A punch to the cups

While checking out at Target recently Violet was chatting with the grandmotherly clerk, going on and on about how her friend, Daniel, was five and he was going to start kindergarten, but she was going to go to four-year-old preschool - all very compelling stuff.  Then she switched to, "And my sister hits me."

The clerk glanced over at Lorelei, the bigger kid, and said, "Well, someday you'll be big and you'll be able to get her back."  I chuckled, pointed to little Zoey and said, "Oh no, she's talking about this one." The poor lady looked a little appalled and really had nothing to say about that.

Our Zoey's got a mean streak.  There doesn't even need to be any specific provocation.  You'd understand, if not condone it, if the littlest was fighting sibling injustice with her fists but she's more of a random acts of violence kind of girl.  The other day she threw her sippy cup on the dining room like she was spiking a football.  I told her "we don't throw our cups on the floor, please go pick it up."  With balled fists she said, "No!" then marched over and kicked the cup.

"Zoey, pick up the cup."

She shouted, "No!" and followed up with a punch to the cup.

"Zoey Alexandra, pick up the cup right now."

"No! I hit you!" And she did.

I'd like to say I handled it firmly, but gently and set Zoey on a course toward a peaceful, non-violent protest kind of future, but instead I giggled. She's probably gonna start punching more than cups.

Damn you, Broccoli!

Without knowing it, I threw down the gauntlet with Zoey.  Some nights trying to get the kids to eat dinner is torture - for all of us.  Tonight we told Violet she couldn't go outside and roller blade until she'd eaten at least one bite of everything on her plate.  She didn't like it, but she finally did it.  With Zoey, I nonchalantly said, "You can go outside, too, if you eat one piece of broccoli."

That was it - my act of war.  We've been at this for an hour.  Everyone else has eaten their dinner and the dishes are all done except for one little Minnie Mouse fork with a bit of broccoli on it.  She just will not budge.  I hate it, but I guess I can't budge either.  She's sitting on my lap right now crying and twirling my hair around her little fist (that's her comfort thing), but I guess we're not going to go outside and join Greg and Violet as they play.

Forecast calls for a good day?

Yesterday started off so well.  Everyone slept through the night, Greg and I woke up on our own schedule before the little girls.  I made pancakes and bacon for breakfast on a weekday.  We had a play date planned with a neighbor.  All good stuff.

Then the whole cashew thing happened.  Plans changed, craziness ensued.  By the afternoon things calmed down and were back to normal.  Napping, playing, going to the bus stop, yadda yadda.  Then I smelled that smell that tells me a diaper needs to be changed.  I look over to see Zoey digging her hands down the back of her shorts and a little rain of debris was on the floor.  Took a closer look and yep, those cashews had struck again - this time partially digested.  ARGH. 

Straight to the bath tub, hosing her off with the shower nozzle when Violet comes running in, "Mommy! I gotta pooooop!"  Of course, why wouldn't she need to poop?  And it only makes sense that she would have to use the bathroom I'm in, even though there are 3 other toilets available to her.  After all that was done, I still had to go clean up the mess on the floor.

If we follow yesterday's logic, today should be awesome, though.  Zoey woke up at 4:30am with an over-soaked diaper.  I changed her and tried to keep her quiet so Violet wouldn't wake up then brought her to our bed only to have her squirm, pull my hair and scratch me with her nearly Guiness Book record long toe nails for an hour.  Greg gave in and got up with her around 5:30.  A few minutes later I hear a ruckus of crying and running around downstairs - she was throwing up.  It was all liquid, so probably she just got choked up drinking her apple juice, but she did feel a little warm and complained that her head hurt.  Gave her Tylenol and in her cute little way she pipes up immediately after swallowing, "I feel betters!" 

I'm not going to hold my breath, but maybe I'll feel betters today, too.

Another story about my nuts...

A dear friend has a hilarious story about when her little sister was a toddler.  She stuck a McDonald's French fry up her nose and ended up in the emergency room.  That story is no longer funny at all. 

