The Dictator can read now. Not like just a few words here and there. No, the Dictator can read anything and everything she sees. This is a blessing and a curse. The Politician and I used to spell things to each other that we didn't want her to know about. I could leave books I'm reading laying open around the house without worrying about the Dictator reading about death, torture, sex and a host of words that I'm thoroughly unprepared for her to be repeating (I read a lot of historical fiction. This stuff comes up a lot).
It's also an amazing blessing, as a whole new world of knowledge has opened up to the Dictator. She can research anything her little heart desires now. There is really no limit to what she can know anymore. She can find out about anything by reading a book about it. It's pretty amazing to watch really. I see the joy on her face when we go shopping and she can now read packages and really help me shop. The Dictator is insanely proud of herself when we go places where directions are posted and she can read them all by herself and tell me what we need to do. It makes her much older than her four years should, and although I feel much more positively about her reading than I ever feel negatively, there are moments where I wish, perhaps, she could have waited just a little longer......
The Politician was cleaning out his nightstand. He hadn't cleaned it out since before we moved last year. He just saran wrapped it and we moved it with all the junk inside. As he took stuff out, he laid it on top of the nightstand. A giant pile formed. We got caught up in the day before the cleaning project could be completed. A decent sized pile lingered on top of the nightstand. I didn't really look at what was hanging out there. Lesson learned that I need to pay much more attention to anything and everything that is visible to the Dictator.
The next morning the Dictator was hanging out in my room while I got ready for the day. From my bathroom sink I watched her sitting on the bed, her little blonde head bobbing along with the Strawberry Shortcake music on the t.v.
I went in the closet for a moment and when I came out I heard her sounding out a word. Assuming it was part of the show she was watching I didn't pay too much attention at first. I heard something like "Mmmm....aye....gu...." but then went back to doing my hair. Next I hear "C...on....d....om...s. Condoms. What are condoms?" Oh My God! There's a box of old condoms in that pile on the nightstand!!!!! Noooooooo! Running out of the bathroom, I see the Dictator holding the box and reading the information on it! "Momma, what are these things? Condoms? What is that for?"
There are moments in life where you don't think clearly. There are moments in life you desperately wish you could take back. Moments that when you look back on, can't even believe really happened to you, because they are so unbelievably terrifying and awful that your mind tries to blanket the awfulness for you.
This was one of those moments. The moment I opened my mouth and said-
"Oh, those are just balloons, honey."
Wait. I just said "Balloons". To my four year old. "Balloons". You know.... what all four year old adore and covet more than any other freaking thing on the entire planet.
The Dictator "What! These are balloons! Oh....I would really like to blow one up! Please! Can we!!??"
Jesus H. Christ. If I was a believer in the bible I would have prayed that the rapture would have happened right at that moment. This would have been a great moment for a freak tsunami to happen, or an earthquake, or anything. Anything! No. The room was silent. Even my dogs, who are normally loud and obnoxiously close to us at all times were nowhere to be found. It was just me, the Dictator and the box of "balloons".
Me: "Well. Those are for adults only, sweetie. I'm sorry. Can I please have the box? I should probably throw them away anyways, okay?"
The Dictator: "I would really just like to blow up one."
Dear God....she's now opening the box! Nooooooo!
Me: "Sweetie (my voice is tense), please give me the box. Those are for grown-ups only!"
The Dictator "No. I want to see what's inside. Oooh...gold squares!"
I dive. I grab the box. The Dictator looks up at me and I can see the tears springing up. I panic.
Me: "How about after school we can go get a kid balloon? A pink one? Or a princess one? These balloons are just yellow. You don't even like yellow!"
The Dictator: (Sniffling) "Ok. Promise we can go get a kid balloon?"
Me: (whew!!!!) "Yes!! Heck, let's get two!"
Thinking that this is all behind me, I drop the Dictator off at school.
This is not all behind me.
I'm not that lucky.
