short hair like you  Mommy!"

Taking a couple of deep breaths I informed her that it was not acceptable behavior and that she was never, EVER to do anything like that again.

Mrs. Richmond got back on the line, still absolutely flabbergasted. This was so out of character. She turned to a different table for a minute and when she turned back to the sound of Justin calling her name, hunks of hair were on the ground beside Noelle, scissors in hand. And yet. Noelle is so afraid of not being good in school that for her to act in this impulsive manner was completely not like her at all. I explained to her teacher that I had just gotten my hair cut pretty short and Noelle had commented the previous evening she wanted her hair short too. To which I said yes but THE NEXT TIME SHE GOT A HAIRCUT. Of course then visions of massive chunks of missing hair danced in front of my eyes, imagining pixie cut management or should we go straight to the buzz? So I did what anyone would do under these circumstances. I told Twitter. And Dylan. And my coworkers. And the more I thought about it, the more upset I got. Not because she cut her hair; all kids do that and it grows back but 1) she used her school supplies for that which they were not intended, 2) she did not follow directions and I was certain that hair cutting 101 was not the class project that day and 3) she disrupted the class by her actions as her teacher needed to stop everything to call me.

It turned out that the damage wasn't truly noticeable and didn't affect my being able to pull her hair out of her face for dance class on Saturday but oh, the mental pictures and potential mean comments from kids danced in front of my eyes.

Dyl and I talked and decided the punishment was going to focus not on the act but on the effect of the actions. She received no treats or dessert on Friday (poor choices are not rewarded) and she had to write a letter to her teacher apologizing for her actions and promising to never do anything like that again. There were some tears as she was looking forward to ice cream on dessert (her usual Friday treat) but we reminded her that there are consequences for our decisions and actions and Sunday she sat down with me and we talked about what the letter should say and she painstakingly wrote it. She is required to not only give the letter to Mrs. Richmond but she has to read it to her too. And then no more shall be said about it. Until I need to hold something over her head because hey, parental prerogative and all that.

Cutting hair? In class? Really? GAH child. Just....GAH.

I'm training my kids to hate Fridays

Poor Noah. He was unlucky enough to get caught in the vortex of Appointment Fridays. He was unlucky because he has a mother who schedules things like doctor and dentist visits as close to the actual birthday as possible or it might just not get done. (This is not called efficiency. This is called hedging your bets.) Two weeks ago (Friday), the day before his third birthday (pictures will come at some point as soon as someone sends me theirs. Mom.) he had his three year old check up where he actually kicked ass and it wasn't until after the check up when he was told he could not play with the doctor's knee-knocker thingy that he broke loose with an epic tantrum which included not only hitting and spitting but the fun new twist of running away and would not be placated by anything even though I loaded up the bag with snacks as it was so close to lunchtime but no, he was having none of that. God woman, JUST GIVE ME THE RUBBER KNEE KNOCKER THIS IS NOT COMPLICATED. (He was hungry. Very. Just...not for snacks. Lunch or bust baby.)

Because big boy is now three, it's high time (all right, all right, way past time) that he got his first dental cleaning/check up. Also on a Friday. And because I am obsessive about documenting every big moment except for the ones where we go to visit people because hello wine, I captured his preshusness for everyone to see and to embarrass him later. Let's see how things went, shall we?

I'm in the chair muthafuckers! (With special guest stars Buzz Lightyear and Mommy Mickey.

Hey Doc, whatchya got there? I am intrigued and unleash Blue Steel.

I...wait....whoa. Back the truck up. What in the name of pants is this?

I'm sorry, you are going to what? With what? And where pray tell?

I DON'T EFFING THINK SO!

You win this time Mother but vengeance will be mine. Oh yes, it will be mine.

I gave him this week off to forget so there's another whole week to dream up new ways to screw with him. Who said parenting can't be fun?

I'm a shameless overachiever. For my kids.

We do not believe in doing things halfway at Casa de Lange. (Fine, I don't believe in it.) Nope, we're all-in, all the time as evidenced by this past weekend when in a rush of parental super powered adrenaline, we moved Noah from his crib to a toddler bed and began the introduction of underwear. (For the record, monkey faces on toddler butts are completely adorable.) And fine, the crib to toddler bed transition only entailed removing the front piece with everything else staying the same but still! No more baby jail. *sad trombone* We'll have to do effective discipline and stuff now.