Zoey was eating some cashews this morning - you can connect the dots.  So, I tried one of those nasal aspirator things - she screamed and kicked and made it virtually impossible for me to get near her nose.  I thought I might've gotten one or two little snorts out of it, so I calmed her down and she let me take another look with the flashlight.  At this point I couldn't see anything, her little nose was too puffy.  I called the pediatrician's office and they said, "Oh, you'll have to see an ENT - here's some phone numbers."

I called the first one.  A very nice lady answered the phone, but very nice doesn't mean very helpful.  The doctor was in surgery and when I asked what I should do, if I needed an appointment right away, all she could tell me was, "I'm sorry - the doctor handles stuff like this, I don't know."  So, I called the next one and thankfully got an appointment for a short time later.  Meanwhile, Zoey calmed down, had some juice, watched some cartoons and seemed totally fine.

My personal experience with doctors is that there is never anything wrong enough with me that they can actually do something for me besides the basic - rest, liquids, blah blah blah.  But you know, something is stuck up the kid's nose, so it can't be a waste of my time or money to take her to a specialist, right?  Wrong.

We had checked in at the front desk, paid the co-pay and were in the intake room with the nurse answering the myriad medical history questions when Zoey sneezed.  And there, on the nice tiled floor lay a small hunk of cashew.  You have got to be kidding me.  The nurse looked pretty stunned and said, "Well, do you want to go on with this, or just leave?"  Damn right I'm having her examined - I already paid for it!

The offending little nut.

We shuffled into the exam room where the doctor had me wrap my arms and legs around a flailing and screaming Zoey while the nurse held her head in place so he could stick a speculum up her nose and check things out.  And of course it was all clear.  Goodbye 2 hours of my life, goodbye $40.

What's going on in that cart?

I enjoy entertaining strangers with my children and I'm betting I was a bundle of laughs for everyone in Superfresh on Wednesday afternoon.  I stopped in for two things I'd forgotten during my shopping trip earlier in the week.  Two things.  Superfresh is seconds from my house so I didn't bring the diaper bag, I didn't bring an army of snacks, I didn't bring any sippy cups.  Shame on me for thinking I could get away with that.

The entire ten minutes we were in the store, my sweet little two-year-old screamed for a snack at the top of her lungs.  Of course, what she was screaming could have easily been misconstrued...

"MY NUTS! MY NUTS!  MY NUTS! MY NUTS!  MY NUTS!"

They're coming to take me away he he ha ha ho ho

Sometimes living in my house feels like living in an insane asylum. 

No nap for Zoey today - put her down twice, the second time I really thought it would take - until she walked in on me showering.  She wanted me to open the giant chocolate bunny pop that a neighbor had brought over for her.  Violet must have given it to her - you know, to be kind and helpful - because Zoey didn't know it existed and wouldn't have been able to reach it on the counter if she had known.  I took it away from her and it got to finish off my shower with me in the shower caddy.  Of course, before I was able to get out of the shower Violet had to come in and inform me she was done with her soccer ball marshmallow pop.  Is it so wrong to want to shower alone?

Earlier today Violet called to me to help her in the bathroom.  When I walked in she said, "Hey Mom, wanna see my poop?!"  I said, "Yeah, sure, I'm dying to see your poop."  Not quite the right thing to say to a 3-year-old.  "WHAT?  Are you dying?!"

Since Zoey wasn't taking a nap, it's only natural that Violet, who doesn't take naps anymore (at least not on purpose) fell asleep on the couch at 3:30.  Zoey left her alone for a while, but eventually started in on her puppy act, barking at Violet and jumping on her until she cried.  This is something new in the last few days - she barks for things instead of using words.  She's finally talking really well, so it seems appropriate that she'd now turn to barking and whimpering instead.  Yesterday at the Korean market she was yapping and whining, so I was cooing at her that she's a good puppy.  When she tried to climb out of the cart (none of the carts there have belts - ach!) I had to sternly say, "Bad dog - sit" so she would sit back down.  I know everyone I walked past in there thought I was crazy. 

But that's okay, because I live in an insane asylum.