I go in to school to get the Dictator. All the other parents are there. All of them. I've never seen more than one freaking parent in this classroom when I've been there before ever! The Dictator's teacher is right there by the door too.
The Dictator turns to look at me, she smiles. Then she loudly says "Momma told me I could not blow up the adult balloons she has. The Magnum ones. The are gold squares with a balloon inside. I was sad, but Momma said we can go get a kid balloon instead! We're going to the balloon store now!"
So much for making friends with people at school!
Friday, May 16, 2014
Monday, November 25, 2013
Crunchy
At times I've been called 'crunchy'. I'm certainly nowhere near as 'granola' as many of my friends, but I admit...I only buy organic fruits and veggies, we eat grass fed/free range/so expensive I should buy my own poultry instead turkey and chicken, we use all natural 'earth safe' cleaning products. We bring our own bags to the grocery store. We are mindful of the chemicals we come in contact with and the ones we put in our bodies. We do still like an occasional McDonald's french fry though.
Today I was reminded that no, no....I am just not that crunchy.
I just saw an ad for placenta encapsulation. If you don't know what it is, go look it up.
I've heard of this for years now, and honestly at times I've kinda felt sad I did not do this after having the Dictator. Oh well....can't go back, right?
Anyways, today I noticed underneath the ad on Facebook a woman wrote, "Why grind it up and make pills? I just keep some in the fridge and the rest in the freezer. I take a little each day and I just add it to my morning smoothie." Yeah.......a solid reminder that no, I am not that crunchy.
Today I was reminded that no, no....I am just not that crunchy.
I just saw an ad for placenta encapsulation. If you don't know what it is, go look it up.
I've heard of this for years now, and honestly at times I've kinda felt sad I did not do this after having the Dictator. Oh well....can't go back, right?
Anyways, today I noticed underneath the ad on Facebook a woman wrote, "Why grind it up and make pills? I just keep some in the fridge and the rest in the freezer. I take a little each day and I just add it to my morning smoothie." Yeah.......a solid reminder that no, I am not that crunchy.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Just another day!
A sampling of our day...
This morning in the car we were talking about going to see the new movie out "Free Birds". The Dictator asked what the movie was about and I told her that it was about Turkeys trying to escape so they wouldn't be eaten for Thanksgiving. The Dictator says to me "But those turkeys talk, so you can't eat them! They are anthropomorphic! It just doesn't make sense! Do the movie people know it doesn't work like that?"
While walking through the zoo, the Dictator asked me if we could go on the carousel. I didn't have any cash, so I told her next time. She was okay with it and made a deal that next time she'd not only get a carousel ride, but also a camel ride as well. Sly little negotiator!
Later in the day (after leaving the movie that was surprisingly cute!) I pulled a tissue out of my pocket and a couple dollars fell out along with it. Love when that happens! The Dictator says "Yay! Now we have money for the carousel! Just don't give that money to the bank!! We have to keep it. The bank will take it and not give it back!" Apparently we need to have a conversation on how banks work....
This morning in the car we were talking about going to see the new movie out "Free Birds". The Dictator asked what the movie was about and I told her that it was about Turkeys trying to escape so they wouldn't be eaten for Thanksgiving. The Dictator says to me "But those turkeys talk, so you can't eat them! They are anthropomorphic! It just doesn't make sense! Do the movie people know it doesn't work like that?"
While walking through the zoo, the Dictator asked me if we could go on the carousel. I didn't have any cash, so I told her next time. She was okay with it and made a deal that next time she'd not only get a carousel ride, but also a camel ride as well. Sly little negotiator!
Later in the day (after leaving the movie that was surprisingly cute!) I pulled a tissue out of my pocket and a couple dollars fell out along with it. Love when that happens! The Dictator says "Yay! Now we have money for the carousel! Just don't give that money to the bank!! We have to keep it. The bank will take it and not give it back!" Apparently we need to have a conversation on how banks work....
