Doodle

Every now and then, as a mama, you have those days where you are deluded enough to think you’ve got this whole thing figured out. Yesterday was not one of those days.

I’m not sure what exactly started the day off on the wrong foot, but I have a feeling it was waking up with a 3 year old contorted around my body in such a way as to create a huge crick in my neck. I’m not sure how she ended up in bed with us, but I have a vague recollection of stumbling across the house around 2 a.m. knowing I had lost my will to fight this battle.

We woke up around 7:15 to the sounds of all the construction workers arriving at the house next door. There was much yelling and hammering. It really is a delightful way to start the day. I highly recommend living next door to a construction site, because not only do we get to wake up to all the incessant hammering of the hammers, but around midday each day the head contractor, who I like to call “The Silver Fox”, takes off his shirt and spends the rest of the day supervising while shirtless. The whole scene is like a Diet Coke commercial gone wrong.

Very, very wrong.

So, we’d been up all of 4 minutes before Caroline started in with the whining. And really, who can blame her? She has a rough life with all the constant love and adoration. Not to mention the hot meals, the clean clothes, and using my cheek as a pillow for the better part of the night. But apparently, my resistance to allowing her to eat York peppermint patties for breakfast is causing her much distress. I hope God answers her prayers, because really, does it get any meaner than that?

We spent the morning engaged in various little battles and then it was time for swim lessons. I hosed her down with SPF 50, put on her swimsuit and then went to get myself sunscreened and dressed. As I was standing in the bathroom, she walked in wearing clothes. A long sleeve shirt and jogging pants, which are perfect attire for these 90 degree days. She informed me that she WAS NOT GOING TO SWIM LESSONS because either her stomach hurt or the other kids were too wild. She couldn’t really make up her mind.

Either way, her story had no credibility. An upset stomach is her go-to illness in all instances and there is no human way the other kids are wilder than she is. She is the queen of wild.

When I told her that she absolutely was going to swim lessons, there was much screaming, yelling and gnashing of teeth.

And she wasn’t happy about it either.

I wrestled her into her swimsuit, grabbed the swim bag and we headed to the pool. And before any of y’all suggest that maybe she doesn’t enjoy swimming lessons, let me clarify that she is a champion swimmer. She has spent the entire winter doing the backstroke in the bathtub. She has never had a fear of the water and in fact, the summer before she turned one, I spent much time trying to keep her from drowning herself because all she wanted to do was IMMERSE herself in the H2O goodness and would constantly push against me so that she could completely submerge herself.

The issue was not swim lessons. The issue is that she is 3 1/2 and I actually said out loud the other day, “She seems to be fighting me less on things as she gets closer to turning 4.” If that’s not the equivalent of daring fate to throw me a curveball, then I don’t know what is.

Once we got to the pool, she walked happily to her swim lessons as if the crying had never happened, because after all, it’s not the swim teacher’s fault that Caroline has been cursed with a mother who won’t let her eat York peppermint patties for breakfast.

Maybe if she swims in the Olympics someday, her picture won’t be on a box of Wheaties, but rather a bag of peppermint patties. Breakfast of Champions.

By the end of the day yesterday, I was tired and my teeth hurt to the point that I was ready to have them all pulled out and just get false ones instead. My orthodontist keeps saying we need to fill some spaces, but don’t they have some kind of Bondo they can use instead of making my life a living hell?

I guess not.

Plus, he took some x-rays of my mouth because I’m pretty sure he’s trying to get my hopes up that it’s about time to set my teeth free so that he can then dash those hopes to the ground and make me feel foolish for ever thinking a day will come that I won’t have wires sticking into my gums.

Anyway, it was time for Caroline to go to bed and bedtime can be enough of a beating even when I’m feeling good, and last night my patience was at an all time low. And of course, she had to peruse her entire inventory of books before deciding on her bedtime stories.

Then, she needed water.

Then, she needed to go to the bathroom.

Then, she needed to give Daddy one more hug.

Then, my head spun around in circles until it exploded into pieces that flew all over the room.

Finally, stories were read, kisses were given and she started asking for stuff again. In a loud voice I said, “NO. NO. NO. NO MORE STUFF. Now let’s say your prayers and get in bed.”

And she looked me in the eye and said, “Okay, Mama. I’m going to pray that you wouldn’t be so mean.”

Last Thursday, Caroline and I made our first trip of the summer to the neighborhood pool. I learned two things from this experience.

1. Never promise a trip to the pool before checking the weather forecast, because a 3 year old with her mind set on going to the pool isn’t going to be deterred by cloudy skies and windy, rainy weather. You know how your hand feels when you stick it in an ice chest for too long while pushing aside the Diet Pepsi to get to the good stuff? That’s how my whole body felt.

2. I wasn’t really ready to experience Swimsuit Season ’07. I needed more time, more lunges and less cellulite.

So, this morning as we were hanging out around the house, I dug through my extensive DVD collection and pulled out my lone exercise DVD entitled “Fat Burning Pilates”. I bought it almost 4 years ago in the midst of the postpartum, fat roll around the middle blues and have used it, on average, about once a year. Today, in a frenzy of needing to burn some fat, I cranked that baby up for the 4th time.

I sold Caroline on the idea of exercising with Mama, while following the lead of a host of perky women, with firm abs and pigtails in their hair, doing squats in sets of 10 with something like 40 or 300 reps a piece. Oh, they are so smug with their pigtails and elegant arm moves. I, personally, cannot be bothered with what my arms are doing when my thighs feel like someone just doused them in gasoline and lit them on fire.

We were about 5 minutes into the DVD when Caroline collapsed on the floor and said, “Mama! This is hard work. Can we stop and eat some marshmallows instead?”

I have never been more proud.

Caroline has this little chair that used to belong to P when he was a little boy. It’s a sweet little wooden chair and it spent most of her babyhood sitting in a corner of her room. A few months ago, she discovered it and has been keeping it in the living room. Sometimes I let her sit in the little chair at the coffee table and eat her lunch while she watches Charlie and Lola.

Well, the other day, she was eating lunch in her chair and I heard a crash. Somehow, she had fallen backwards in the chair, but since it’s so low to the ground, she wasn’t hurt, she was just mad. She looked at me and said, “Mama, I don’t like that chair anymore. I want you to put it up.” I told her I would, and then just kind of blew the whole thing off because that’s pretty much how I handle everything.

The little chair remained in the living room. Then about 2 days ago, she was already upset about something, because she’s 3 and that’s part of her schtick, when she noticed the chair out of the corner of her eye. She stopped in mid-tirade, looked at me and said, “I thought I TOLD you to PUT THAT CHAIR UP!”

I realized two things. One, we need to work on her attitude and two, she was serious about the chair.

It’s such a cute little chair that I didn’t want to put it away, but wasn’t sure what to do with it. So, I put it next to my desk chair in the kitchen. Then, this morning, she walked over to where I was typing at the computer to tell me something and when she turned to walk away, she tripped over the little chair and fell.

That chair had crossed her for the last time.

She stood up and kicked the chair and then, for good measure, kicked it again. Realizing this wasn’t causing the level of destruction she was looking for, she stomped her foot down hard on the seat of the little chair. At that point, P and I talked her down and pulled her away from the chair. If she knew what an obscene gesture was, I have no doubt she would have directed one in the chair’s direction as we dragged her away.

Needless to say, this house isn’t big enough for the two of them. I’m thinking the chair has to go.