Before: Baby jail in all it's glory

Prison break! Go to DEFCON 2!

But! Noah loves it. He loves that he has a bed he can get into and out of by himself, he is tickled that Buzz Lightyear is on his new underwear, another stroke of genius on our part as we showed the kids the Toy Story trilogy for the first time this past weekend. Also? The final scene of Toy Story 3 absolutely WRECKED me and made even worse by the coincidence that I've been purging toys for a consignment sale. (I am ignoring your cries universe; the need for order in the basement trumps your shameless heartstring tugging.)

Aside, the kids loved the movies and weren't scared by it. In fact, I had a conversation with Noelle this morning on the way to camp about why Sid was such a rat bastard to his toys (my words, not hers. Der) which led into a soliloquy on my part as one can project how a person will treat others by observing the way s/he treats things/animals/others and to stay the hell away from anyone who acts like that. Teachable moment FTMFW, yo!

Now that I've good and what the hell is the word that means going off on a tangent that starts with a 'D' or is it a 'C' and I can't remember, everything's fuzzy and my life is RUIIIIINED. Diverged? Discourse? Deedlebopper?

Crap, the point. Right. The point is this: Noah is loving being a big boy and is adapting so well to the changes. Though scraping the poop out of the underwear on Tuesday was decidedly NOT the highlight of my week.

Monkey Butt!!!!!

And it was time seeing as he's going to be 3 next month. Where did MAH BAYBEE go?

Big Boy bed ain't no thing

Oh, there he is. Stay right there for a while buddy, mkay?

How to sabotage your week in 12 easy steps

Oh HAI. It's Monday and I'm so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open. This is either the sign of an awesome weekend (HA) or incredibly poor planning/judgement. Seeing as I have a preschooler and a toddler, the latter is the safe bet. How did it come to this? I'm so glad that you asked.

Step 1: Get new smart phone

Step 2: Decide to be Greatest! Mom! Ever! and load games for kids to play

Step 2A: Decide to load a game or two for yourself because hey, it IS your phone

Step 3: Make one of those games Words With Friends (my user name is 'momofnandn' bee-tee-dubs)

Step 4: Encourage husband to also add games so you can essentially play Scrabble while sitting next to each other on the couch nevermind that the actual Scrabble game is downstairs as that's too plebeian

Step 5: Start first Words With Friends game with husband at 9:30 on a Sunday night

Step 6: Continue play until he resigns from game at 11:30 even though he was crushing you because there was nothing you could do with three 'Gs', a 'H' and an 'E'

Step 7: Go to bed as 5:30 am comes very early. At 5:30 am

Step 8: Be startled out of sound sleep somewhere between 1 and 2 am by said preschooler saying that her tummy hurts and can she sleep with you

Step 8A: Let her on the bed and pray that she doesn't barf in your hair

Step 9: Share your space (including pillow) with her until you are on the edge of the bed leading to a fun new game: Extreme Sleeping!

Step 10: Doze on and off until 4:30 am where husband takes preschooler back to bed.

Step 10A: Immediately flop onto stomach and dream about luggage

Step 10B: Hold out a tiny hope that she actually is sick so you can take a day off and encourage her to sleep, leading by example

Step 11: Awake with a start at 5:30, no vomit in sight damn it all

Step 12: Drag self out of bed; start week off in glorious fashion featuring vats of coffee

Now if anyone needs me today, I'll be hiding under my desk taking a nap. Until a new Words With Friends game starts of course.

Bigger-ish Boy

So. It's come to this. Other than the diapers (which seriously, this kid is messing with me. I know he can use the potty. HE knows he can use the potty. So just...USE THE DAMN POTTY ALREADY) the only remaining thread connecting Noah with babyhood is the baby jail baby containment force-field crib. He doesn't climb out, he doesn't mind it, why mess with what works?

Um. Well, have you MET my son? (Of course you haven't; that was a dumb rhetorical question.) The point of said dumb rhetorical question is that the child is ginormous by any rational standard and let's face it, it's getting hard lifting him into and out of the crib without whacking his head on the ceiling fan. (Thanks Bob Ward builders for the 8-ft ceilings!) The top of his head comes past Noelle's shoulder who is 5 and a half and ridiculously tall herself. And...he's going to be 3 next month, well past the age for jettisoning the crib altogether. AND we're going on vacation in August where he won't be sleeping in a crib as I refuse to pay for a crib for an almost-3 year old so we need to transition him SOMETIME, amirite?