Tonight while sitting at dinner the
Dictator says to me-
"Sometimes I burp. You know...a burp is kind of like a mouth fart. I mouth farted this morning, but it wasn't stinky like a butt fart. It just smelled like mouth."
"Sometimes I burp. You know...a burp is kind of like a mouth fart. I mouth farted this morning, but it wasn't stinky like a butt fart. It just smelled like mouth."
At least I get a range of topics!
Friday, October 4, 2013
Little People
The Dictator hates her vitamins. Hates, hates, hates them.
In effort to get her to just eat them and stop whining about it, we've told her that in order to grow she must take her vitamins. We also told her when she's as tall as she wants to be she can stop taking them. We also told her that Momma and Daddy took our vitamins until we got as tall as we wanted and then we stopped taking them. "Look how tall we are! We took a LOT of vitamins!"
These were all really stupid things to say.
No, the Dictator did not O.D. on vitamins.
The Dictator has decided that she's as tall as she needs to be, so she can stop taking them.
The Dictator: "No! I will not eat my vitamins!"
Me: "Do you want to stay 3 1/2 feet tall for the rest of your life?"
The Dictator: "Yes. That's fine. Those little people on t.v. seem really happy and I'm already taller than them! Maybe I already took too many vitamins...."
Me: >.<
The Dictator: "Those people in "The Wizard of Oz" The, um....the Munching Kinds, they were short but very happy! They even had their own land. I think I'm already too tall for Munching Kind land!"
A panicked look came over the Dictators face
The Dictator: "Oh no! I'm too tall to live there!"
Insert dramatic music and crying here because The Dictator is too tall to live in "Munching Kind" land now.
Damn vitamins. You ruin everything!
In effort to get her to just eat them and stop whining about it, we've told her that in order to grow she must take her vitamins. We also told her when she's as tall as she wants to be she can stop taking them. We also told her that Momma and Daddy took our vitamins until we got as tall as we wanted and then we stopped taking them. "Look how tall we are! We took a LOT of vitamins!"
These were all really stupid things to say.
No, the Dictator did not O.D. on vitamins.
The Dictator has decided that she's as tall as she needs to be, so she can stop taking them.
The Dictator: "No! I will not eat my vitamins!"
Me: "Do you want to stay 3 1/2 feet tall for the rest of your life?"
The Dictator: "Yes. That's fine. Those little people on t.v. seem really happy and I'm already taller than them! Maybe I already took too many vitamins...."
Me: >.<
The Dictator: "Those people in "The Wizard of Oz" The, um....the Munching Kinds, they were short but very happy! They even had their own land. I think I'm already too tall for Munching Kind land!"
A panicked look came over the Dictators face
The Dictator: "Oh no! I'm too tall to live there!"
Insert dramatic music and crying here because The Dictator is too tall to live in "Munching Kind" land now.
Damn vitamins. You ruin everything!
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Opinionated
The Dictator is opinionated. No....I take that back. The Dictator is OPINIONATED.
She knows what she wants. She knows when she wants it. She will tell you, loudly, if you are not listening.
When it's important, she won't put up with not getting her way.
This is not a new phase, or a part of becoming three. This is the Dictator. This is the way she has always been. And you know what? Opinions are good!
In the course of the last week, I have heard multiple parents talk about how their children 'can't pick what they like yet' or 'don't know what's going on anyways' or 'can't have an opinion on things because they are too young'. I try to avoid hearing these people talk, because I feel an overwhelming urge arise to beat them over the head and then ask them if they have an 'opinion' on what I just did. Is this really what parents think of their children? Tonight a friend told me that she knows someone who also believes that young children are not able to make their own choices on things or have an opinion. It was the last straw. I have been seething inside all night, and unable to control the crazy building up inside, I blog to you now.
