Easter Runaway

Tonight while doing dishes I saw the Dictator randomly go to our entryway, open the front door, and then start to walk out. Curious about what she was doing, I asked her "Hey, where are you going?"
The Dictator: "Oh, nowhere. I'm just running away now. Yeah....I just need to run away. Bye."
Our neighborhood is pretty safe, and from the kitchen I can see our entire block, so I decided to let this play out a little longer and see what she'd do.
The Dictator went outside, wandered around our patio and then went down the block just to the next house over. She looked back at our house, and then wandered back home.
Coming in the door, she says to me "Momma. I need you to run away with me. It's too lonely to run away all alone. Can you come with me please? After you do dishes?"

And for your Easter funny.......

Laying on the couch tonight, the Dictator was avoiding going to bed as usual.
Me: "You know...you better get to sleep or the Easter Bunny won't be able to come and bring your basket."
The Dictator: "What? I have to be asleep? Like Santa? That stinks!"
Me: "Yup. You better to get to sleep before the sun comes up!"
The Dictator takes off running to her room
The Dictator: "Oh my God, the Easter bunny is coming! Fuck! I better get to sleep!"

Addiction

Conversation overheard in my household tonight-

The Dictator: "I want to watch t.v."
The Politician" You are addicted to t.v. I think we need to take a break from it"
The Dictator "No! I am not addicted to t.v."
The Politician: "You are in denial. That's a sign of your addiction. Do we need an intervention?"
The Dictator: "No! I'm not in denial!" Followed with an angry (but light!) slap to the Politicians back
The Politician: "Your angry outburst is a sign of withdrawals, just another symptom of your disease. Once you admit you have a problem, I can help you work through it."
The Dictator: Looks at the Politician, covers her head up with a pillow and says "But I'm scared!"

LMBO. I think they've been secretly having marathon sessions of watching "Intervention" together when I'm not home.

Balloon

The Dictator gets attached to things. I mean, crazy, "Single White Female" attached to things. Lord forbid you lose one of the people in a set, a stuffed animal or one of the worst crimes of all time- leave her water bottle at school! (We only have 5 million other water bottles!) There WILL be consequences. Her little OCD world must be perfectly aligned at all times. She's a collector. She's a little crow. She does not like when her perfectly put together little world does not work out the way she wants it to!

Today at the mall a young lady was giving out balloon animals. The Dictator was very excited to get one, and we patiently waited in line for over 20 minutes so that she could get the little yellow dog that she just could not live without. "Yellow Dog" (I was in charge of naming it. It was hot out. I was tired. I wore uncomfortable shoes. I never said I was creative with names anyways!) toured the mall with us. He practiced flying, doing a back float in the fountain (bad Yellow Dog!), went potty (why must everything we bring with us use the potty. sigh) and helped the Dictator try on shoes. It was a magical day for the Dictator and her balloon friend. In the car, on the ride home, she held Yellow Dog gently against her chest and sang to him. The world was a perfect, magical place.

Then we got home. Yellow Dog and the Dictator ran off upstairs for more magical, happy, balloon animal magic time. I heard happiness, running, laughing and then I heard a loud "Pop!" After that followed a hysterical scream from the Dictator. Running up the stairs I found her. Sitting in the sunlight. Holding what was left of her little yellow friend. He was just legs and one sad little ear. The rest was a deflated, sad string of a balloon. The Dictator was in tears, cradling her friend and saying "Oh no! Yellow Dog! Oh no!" over and over again. I admit, I really did feel her sadness. Her little magical world shaken. A place where balloon dogs just die on you! Right in the middle of playing 'jump on the pointy metal bowl Momma keeps on the coffee table' (I'm thinking this was probably what caused Yellow Dog's demise).