Because I'm all about traumatizing surprising my children, I got the bright idea last night that hey! he's going to a birthday party on Saturday, wouldn't it be cool if he came back from the birthday party to find his very own big boy bed in his room! Dylan was less excited about this plan but I got my way because I have control issues am like a freight train going fully speed ahead once an idea has taken root. We have a conversion kit! This is a lifetime bed! T'will be a cinch!

(If you know me at all, you know that this is called foreshadowing.)

Digging underneath the crap-ton of stuff in the basement on Sunday night, I finally located the conversion kit. It was intact (Huzzah!) however...in our elation of getting the forever bed for Noelle lo these almost 6 years ago, we neglected to read the fine print. Mainly that it went right from a crib to a full size bed. Do not metaphorphasize to toddler bed, do not collect $200. Generally, much hand-wringing and gnashing of teeth would commence but oh ho HO! But what to my wondering eyes should appear....but a white toddler bed, and away I wiped a tear.

Yes, my packrattiness laziness forethought saved our butts once again. We had never gotten rid of the toddler bed that Noelle had used and it would return from the dead to save us once more. (Zombie furniture, zombie cars, you name it, in my house it's been resurrected.) But this still leaves the problem of disassembling the crib (which we are totally saving for, well, next year: see pack-rat), moving the toddler bed upstairs and the rocking chair downstairs. (Hey Noah, let me mess with your mind. You don't have nearly enough fodder for therapy.) In come the big guns: my dad is coming up on Saturday to help me with the Extreme Makeover: Nursery Edition while Dylan hides takes Noah to the party. It'll be like clipping toenails or ripping off a bandage (also high on the traumat-o-meter): just do it fast and get it over with

Aw Boo-Boo, isn't growing up great? (I'm thinking that a trip to The Cow will probably end up being in order. It's so important to have an escape plan. Also, I'm not above bribing acceptance with new sheets.)

With apologies to Mr. Tolkien

Toddlers.  You can learn all of their ways in 3-4 years and 3-4 years later, they can still surprise you.  This past Sunday Noelle had her very first dance recital ever. She would be up on the stage, wearing a fun costume and performing a routine that her class has spent the past five months learning. To say that Dylan and I were excited about this would be a slight understatement.  We invited grandparents and aunts but paused when we discovered that we would have to buy a ticket for Noah.

Cue the drums of doom.

Were we really going to buy a not-inexpensive ticket to a dance recital for a toddler boy whose idea of a good time involves balls, 'cooking', trains and dinosaurs (sometimes all at once. It's quite complicated.) to sit in a theater for a couple of hours for the two minutes when his sister will be on the stage? No snacks, no distractions, just him, us and a couple hundred of our closest theater parents? We looked at each other, mentally shrugged and bought the ticket because 1) neither of us were going to miss it, 2) all of the usual babysitters (grandparents) would be at the show and 3) we felt like living dangerously.

We took precautions; I purposely selected seats on the far right of the theater next to the aisle to allow whoever ended up being Noah's chauffeur easy access to an escape route. The day of the recital, we stacked the deck against ourselves with him not getting a nap that day or the previous day (see above: living dangerously.) Dylan packed a bag with some small non-noisy toys and juice boxes and my sister even snuck in some chocolate chip cookies as a snack/bribe.  Before the show started, Noah bounced on the end of the stage, right in front of the videographer and all that I could think was "Dear Lord, please don't let him want to do this while the dancing is going on or everyone will have a lovely parting gift of the top of my child's head." The lights went down, we took our seats and held our breath.

And you know what? He stayed seated on Dylan's lap the ENTIRE SHOW. He was entranced and enraptured. I stole peeks at his face and was amazed to see the huge smile and wide eyes. He loved the numbers with the kids about his age.  He lost his ever-loving MIND over the hip-hop numbers, yelling for more.  I'm not sure that anyone has asked for a dancing encore performance before but by golly, he did.  He danced in his seat and cheered for his sister.  Admittedly, after Noelle performed, he started getting antsy (hers was the 21st number out of 30 OMFG) but he stuck it out like a trouper. And while waiting for her class to be released after the show was over, he was an angel playing with Grandma. When we were hugging and congratulating and taking pictures of Noelle, he was right there bouncing along in excitement.

We couldn't have asked for better behavior from him on Noelle's big day. We were so relieved and smug (yeah, I'll own it) over how he acted that I allowed myself to be very superior with our obviously amazing parenting skills until the next morning when he stabbed me in the arm with a fork.