Babies come out of the womb making choices, and having opinions. From how they like to be swaddled, feeding positions or what bottles they like, where they like to sleep or what lullaby comforts them, babies are born with preferences. To say that babies cannot have an opinion is so ludicrous, I wonder why these people are allowed to raise children. Children are just small people. They are not an alien race. They are people! People with OPINIONS! How would you feel if everyone you knew made all the choices in your life for you and never once asked how you felt about it because "you don't know what you want anyways"?
The difference between 'them' and 'us' (as adults) is that we can vocalize our opinions. Speech is a powerful tool, my friends. It's one the Dictator learned early on, and has become an expert at using. I thank the good Lord for that. Although she attempts daily (hourly. eh..minute-ly) to drive me to the brink of insanity with it.
Just because your child does say they mind wearing that purple and pink dress with the giant smiling panda on the front does not mean they are not silently swearing in their own language at you in their mind. When you blast 'your music' in the car, for all you know your child is judging you and thinking "Good God lady! Turn on the Raffi!"
We, as parents, are not raising giant baby dolls that will someday become young adults. We have people in front of us, right now, from the very first time you lay eyes on them.
Although I usually try to impart humor into my tales of the Dictator, tonight I just feel sad. Listen to your children. Ask them what they want and what they like. Even if they don't directly answer you with words, is this not an important part of being a parent, to communicate with your child? Make them feel important and like their wants are desires are being listened to. They are small. They depend on YOU to listen and care about their feelings. If you treat your child like an unintelligent blob, you will get an unintelligent blob. You get what you give. Give a lot. There's no magic age when your child is 'old enough' to make their own choices. The time is now. Your JOB as a parent is to guide them through those choices and wants and help them realize what is truly important. For them. Not for you.
Off my soap box now and into bed to watch "Nightmare before Christmas" for the 100,000 time, because that's what my daughter chose to watch and asked so nicely if we could. I'm happy to take the time to listen to her and her requests. Some day, too soon she'll be off on her own in the world making choices all by herself. Until then, I'm here for her and I promise to listen carefully to her requests, even on the odd occasion she does not use words.
She knows what she wants. She knows when she wants it. She will tell you, loudly, if you are not listening.
When it's important, she won't put up with not getting her way.
This is not a new phase, or a part of becoming three. This is the Dictator. This is the way she has always been. And you know what? Opinions are good!
In the course of the last week, I have heard multiple parents talk about how their children 'can't pick what they like yet' or 'don't know what's going on anyways' or 'can't have an opinion on things because they are too young'. I try to avoid hearing these people talk, because I feel an overwhelming urge arise to beat them over the head and then ask them if they have an 'opinion' on what I just did. Is this really what parents think of their children? Tonight a friend told me that she knows someone who also believes that young children are not able to make their own choices on things or have an opinion. It was the last straw. I have been seething inside all night, and unable to control the crazy building up inside, I blog to you now.
Babies come out of the womb making choices, and having opinions. From how they like to be swaddled, feeding positions or what bottles they like, where they like to sleep or what lullaby comforts them, babies are born with preferences. To say that babies cannot have an opinion is so ludicrous, I wonder why these people are allowed to raise children. Children are just small people. They are not an alien race. They are people! People with OPINIONS! How would you feel if everyone you knew made all the choices in your life for you and never once asked how you felt about it because "you don't know what you want anyways"?
The difference between 'them' and 'us' (as adults) is that we can vocalize our opinions. Speech is a powerful tool, my friends. It's one the Dictator learned early on, and has become an expert at using. I thank the good Lord for that. Although she attempts daily (hourly. eh..minute-ly) to drive me to the brink of insanity with it.
Just because your child does say they mind wearing that purple and pink dress with the giant smiling panda on the front does not mean they are not silently swearing in their own language at you in their mind. When you blast 'your music' in the car, for all you know your child is judging you and thinking "Good God lady! Turn on the Raffi!"
We, as parents, are not raising giant baby dolls that will someday become young adults. We have people in front of us, right now, from the very first time you lay eyes on them.
