age three is bullshit.

She's napping! She's napping!! She's napping!!!
(She hasn't napped in ages)

Oh thank God! If that child doesn't wake up with a more pleasant demeanor I probably won't make it to 8 pm.

She has been soooo difficult lately. I choose the word difficult because I don't want to call her names like "witchy" or "heinous". Yes, she turned three at the end of September. Yes, I've heard all about how age three is worse than two, (pretty much anytime I was venting about how tough she was at two. Thanks). But I mean, come ON. Everything is a fight! Every ridiculous teeny thing is a gigantic challenge. Right down to which stories we read at bedtime. I understand that she wants to control everything - as do I. I understand it's all about her growing and changing and developing her personality, blah blah blah. Just cut the shit already, kid! And speaking of shit - use the damned toilet will ya? As my ever-expanding pregnant stomach presses harder against the changing table, your flailing arms and legs punch and kick just as hard. You're too big for that table! It's meant for dainty little pea pods not thirty-five pound, thirty-nine inch long children. I can barely hoist you up there, it's getting out of hand. And your diapers don't come any larger and if they DID I couldn't carry a box that large. Any WHY are you awake already!!??!?!?!! 

Ugh. My joyous quiet time has ended. But first, a story before I go...

This morning I brought home some new pink cowboy boots for her. She immediately started to try them on. I saw her struggling so I let her know there is velcro that allows for easier access. She threw them across the room. She asked if they are rain boots. I replied that they are cowboy/girl boots. She said, "Humph, well IIIIIIIIIIII wanted rain boots." Umm, no. First off, Veruca, there was no mentioning of a new boot of any kind coming into this house today. I took it upon myself to purchase a product that I thought you would like as a kind surprise. You threw said product across the room. I gathered the friggin boots and put them away stating that I would give them to another girl who would love and be grateful for them. One hour later she put the boots on and paraded around in them happy as a clam.

And THAT, my friends, is age three... barely two weeks in.

The Scarlett Letters: The Third Birthday

On September 24th you will officially be Three Years Old.


Man alive.


It really is insane how quickly time passes when you're watching your baby grow up.


This past year has been filled with some amazing moments... and some incredibly challenging ones. So, Scarlett, here is a glimpse of YOU becoming a three year old ...




1. You love to play outside and get FILTHY. And I mean  F  I   L   T   H   Y.  Like, 'dumping dirt over your head, scraping what's left of your fingernails deep into the earth, filling your shoes and socks with pebbles and sand' filthy.

2. You're kinda fresh. You love the word, "no" and will use it as many times as you see fit. If I say something is black, it's white to you. You're stubborn as the day is long. Your mind is made up about everyyyyyyyyyyyyything and there's no changing it. You cannot be fooled. You cannot be bribed. You're a know-it-all. If I say, "go put on your shoes" you come back with, "they're not shoes, they're sandals." Your personality is incredible. You're a funny little character. You always have people laughing... you're my little scamp.

3. You watch a little too much Peppa Pig and may or may not be developing a British accent. You say things like, "This is an ice-lolly" when it's clearly a popsicle. You call a flashlight a torch and vacation a holiday. I'm trying to rectify the situation but you just love that show. Meanwhile you're turning into a mini Madonna with that accent.

4. You repeat things that your pregnant mommy shouts in anger at the dog. Most begin with the letter F.

5. Bedtime is a big ole game to you. As you settle into bed you love to have your routine which goes something like this:
I grab a tissue and we blow the noses of five of your stuffed animals. I then kiss those animals. I kiss and hug you. We do Eskimo-noses. You ask me a question. You tell me a secret by whispering nothing and then I have to come up with some crazy statement that you may have used as a secret. Sometimes my statement is unacceptable. We do that about seven to ten times as I inch my way out the door trying to distract you with, "ok, goodnight, love you"s. IF you are satisfied with our ritual you will play with your little animal friends for about an hour to an hour and a half before falling asleep. If our routine was unsatisfactory you will cry, whine and scream for the same amount of time.

6. You still have your favorite foods: Peanut butter and jelly, scrambled eggs, fruit, yogurt, cereal and soup. You are branching out more by saying, "surprise me!" when asked what you'd like for a meal. Chicken quesadillas are becoming a fast favorite.

7. You absolutely LOVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVE kitties. All things kitty. Your hands are kitties at times. You meow all the time. You become a kitty when you're threatened (which by the way is going to get you nowhere).

8. You get pissed. A lot. You're way of dealing with being frustrated is to cram your hand down your throat until you gag, blow your nose in your hand and bang your head on the floor. Daddy and I basically tell you how ridiculous you look and you get over it.

9. You love story time and are currently obsessed with The Little Critter Collection. I read all seven stories pretty much every night.