The end.

Impulsiveness

After the debauchery of the holiday season this past year, I made a personal vow that I was going to be a Responsible Adult and spread out the purchases throughout the year, you know, so that pain would be less acute and more...chronic.  I should also probably make a personal vow to write down said personal vows so that I actually remember them but where's the fun in that? I like to live dangerously.  Anyway, we are heading full-bore into birthday party season for Noelle so there have been/are/will be lots of opportunities to visit the last vestige of Babylon, Toys R Us.

Saturday's visit was simple; get her friend a birthday present, head to the mall to get her and Noah new picture clothes for next week and finish up with grocery shopping.  This plan was derailed almost immediately as she has become obsessed with the Selena Gomez song 'Love You Like A Love Song' ('turn it up Mommy! is a common refrain in the van) so I had this idea to see if we could find the CD while there.  After wandering up and down every. aisle. twice, we passed by the book section where I surreptitiously scanned the shelves for a copy of 'The Lorax'. They have been reading this at school and she talked about Wunstlerz (?) and Hummingfish almost as much as 'The Lion King' (shut up, it's been a good 30 years since I last read it).  Lo and behold, a single shining copy was on the shelf.  The little man in my head who mans the filter must have been on his happy hour bread because I picked it up and beamed at her 'Noelle! Here's 'The Lorax'! Would you like to get it?'  What five year old on earth could resist this offer especially as I had turned down earlier requests for a giant stuffed Hello Kitty doll and various princess Lego's?  Not mine I tell you so into the basket it went. 

We got the birthday present and the bonus of the book when we turned the corned into a far, hidden aisle and came upon the world's smallest music display.  The little man must have eaten too many nachos at this point and become...indisposed...as I picked it up and with great fanfare showed it to her, 'Honey, look!  It's the Selena Gomez CD, you know, the one with the love song that you like.' Then, my doom: 'Did you want to get it?'  Well DUH woman.  Plus we picked up a 'Penguins of Madagascar' movie for Noah because you CANNOT come home with a prize for one child and not the other.  Never did make it to the mall that day; maybe we'll go more avant garde with the Rainbow Brite look for them this year....

I should have just scouted the items, distracted her and returned later to get them and hide them away but it gave me so much joy to see her so excited and happy that her mommy looked for something special for her.  I LIKE doing special things for my kids; they are good kids for the most part and I remember my parents and grandparents giving us special treats from time to time.  We don't try to buy their love or indulge their every whim but every now and then when the timing is right and the money is there, well, I can't think of a better way to spend it than on something that will bring them delight right then.

Now back to square one: what the sam hill are we going to get her for her birthday?

That really wasn't the lesson I was going for

Ah, parenting.  A world chock-full of wondrous teachable moments in which important life lessons are demonstrated and internalized, never to be repeated. 

*Please, take a moment to compose yourself. No really, I'll wait*

Parenting Noelle so far has been relatively easy, the incident this morning regarding whether more colors are boy colors or girl colors dissolving into tearful sobs notwithstanding.  Parenting Noah has been more...difficult.  Not that he is difficult, no, but his behavior and way of interacting with the world is.  He's a strongly stubborn child and does not like to be thwarted and when thwarted, expresses his displeasure by hitting.  Well, we've used time outs, talking, relocating to his crib (aka baby jail) and have now moved on to 'loss of privilege', a pretty radical thing for a 2 year old.  He is currently obsessed with the Penguins of Madagascar game for Noelle's Leapster Explorer (video game).

This morning things were moving along fine albeit much slower than I wanted.  He ate breakfast, brushed his teeth (and by he I mean I did it for him) and got ready, the two of them sharing the video game back and forth.  The collaborative effort continued the duration of the drive in to school even with Noelle shouting instructions at him "NO Noah!  The OTHER button!" We pull into the space and as usual, get Noelle out first.  Going around to Noah's side I say (also as usual) "Okay buddy, we're here.  Time to turn off the video game." Transitions and all that. Normally not a problem, he'll turn it off, hand it to me saying 'Okay, Mommy' and on our merry way we go.  Today, however, "Noah, time to turn off the video game, we're here." "NO!"" Come on bud, time to turn it off and go inside." (Louder) "NO!"  Now, we dislike taking things out of the kids' hands because really, how can that teach them to not grab from others but after a gentle tug of war, he relinquished control and I started to put it in the seat pocket. Right. In. Front. Of. Him. So he kicked my hand and I dropped the game which remember, belonged to neither of us, picked it up to put it away again, was kicked at again. 