Although I usually try to impart humor into my tales of the Dictator, tonight I just feel sad. Listen to your children. Ask them what they want and what they like. Even if they don't directly answer you with words, is this not an important part of being a parent, to communicate with your child? Make them feel important and like their wants are desires are being listened to. They are small. They depend on YOU to listen and care about their feelings. If you treat your child like an unintelligent blob, you will get an unintelligent blob. You get what you give. Give a lot. There's no magic age when your child is 'old enough' to make their own choices. The time is now. Your JOB as a parent is to guide them through those choices and wants and help them realize what is truly important. For them. Not for you.
Off my soap box now and into bed to watch "Nightmare before Christmas" for the 100,000 time, because that's what my daughter chose to watch and asked so nicely if we could. I'm happy to take the time to listen to her and her requests. Some day, too soon she'll be off on her own in the world making choices all by herself. Until then, I'm here for her and I promise to listen carefully to her requests, even on the odd occasion she does not use words.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
The latest inSTALLation
The Dictator has recently become quite adamant about doing things on her own. From picking out and putting on her clothes, to cutting her own food, the Dictator is quick to let me know "Momma!!! I can do it all by myself!"
Recently, the Dictator has decided to start using the public bathroom on her own. Standing stoically outside the door 'making sure she has privacy!' I wait, and hope and pray to whatever deity that is listening that she is wiping her tushie and not touching too much in the stall.
Today at the community pool the Dictator was merrily swimming around when she announced (loudly! The Dictator wants to make SURE you all know where she's going!) that she needed to go potty.
We walked at a quick pace to the bathroom. The Dictator was fast to tell me "You. You Mother. You wait outside. I go in alone." Fine, fine....at least let me help you take your swimsuit off first! She begrudgingly let me remove her swimsuit and I sent her in the stall. Waiting outside my mind started to wander. Bills I need to pay, laundry I need to do, that song I liked that I need to look up, all that random Mom junk filled my mind. Suddenly I was snapped out of it by a little voice screaming "Momma! Oh.My.God! Help me!"
My logical brain knows that whatever has happened behind that door cannot be good. My logical brain tells me to call it a loss and just run away. We can always have another child, right?! We're young. Ish. Unfortunately, my Mom brain overrides all this sound logic and screams "Where's your baby?" Oi! Damn it Mom brain!!!
I open the stall. There is the Dictator. In the toilet. Folded up like a little slice of pizza. The perfect triangle. Arms, most of her head, and ALL of her tushie, IN the toilet. Shit! No, seriously! She must have pooped (please GOD let it have been hers!) right before 'the incident'. The Dictator is swimming in a tiny pool of her own shit. At this point, even the Mom brain wavers. Perhaps NOW is a good time to run. Unfortunately, we lock eyes and her little tear streaked face poking out from the toilet overwhelms me. I reach in and grab her. I want to die.
The Dictators extraction was not easy. She somehow wedged herself in that toilet. I pull from under her shoulders. Nope. That just splashes the evil cocktail of demise around on both of us. I have to go deeper. I grab her waist. Success! The Dictator pops out and launches a piece of poop towards me. I should have dropped her. I didn't. Poop smacks me in the stomach. Cold and wet. At this point, nothing worse can happen. This is the end.
I take the Dictator to the sink. We're going to have a bath. Right now. I set my dripping wet daughter in the sink. I start the water. I reach for the soap. Fuck! There IS no soap! I have shit on my stomach. This is not happening. I pick up the Dictator and explain "We're going in the boys bathroom to get soap."
The Dictator wails "Nooooooo! I'm a girl! I cannot GO in the boys bathroom!" I love how although the child has just been in the toilet. The TOILET! She's more concerned about which bathroom we are using. I grab her and go. Now is NOT the time for gentle parenting. If I'm getting scarred for life from this experience, then she is too!
Luckily, the boys bathroom (which is surprisingly a million times cleaner than the girls') has soap. The Dictator gets a mini bath, I get a mini bath that nearly draws blood with the scrubbing action I performed. We scrub our hands. We head back to the pool.