The Dictator ran to me and launched herself into my arms. "Why did Yellow Dog diiiiiiiiiiie?"
Me: "Balloon friends cannot live forever. Although Yellow Dog's time was short, he had a very nice life."
The Dictator: "He was my very best friend (did I mention the Dictator can be just a tiny bit dramatic?), I loved him. Now he's just dead" and then more tears. Lots of tears
Me: "We must remember the good times we had with Yellow Dog. Remember how he did a back float in the fountain? Or how he tried on the pink shoes and looked so nice?"
Inside, I am dying laughing right now. Although I do genuinely feel for my daughter, recalling the good times we had with the balloon animal we had for less than 3 hours, plus quite a bit of sun exposure is getting to be too much for me. Despite myself, I giggle. Oh dear God. The Dictator is going to own my ass now.
The Dictator :"Momma. Are you not sad that Yellow Dog is dead?"
Secretly, I'm thinking "No. I am actually quite happy! That balloon animal was bound to pop eventually, and it was like keeping a ticking time bomb in the house. You insisted upon swinging it about at my head and probably caused me at least 5 new gray hairs because I was stressing out that it was going to pop in my face any second. Good riddens to Yellow Dog!"
Me: "Oh honey! I am SO sad that Yellow Dog is dead!"
The Dictator: "I do not believe you."
Me: "What can I do to prove my sincerity?"
The Dictator "Help me make a funeral"

So we did. We said nice words, threw Yellow Dog into the bathroom trash can, covered him with toilet paper and vowed that the next balloon friend we brought home would NOT jump on the pointy bowl.

What the hell kind of sick person insists upon giving children balloon animals anyways? People that hate children. People that hate the parents of the children they hate.

Note to self. No more pet balloon animals. Too disappointing. I think we're going to stick with pet rocks from now on.

Snuggle

As we're preparing to move (next week! Woah!), I find myself able to sleep less and less. This move has been pretty stressful, and even in these last few days before we are supposed to pack up our lives and relocate ourselves, we still aren't sure if we'll have a house ready to move into. Although I rationally know there is nothing I can do at this point to change the outcome, my mind still races well into the wee hours of the night with different scenarios and possible solutions. I've always been 'the fixer'. If you need something, advice, help, etc, I'm a good person to ask. I like to help. I've been told somewhat too much at times. Not being able to fix something drives me insane. So, I lay in bed at night and stare at my fan and go through a zillion and one different ways next week could play out for us. Being the eternal pessimist, the outcomes are usually never very good. Being a creative person, I'm able to REALLY stretch the possibilities out.

Last night I was laying in bed. Once again thinking about everything that's happening in my life right now. So far, 2013 has been a year of change. At this point it's hard to say whether or not this change is a good thing. Letting myself mull over all the details, I found it was already 2am. Trying to force myself to sleep, I heard the Dictator come into the bedroom. She got her usual drink of water, put her book on my nightstand and got in bed with me.

The Dictator: "Momma. You're still awake? Are you tired? You should sleep."
Me: "Momma can't sleep. My brain won't turn off."
The Dictator: "Momma, I'll hold you until you fall asleep. I'll cuddle you and keep you safe now and you can rest."

And she did. She literally wrapped her arms around me and patted my back while humming. And I fell asleep.

I felt her get up awhile later. She slipped her arm out from under me, kissed me on the forehead and said "Rest up Momma. I love you." I don't think she noticed that there were tears in my eyes.

My daughter amazes me.

Vindicated

Last week was a bit long and lonely for the Dictator and me. All of our friends were sick, and we really just had nothing going on. After a week of sitting around the house, staring at each other and trying to not go crazy, we decided we needed to go somewhere. Anywhere. Just get us out of the house for a few hours!

I've been dying to go to the antique mall near our house for awhile now. With our upcoming move, I'm feeling compelled to hunt and gather new treasures for our new space. Although I have no idea what that new space will look like just yet. I decided we really do need a new coffee table. Must have one. Cannot live without a new one. Our house will be totally hideous unless we immediately get a new coffee table! This may have been due to the fact I was staring at our current coffee table all week long, noticing every tiny, minuscule little scratch and flaw that thing has. But no! I think not! I think it's really just that horrendous, and we NEED a new one. Now.

The Dictator and I had a little chat about where we were going.

Me: "There's old things there. Older than Momma! They are all very fragile and we can't touch them. We just look with our eyes. Okay?"

The Dictator: "Older than Momma? Like what? Chairs?"

Me: "Umm...yeah. Chairs.....and other stuff" (Chairs? I guess it could have been worse. I think I just got off pretty easy on that one!)

The Dictator: "Are there toys?"

After another lengthy explanation that there would, in fact, be toys, we were set to go.

We pulled  up in front of the antique mall

The Dictator: "Oooooh! The MALL! It says MALL!"