At this point, we are very late and my patience is at a breaking point so I pick him up to carry him inside, sort of like a laundry basket. When an attempt to have him stand and walk ends with him melting to the parking lot, I pick him up again and carry his incredibly pissed off little form into the vestibule of the school.  Putting him down to check them in, he melts in an even more dramatic fashion flowing from his knees to a respectable face plant onto the hard wood floor.  It will come as no surprise that the crying/wailing changed at that point from 'I'm angry' to 'I'm hurt' because he indeed was having bit into his lip.  He's bleeding, I'm trying to comfort him and get him to his classroom to clean him up when the assistant director asks what I think is if he needs an ice pack.  Yes, he indeed does so through the door we all go, him crying me trying to comfort him and find something to clean him up with and also check out the damage.  We get him set up with the ice pack from the classroom when the assistant director shows up with two popsicles for him to choose from.  I...ah...oh crap.  That was what she had asked, if he needed an ice pop.  To which I said yes.  I'm not heartless, I let him have it and lo it was good.  Noelle of course saw that he had a treat so asked to share.  He was very willing to share his ice pop and back and forth they went until Noelle bit the end off of it and the rest fell off of the stick and onto the ground. So what did we learn today?

1. We can't always get our way.
2. When in doubt, complain. Loudly.
3. For maximum effect, throw oneself to the floor.  Bonus points for blood.
4. Popsicles for breakfast. Mom = PWNED.

I shall be over here rocking back and forth with a drink firmly in hand wondering when, exactly, it was that I lost control.

On Toddlers and The Words You Should Never Ever Say

Today marks the 100th! Day! Of! School! And like everything in the preschool setting, it must be acknowledged and celebrated with great fanfare.  Any hope that we had of just gently sliding past this one was blown out of the water by the constant reminders of the 100th Day of School party and requests to bring in snacks to share and collections featuring 100...things.  I get it, being able to count to 100 is a pretty big milestone in a kid's life and all that but oh my head, the parties.  And of course this means that Parents Are Welcome subtext being If You Miss This Your Child Will Lose All Faith And Self Confidence And End Up Working The Pole At Some Seedy Establishment Off Of Rt 66.  Live with that on your conscience, you lousy selfish parent you!  As a result, Noelle has been very very excited about today for a long time as I made half-hearted and vague almost-promises to be there.  So excited in fact that she bolted out of bed this morning crowing about it being the 100th Day Of School and there will be a Party!  Noah, of course, picks up on her excitement and especially homes in on 'Party'.  Dun dun dun.

To add even more specialness to an otherwise already special day, it is also my brother-in-law's birthday.  Because we are a close family, we get excited about each other's birthdays.  At breakfast Noelle started asking about the party for Uncle Jeff.  Sorry baby, but grownups don't 'do' birthday parties like you guys do.  I don't know why; we just don't.  But! You have your 100th Day Of School Party this afternoon and we can call Uncle Jeff tonight to wish him a Happy Birthday, how about that? This of course consoles her leaving Noah banging on the table yelling 'Pah-tee! Pah-tee' like a miniature fraternity pledge at a kegger.  You would think that after five years of this parenting nonsense I would be able to sense doom lurking on the horizon.  You would think but you would be wrong.

We passed the time on the drive into school/work with Noelle attempting to engage me in a scene by scene breakdown of, wait for it, The Lion King for the eleventy-billionth time.  It was somewhere around BFE Horse Country that I finally gave into temptation and broke out the big Magneto-guns: 'Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answer?' This stumped her briefly allowing me to listen to Noah's chirping, "Unca Jeff birfday...YAY!" complete with throwing his hands in the air like he just doesn't care.  The enthusiasm this kid has for parties is limitless and infectious.  If you need that little something extra to get a crowd pumped for any reason involving a party, let me know. He's available for hire at a reasonable rate.