The Dictator jumps in the water and merrily swims away, laughing like nothing happened. I sit on the step and cry inside. Nothing can prepare you for a 3 year old. Nothing.
Recently, the Dictator has decided to start using the public bathroom on her own. Standing stoically outside the door 'making sure she has privacy!' I wait, and hope and pray to whatever deity that is listening that she is wiping her tushie and not touching too much in the stall.
Today at the community pool the Dictator was merrily swimming around when she announced (loudly! The Dictator wants to make SURE you all know where she's going!) that she needed to go potty.
We walked at a quick pace to the bathroom. The Dictator was fast to tell me "You. You Mother. You wait outside. I go in alone." Fine, fine....at least let me help you take your swimsuit off first! She begrudgingly let me remove her swimsuit and I sent her in the stall. Waiting outside my mind started to wander. Bills I need to pay, laundry I need to do, that song I liked that I need to look up, all that random Mom junk filled my mind. Suddenly I was snapped out of it by a little voice screaming "Momma! Oh.My.God! Help me!"
My logical brain knows that whatever has happened behind that door cannot be good. My logical brain tells me to call it a loss and just run away. We can always have another child, right?! We're young. Ish. Unfortunately, my Mom brain overrides all this sound logic and screams "Where's your baby?" Oi! Damn it Mom brain!!!
I open the stall. There is the Dictator. In the toilet. Folded up like a little slice of pizza. The perfect triangle. Arms, most of her head, and ALL of her tushie, IN the toilet. Shit! No, seriously! She must have pooped (please GOD let it have been hers!) right before 'the incident'. The Dictator is swimming in a tiny pool of her own shit. At this point, even the Mom brain wavers. Perhaps NOW is a good time to run. Unfortunately, we lock eyes and her little tear streaked face poking out from the toilet overwhelms me. I reach in and grab her. I want to die.
The Dictators extraction was not easy. She somehow wedged herself in that toilet. I pull from under her shoulders. Nope. That just splashes the evil cocktail of demise around on both of us. I have to go deeper. I grab her waist. Success! The Dictator pops out and launches a piece of poop towards me. I should have dropped her. I didn't. Poop smacks me in the stomach. Cold and wet. At this point, nothing worse can happen. This is the end.
I take the Dictator to the sink. We're going to have a bath. Right now. I set my dripping wet daughter in the sink. I start the water. I reach for the soap. Fuck! There IS no soap! I have shit on my stomach. This is not happening. I pick up the Dictator and explain "We're going in the boys bathroom to get soap."
The Dictator wails "Nooooooo! I'm a girl! I cannot GO in the boys bathroom!" I love how although the child has just been in the toilet. The TOILET! She's more concerned about which bathroom we are using. I grab her and go. Now is NOT the time for gentle parenting. If I'm getting scarred for life from this experience, then she is too!
Luckily, the boys bathroom (which is surprisingly a million times cleaner than the girls') has soap. The Dictator gets a mini bath, I get a mini bath that nearly draws blood with the scrubbing action I performed. We scrub our hands. We head back to the pool.
The Dictator jumps in the water and merrily swims away, laughing like nothing happened. I sit on the step and cry inside. Nothing can prepare you for a 3 year old. Nothing.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
So silly
I love my little Dictator. Love, love, love that kid. However, I do wish that she had come with a 'mute' option.
The Dictator LOVES to talk. I've never in my life met a person that likes the sound of their own voice more. Starting at 6 months old, the Dictator was babbling, cooing and 'singing' to anyone she saw. At 10 months she started saying quite a few words. By 15 months she spoke over 250 words and could string small sentences together. By two years she spoke in sentences full time and used large vocabulary words (like ironic and superficial) in every day speech. Everywhere we go people have always remarked on her excellent grasp of language and communication.