The Dictator can read very few words at this point, but if it has anything to do with shopping, she pretty much reads at a college level. 

Inside the 'mall', the Dictators eyes got huge. My little magpie and I share a love of shiny things, old things, interesting things, and well, just things. I swear sometimes that I am raising a hoarder. Fights over throwing away little things, even candy bar wrappers in our house can be a bit intense at times.

The Dictator: "Momma! That wrapper is so beeeeeautiful! It says SNICKERS! I READ it for you! I neeeeeeed to keep it! Puleeease?!"

Oi yoi yoi!

The Dictator and I began to wander the aisles of the mall. She was really so excited to point to what she felt was a treasure, and to make sure I saw every single coffee table we passed by. After the first two aisles, we were both really getting into it. My beautiful little girl could not have been better behaved. I was insanely proud of my little 2 year old and her manners in the store. And then.....

An old lady and her husband came around the corner. She smiled at me and then noticed the Dictator. Immediately the smile became a scowl. 

When you live in our part of the world (most people come to our neighborhood to die) you get used a certain attitude from old people. We will either get a doting Grandma who wants to touch the Dictator and talk about how her kids abandoned her. Probably for petting them too much. Or we get the old lady that doesn't want to ever see children again. The Dictator calls those women witches. I refuse to correct her.

The witch scowled at the Dictator. The Dictator scowled back. The witch felt she must say something. I could see the ugly word bubble forming over her head. Here it comes...
The witch: "Some people are just soooooo irresponsible! Taking a baby to an antique store! That baby is going to break everything in here! Some people are just sooooo rude! I cannot believe this!"

The Dictator: Thinking very hard about what the best thing to do would be responded by waving at the witch and in her very sweet little voice saying "Hello witch! How are you?"

Ah...I love my child. We could have left the store now and I could have died a happy death. But..our day gets better!

The Dictator and I decided to stay and shop some more. Why let the witch ruin our fun. We completed two more aisles before our next encounter.

The witch spotted the Dictator rounding the corner. The witch reared back a bit, as if she was afraid of the Dictator and the 'damage' she may be coming to inflict on the store and possibly even herself. Just as the Dictator came around the corner the witch stepped backwards and bumped into a large table full of very breakable dishware. Luckily her husband caught the few items that fell and nothing broke. 

Ahhh....vindication! The Dictator and I merrily finished up the remaining aisles. The witch and her husband vacated the store immediately following the incident. Ha ha! 

Now, I'm not saying antique shopping is a great activity for all preschoolers, but I think the Dictator and I have a new hobby to share. One bird pillow, a little leaf soap dish and a California Raisin toy later, the Dictator and I went home in much better moods. No coffee table was found that day. I'm excited to take a tour to the larger antique mall to hunt next week. I wonder what type of witches we'll encounter there!

I have an allergy

WARNING! This post MAY just offend you! Sorry! I need to get this off my chest.....


Allergies. Since when does every.single.kid on the planet have an allergy? And how come all of a sudden it's not just the kids, but all the moms too!?!?! Dads seem to be left immune to this strange phenomena and continue to drink copious amount of wheat bear and eat large quantities of white bread without ill effect.

No joke, percentage wise on Facebook- 70% of my friends claim to have a food allergy. Uh? 70%?!
If 70% of the population had food allergies, we'd all be dead by now.

I'm not saying that all allergies are made up. Allergies are no joke! Maybe that's why I get annoyed when suddenly everyone I know is allergic to something. Feeling sluggish after eating a loaf of bread is NOT an allergy. If you drink an entire milkshake and then complain of tummy troubles, I'm sorry...you cannot blame it on lactose intolerance.

Talking to a friend who has a real, life threatening allergy to certain fruits (bananas, watermelon, cantaloupe, etc) made me realize how obnoxious these new so called "true food warriors" are. The Dictator was faced with her own set of allergy challenges as an infant. Being allergic to sweet potatoes is a pretty crappy allergy to have these days, since sweet potatoes are the new fad 'allergy free' food. No carrots, no tomatoes, no nothing red until she was nearly 2 years old. How did I know she was allergic? She had an allergic reaction that required medical treatment, and she also had to undergo some pretty awful allergy testing.

To the woman who told me she thought her daughter might have the same allergy because after she ate sweet potatoes she had to burp a lot- Please shut up.