By the time we arrive at school, Noah has worked himself up into full on-party mode and one look at the building has him eyeing me suspiciously.  'Pah-tee?' he says, not quite a demand but not quite a question.  'No buddy, it's a school day.  It's Uncle Jeff's birthday though; we can call him tonight to sing to him, okay?'
"Okay" he replies in a seemingly acquiescent manner.  Also not helping? Noelle trying to calm him down, "Noah, we have a party today.  It's after naps!" and me trying to shush her by hissing "His class isn't  having a party, it's only for the big kids who can count to 100." One day I will remember that preschoolers have no filter as she OF COURSE turned to him and stated matter-of-factly: "Sorry Noah, no party for you." Now I'm silently cursing myself for not lying and saying that I had to go into work early again and honey, could you pretty please take the kids to school so I wouldn't have to deal with this.

So Noah's whimpering, Noelle's being officious and rather bratty and I'm wishing that I was somewhere that had coffee. Or wine, 8 AM be damned.  We get into his classroom and to put away his stuff and the whimpering has progressed to *almost* tears.  I take him next door to the Older Twos classroom to wait for his teacher and bam! we hit it.  The wall of irrationality.  He lays himself out on rug completely extended crying and yelling for 'Pah-tee! Pah-tee!'.  I, being a superb mother and not at all one who is going to leave the teachers with this display, pat him on his head and say 'Love you, bud.  Have a great day and I'll pick you up after school.' then slink out the door.

What have we learned here?  That the word 'party' is like crack to toddlers (also: ice cream, candy and video game) and the withholding of said crack will lead to Terrible Things. (I did end up sneaking back in for Noelle's party in the afternoon but had to leave to go back to work sending her into tears so Woot! I made both kids cry at school on the same day for different reasons. Skillz. I haz them.) 

PS: Noah's teachers delicately let me know at pickup that he had an 'emotional' morning.  Yeah, no.  We're good.  It's the party-crash.  Gets them every time.

Yes, they really do listen to what you say

For a while I've been convinced that talking to the wall or my shoes would be of bigger impact than talking to Noelle.  It feels like I tell her fifty times a day 1) don't pull your brother down  2) don't grab things from him  3) be gentle, don't squish him 4) don't hit your brother, that's not nice and 5) if you have an accident I'm going to be very upset with you.  Before anyone thinks I'm punishing her for having an accident, it's in the context of accidents that happen outside of nap time.  When she knows full well she needs to use the potty but can't be bothered to stop what she's doing to go.  Still, not my finest moment of parenting saying that....  Well, this weekend I got confirmation that while she was listening, she had no intention of actually following my directions. 

While she was using the potty, she said to me in all seriousness "Mommy, I no have an accident."  "That's great sweetie, I'm really proud of you."  "Mommy, if you have an accident, I'll be so mad at you!"  *Insert mental cringing here* "If I have an accident baby, you have every right to be mad at me."  Man, I felt bad.  Now every time she goes to the potty, she tells me that she didn't have an accident.  I'm really proud of her but man, what have I done?  I know that it happens and when I said it I was frustrated as it was her second accident in 4 hours but the last thing that I wanted her to do was fixate on it.  I only wanted her to be more aware.  I'm so glad that I didn't say anything to put her down or make her feel bad, just expressed disappointment and she doesn't seem to be too traumatized by it though I'm sure the therapy bills in the years to come will be huge. 

She's also been giving me advice on how to take care of a baby.  "Mommy, you don't hit the baby.  You can kiss the baby.  You can cuddle the baby.  You can pet the baby but you don't hit the baby.  If you hit the baby, I'll be so mad at you!"  And I agree with her wholeheartedly "You are so right baby, we never hit a baby.  If anyone ever hits a baby you should be mad at them!"  Though so far this maternal concern has only applied to her baby doll.  We've yet to see this sentiment applied to her little brother who has, fortunately and unfortunately, reached the age where Yay! he can play somewhat now and Crap, he can get into her business and really piss her off. 

Tangent 1:  the music table just decided to start playing by itself.  That's not scary at all.  Good thing I had peed already as I would have had an accident and incurred the sanctimonious wrath of a 3 going on 13 year old. 

Tangent 2:  for the past two nights, she has been sleeping in her sleeping bag.  On the floor.  No particular reason other than she saw it in her closet and wanted to sleep in it.  Indulgent parenting or wise selection of battles? Discuss.

Thankfully she shows that she listens in other less guilt-inducing ways.  She clears her plate off the table now and puts it in the sink, she almost always says 'please' and 'thank you' and even once when I took her with me to get a new bathing suit, she said to me while I was changing, "Mommy, you are so pretty."  Yeah, I think I'll keep her.  And watch my mouth since I know now she's listening.