Stupidly (yes, stupidly. If you have a toddler or older child, you understand the horror of a talking tiny person), the Politician and I fostered her speech development. Working tireless hours with her, we would show flashcard after flashcard and eagerly repeat words after her to make sure she heard them correctly and to validate we were understanding her attempts. Our eager new parent giddiness overwhelmed us with the need to make sure our little wunderkind was the best and the brightest.
We brought this hell upon ourselves.
Starting at 2 years old, the Dictator discovered "Why?"
"Why? does the grass grow Momma? Why is the sky blue? Why do turtles live in shells? Why do I need to wear shoes? Why does my foot itch?"
On and on it went. An endless parade of "Why?"
Parenting instincts told me not to squash her curiosity. I patiently answered every "Why?" question the best I could. It was sweet really that she was so curious, and that she thought I would have all the answers for everything she wanted to know.
Then came "How?"
"How?" was much more annoying than "Why?"
"How?" meant I would most likely need to look to Google for an answer.
Just as one "How?"question was answered, another would take it's place. "How DOES electricity work?" "How does the corn get harvested?" "How does the moon work?" Thank God for smart phones. My thumbs are numb from all the odd internet searches I have performed over the past year.
Just as we started moving away from "Why and How?" a new phrase entered our lives.......
More annoying than any other question or statement ever in the history of childhood-
"Is that silly?"
I'm pretty sure if I ever snap and commit a heinous crime, it will be found that the reason I did so was because someone said "Is that silly?"
"Is that silly?" sounds kinda cute. It sounds fun and simple. It sounds like a game. "Is that silly?" is NOT a game, and no, its not fun. "Is that silly?" makes you want to stab your eye out at 2am.
It started simply enough. The Dictator would say something like "I put my shoes on my hands! That's silly!" and I would respond "Oh yes, you are so silly!" I didn't realize that like Pavlov I was training my little Dictator. "Is that silly?" was the bell. Me responding was the very enticing little treat, and the Dictator was quite hungry. The Dictator was conditioning me for hours of 'witty banter' that would end in peels of laughter for her, and tear stained cheeks for me.
At first "Is that silly" was used just for silly things. "I'm walking backwards with a bucket on my head! Is that silly?" "I'm using my finger like a fork! Is that silly?" Yes, yes...those things are silly. I responded. I engaged! I was preparing my own silly little noose that would eventually hang me.
Now "Is that silly?" is used for everything. EVERYTHING! "I'm putting my milk in the fridge! Is that silly?" "I'm getting dressed for school now! Is that silly?" "I'm hungry for lunch! Is that silly?" No! No, no, no, no, no!!!! It's NOT silly!!!!!!!! Please, for the love of God, stop talking! I try to not freak out. I try to gently guide her towards another topic of conversation. I try to not scream "You are not silly! It's not silly! Nothing, NOTHING is silly!" Most days, I succeed. Other days, I go in my closet, close the door and quietly weep about how silly my life has become.
A few weeks ago, the non-sleeping Dictator crept into my bedroom. A tiny little face at the side of my bed looked at me sleeping, poked me until I woke up and then in a small little voice asked me "I'm not sleeping and I need you to go help me poop. Is that silly?"
In the past few weeks, I've been more accepting of the annoying phrase and it's place in our lives. I know it's a phase. I know she'll get bored of it. It's just a matter of time. Thank the dear Lord that I live in a country with quality hair dye, coffee, booze and bad t.v.. I will survive this.
I was feeling pretty good about everything until this morning. While getting the Dictator ready for dance class, she asked me "Is my leotard silly?" I responded "Sure. It's kinda silly?" The Dictator had a little smirk start to spread across her face. She looked at me and said "Well, WHY is it silly?"
I die.
The Dictator LOVES to talk. I've never in my life met a person that likes the sound of their own voice more. Starting at 6 months old, the Dictator was babbling, cooing and 'singing' to anyone she saw. At 10 months she started saying quite a few words. By 15 months she spoke over 250 words and could string small sentences together. By two years she spoke in sentences full time and used large vocabulary words (like ironic and superficial) in every day speech. Everywhere we go people have always remarked on her excellent grasp of language and communication.