My personal favorite is "My child is allergic to sugar". I'm sorry, but I'm allergic to bullshit. Please stop trying to feed it to me. Your child is not allergic to sugar. Lets take a quick moment to think about why you think this. Sugar, when ingested, releases endorphins. Endorphins are fun! They make you want to run around and be crazy, silly, and well...sometimes hyper. They make you happy. Being happy makes you want to be more outgoing. In small people, the effect is bigger, because emotions are bigger. Getting excited after eating a cupcake does not mean you are allergic to cupcakes. I have a feeling these are the same parents who will tell me in a years time that their child is allergic to plastic, and therefore cannot go down the slide. Slide=endorphin rush=hyper. Not: slide=endorphin rush=allergy!

These 'allergies' also seem to only affect a certain segment of society. White, 30 something, middle class Americans with one to two children living in a house where the mother stays home seem to be most targeted by this affliction. You never hear Jim Bob or Honey Boo Boo's mom complaining that they can't eat too much gluten or they'll get sick. The lower class masses seem to be nearly entirely immune from this epidemic.

I've seen moms nearly starve themselves to death because they are terrified to eat fearing their breast milk will be tainted by these horrific allergens. Seriously! Eat a frigging bagel! Your baby will be fine! Have a cupcake, or two! You might feel so much better you'll forget to worry about 'allergies'!

Hosting a play date these days is beyond ridiculous. Suzy can't eat gluten. Sally can't have dairy. Emily is allergic to all nuts ("no..we haven't had her tested yet, but we have a feeling...."). Frank can't eat any meat. George is pretty much shit out of luck and is allergic to all of the above. What the hell am I supposed to serve for snacks? All of this needless worry makes me want to spike the organic, gluten free, sugar free, vegan cupcakes with red #40.

I'm not advocating we feed our children or ourselves a diet of junk food. I'm all for healthy, fresh, and even (gasp!) organic food when possible. However, please realize that allowing yourself or your children to eat at McD's once in awhile will NOT kill them.

Ok. Rant over. The end.

Get ready

Oh...the injustices of being a woman.
Not only do we bear the burden of pregnancy, childbirth, periods, breastfeeding, and all the other hormonal challenges we face, we are also supposed to look good while doing all of this.

I often lament to the Politician how unfair this is. I give him a ten minute warning before we leave the house. In that ten minutes, he has time to get himself completely ready, get a snack, use the restroom, and he still usually has time left over. He'll throw on some jeans and shirt and cover his messy hair with a hat and voila! He's ready to go.

I, on the other hand, have been in the bathroom the past hour. Shaving, plucking, tweezing, brushing, using things on my eyelashes that I'm certain were modeled after medieval torture devices. After an hour+ of this I should look like a super model. Wrong. I now look fit to be seen in public. After an hour, I'm still not done either. I have to find something to wear.

Another half hour....
Squeezing myself into skinny jeans I curse the man that invented them. It had to have been a man. No woman would do this to another woman. Why aren't yoga pants in fashion? Sigh. I long for the olden days of Juicy Couture track suits. Those were my wonder years. After a half hour of smashing my body and contorting my internal organs, I now am dressed and ready to go.

Oh no...I'm not. I have to pack my bag! I forgot, I'm not supposed to just wander around and look pretty, I'm supposed to also be a pack animal at the same time. Sippy cup, snacks, wallet, giant make-up bag, little toys, and a zillion other things must be found and deposited into the giant bag I call a purse. At this point, my purse borders on an 'I'm backpacking across Europe' backpack.

Now that I'm finally ready, it's time to get the Dictator ready. Tears, bows, shoes, "I want to wear my pink sparkly boooooots! and mismatched (on purpose!) socks later, we can now leave the house! 2 hours after my 'start time'!

The Politician is merrily playing a computer game. I want to smack the hat off his head and force him to shave his legs, but I don't. We just don't have the time.

A couple weeks ago I finally got fed up with it. I decided I was going to rock my yoga pants, throw my hair in a pony tail, go without make-up and throw caution to the wind.

As we're getting ready to leave for the day, the Dictator asked me "Momma, why do you look like Ursula today?" Ursula....the SEA WITCH from the Little Mermaid.

Sigh....back into the bathroom I go!