10. You are finally letting go and allowing yourself to be more silly. I used to call you "Scarlett P. Keaton" (remember Alex from Family Ties? Really showing my age here). You would never dance around with me or Daddy, you'd look at us like we were nuts - kinda the same way an eighty-seven year old man might look at a saggy-jeaned wanna-be thug. Lately, however, you've been dancing around with us - or by yourself, it's refreshing.

You are really a delightful little girl, so very special to all who know you. Sure, you are very challenging, but I don't think there's a three year old out there who isn't. You are smart as a whip and funny as they come. We are really looking forward to seeing you slide into the 'big sister' role.

May God bless you, sweet Scarlett. Happy third birthday to you!

"just one more and that's it"

Bedtime. It's been quite an evolution.

Naturally, when Scarlett was a baby getting her to bed was a piece of cake. Before the mattress was lowered I was able to gently rest her peaceful body in the crib without waking her. She had two or three plush friends to keep her company but her crib was for sleeping. Those were some short-lived nights.

As time moved forward the crib mattress was lowered. It finally became so low that instead of placing Scarlett carefully into softness I was basically dropping her down with a plop. I explained my challenges, apologized for my height and my T-Rex arms. She didn't seem to care either way. And one day soon it wouldn't matter how she was placed into that crib because she would rise immediately to jump and protest rest.

At present time there are fourteen stuffed friends in her crib. I know this because after placing four blankets on Scarlett (and describing each blankets' origin - i.e. "this is the one that Mama used to take to work" or "this one is from Auntie Kyndra and Gloria") I am to count the plushies as I toss each one in the crib while she makes the animal's sound and gives them a kiss. This comes after reading anywhere from four to eight books and singing up to ten songs. There is always the plead of, "just one more and that's it!" Be it a book or a song. And if I give in to that one there is always another request on deck. This happens every night at bedtime. She tries to incorporate this seemingly never-ending routine at 'nap' time (which, I should mention, is the time when Scarlett puts on a Broadway show rather than sleeps) but I pleasantly refuse. We still launch the blankets and animals but we skip the twenty-five minutes of books and songs. After all, I need to rest my voice for later.

About seventy percent of the time Scarlett still cries when I leave the room. She has been known to cry out, "sing Show Me The Way To Go Home and that's it!" as I'm descending the stairs. Or, "Mama, I need to sing 'funny Frosty'!" (Funny Frosty is a version of Frosty the Snowman where I change the words and she corrects me). I am convinced that she would hold me hostage until midnight if she could just figure out how.

God, I love her.

The Scarlett Letters: let's get a few things straight...

Dearest Lemon-pie,

WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO TO ME??

Eh, I'm half kidding. Let's just say you've been "testy" lately ... and trying every ounce of patience I have. Some days I'm not sure who's winning. It seems that you believe that I am winning and I believe that you are winning. So we battle harder.

Let's clear up a few things...

You are 27 months old. How is it that you are strutting around the house like you just paid off the mortgage? You're constantly throwing your things everywhere, tossing food on the ground like this is some half-assed diner. Demanding diaper changes, snacks and Mickey videos. Listen up, kid, I run the show.

If I say we are drying your hair post-bath so your teeth will stop chattering - it's happening.

When I tell you to stop using the television screen as an easel - STOP IT.

When I put dinner in front of you which you refuse to eat and you immediately pull the pin on your little grenade - you aren't getting your wish of cookies, your alternate option is yogurt or nothing.

Just because I accidentally zipped your skin in your jacket ONE TIME doesn't mean that every zipper is going to ruin your life. I SAID I WAS SORRY, CRIPES !!! Let it go, kid.

When you flail around like a lunatic during our bedtime rocking/reading session it only makes me shorten the ritual. I feel like Danny DeVito trying to rock Shaq up there. You are clearly longer than my lap and legs, I know it's awkward - I can't stretch out like taffy so please try to settle in and just enjoy it. I'm pretty sure that glider is about to collapse any day now anyway.

When it's nap time and you run into the corner I can still see you. I will come get you, peel you from the floor and carry your arched body to the crib. It's going to happen.

When you decide that you can't handle the skin from the tomatoes or that you don't like blueberries today you needn't hand me every single unacceptable morsel to be taken to the trash that very moment - you can keep them on your plate until meal time is over.

You cannot eat all of the marshmallows out of the cereal canister. Mallow Oats will simply be OATS if you do that. Trust me, it's better this way.

Stop sticking your head through the bannister. Just stop it.

The staircase is not a place to put on a jazz show. Just move your bum up the stairs and don't worry about who carries blanky and who carries bunny. We will all be together again in fifteen seconds.