Stupidly (yes, stupidly. If you have a toddler or older child, you understand the horror of a talking tiny person), the Politician and I fostered her speech development. Working tireless hours with her, we would show flashcard after flashcard and eagerly repeat words after her to make sure she heard them correctly and to validate we were understanding her attempts. Our eager new parent giddiness overwhelmed us with the need to make sure our little wunderkind was the best and the brightest.
We brought this hell upon ourselves.
Starting at 2 years old, the Dictator discovered "Why?"
"Why? does the grass grow Momma? Why is the sky blue? Why do turtles live in shells? Why do I need to wear shoes? Why does my foot itch?"
On and on it went. An endless parade of "Why?"
Parenting instincts told me not to squash her curiosity. I patiently answered every "Why?" question the best I could. It was sweet really that she was so curious, and that she thought I would have all the answers for everything she wanted to know.
Then came "How?"
"How?" was much more annoying than "Why?"
"How?" meant I would most likely need to look to Google for an answer.
Just as one "How?"question was answered, another would take it's place. "How DOES electricity work?" "How does the corn get harvested?" "How does the moon work?" Thank God for smart phones. My thumbs are numb from all the odd internet searches I have performed over the past year.
Just as we started moving away from "Why and How?" a new phrase entered our lives.......
More annoying than any other question or statement ever in the history of childhood-
"Is that silly?"
I'm pretty sure if I ever snap and commit a heinous crime, it will be found that the reason I did so was because someone said "Is that silly?"
"Is that silly?" sounds kinda cute. It sounds fun and simple. It sounds like a game. "Is that silly?" is NOT a game, and no, its not fun. "Is that silly?" makes you want to stab your eye out at 2am.
It started simply enough. The Dictator would say something like "I put my shoes on my hands! That's silly!" and I would respond "Oh yes, you are so silly!" I didn't realize that like Pavlov I was training my little Dictator. "Is that silly?" was the bell. Me responding was the very enticing little treat, and the Dictator was quite hungry. The Dictator was conditioning me for hours of 'witty banter' that would end in peels of laughter for her, and tear stained cheeks for me.
At first "Is that silly" was used just for silly things. "I'm walking backwards with a bucket on my head! Is that silly?" "I'm using my finger like a fork! Is that silly?" Yes, yes...those things are silly. I responded. I engaged! I was preparing my own silly little noose that would eventually hang me.
Now "Is that silly?" is used for everything. EVERYTHING! "I'm putting my milk in the fridge! Is that silly?" "I'm getting dressed for school now! Is that silly?" "I'm hungry for lunch! Is that silly?" No! No, no, no, no, no!!!! It's NOT silly!!!!!!!! Please, for the love of God, stop talking! I try to not freak out. I try to gently guide her towards another topic of conversation. I try to not scream "You are not silly! It's not silly! Nothing, NOTHING is silly!" Most days, I succeed. Other days, I go in my closet, close the door and quietly weep about how silly my life has become.
A few weeks ago, the non-sleeping Dictator crept into my bedroom. A tiny little face at the side of my bed looked at me sleeping, poked me until I woke up and then in a small little voice asked me "I'm not sleeping and I need you to go help me poop. Is that silly?"
In the past few weeks, I've been more accepting of the annoying phrase and it's place in our lives. I know it's a phase. I know she'll get bored of it. It's just a matter of time. Thank the dear Lord that I live in a country with quality hair dye, coffee, booze and bad t.v.. I will survive this.
I was feeling pretty good about everything until this morning. While getting the Dictator ready for dance class, she asked me "Is my leotard silly?" I responded "Sure. It's kinda silly?" The Dictator had a little smirk start to spread across her face. She looked at me and said "Well, WHY is it silly?"
I die.
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