I always love you. Even when you're driving me mad because you refuse to have your nails clipped and I have to go sit in the other room on the couch for two minutes and breathe- I love you. When you roll over on the changing table like an alligator nailing its prey because I'm trying to get the "floofies" out of your nose and you've got some kind of mental block against tissues and q-tips - I love you. When you throw rocks at the glass door - I love you. When you take it upon yourself to get the chapstick out of the "do not enter" drawer - I love you.

It is apparent that you are going to fight me on everything for the next couple of years and I'm going to do my best to mentally (and physically) prepare myself. (Think: running bleachers and meditation). You're beyond stubborn. Potty training will most definitely have me rocking in a corner somewhere. But I love you. You're my wonderful, smart, adorably funny little girl. You're going to be a huge challenge but it's alright - we will get through it.

xo
Mama

The Guy

I keep thinking about this "encounter" I had yesterday with Scarlett at the playground. No, no, no, this isn't another post about some jerk kids and their jerk moms - this one is very different. Scary different. It keeps popping up in my mind so I figure I'd better write it down.

Yesterday I wanted to take Scarlett to a different playground - we frequent three but I wanted a change. I drove around through a few neighborhoods looking for a new spot for S to swing. After several misses, I came upon a big, open, sunny field and an oddly shaded playground. It was in the middle of a neighborhood with houses on all sides. There were big trees hanging over the actual play area. Figures. I can't explain it very well but I got this feeling... just a weird eerie feeling - but we got out of the car anyway. 

We walked over to the play area first - while I kept hearing myself say, "Let's go play in the sunny grass!" S wasn't falling for it - she wanted to climb. I noticed too many spiderwebs on the steps and slides. Vomit. Scarlett was having fun climbing through the long tunnel and shooting down the tunneled slide. Up and down we went. But I couldn't shake that feeling. We were semi-secluded. Why didn't I park further over in the lot? Why did I park RIGHT by the playground on the street? Why didn't I want to get out of the car? I managed to walk Scarlett away to the sandy swing area. Of course she wanted to sit and throw sand for a few. It was at that moment that I noticed The Guy. "Oh, you silly girl, you have to get filthy don't you?" I playfully asked Scarlett while taking her hand and guiding her further away. The Guy was now sitting on the bench. "Let's go run in the grass, come chase me!" I enthusiastically ordered her. That lasted about a second and she was headed back to say hi to The Guy. I was very hesitant. I said a nonchalant Hello and Scarlett took it from there. While I sized up The Guy- Scarlett told him how she was at the playground and how she had two sticks and how she went down the slide - he wasn't even looking at her. The Guy was about my age, heavy-set, with dark circled eyes and he just appeared to be "off." He seemed very odd, anti-social, quiet in a not-so-normal way. In this huge park with tons of benches why would he wander over to this area and sit right by us on that bench facing the playground?? He flat out gave me the creeps. At this moment, as my heart started racing, mosquitoes started to eat me alive! Mosquitoes at 10 am. I've never! I grabbed Scarlett saying, "Oh my goodness, Mama is getting eaten up by bugs - we have to go!" And we dashed to the car. I noticed a mail truck had pulled up by the fence and the mailman was sitting and watching us. Was he worried too?? As I buckled Scarlett into her seat, my back to the playground and The Guy on the bench, I kept thinking, Holy shit this guy could come up behind me right this second and bash me over the head or drag me away!! I am by no means a paranoid person but I was semi-terrified. We drove away and I said, "I didn't like that playground, did you?" and Scarlett said, "No."

I vow to you, friends, I will NEVER, EVER do that again. I will never put my child or myself in an unfamiliar area where I do not feel comfortable. I should have gone with my very first instinct which was to keep on driving. I should have never gotten out of that car. God only knows what could have happened. Those mosquitoes could have been a sign. Sure, The Guy could have been completely innocent and a perfectly nice person but that scenario woke my ass right up. Safety first, forevermore. 

I will absolutely stick to our top three playgrounds from now on. Scarlett has fun there every time and I feel safe. That's all that matters.

Punky Longstocking

The doctor's office... perhaps the only place that a toddler can get away with wearing white corduroys.

Scarlett had her 18 month check-up today (even though she's 19.5 months old) and she is doing great! My super tall girl, who remains in the 90th percentile for height, is now at 34" and quickly catching up to her mama! She's gained ten ounces since January, bringing her to 25.13oz, and is now in the 80th percentile for weight. That's the stats!

As far as skills, she's doing really well in most areas. I think we need to work on meal-time junk. I tend to hold her back a bit when it comes to drinking from a cup (without a straw or spout). She does great - as long as I'm holding onto the cup. I'm sort of afraid to let it go completely because I don't want to clean milk out of the curtains. BUT I am slowly letting go more and more. She's also a little lazy when it comes to using utensils. She CAN do it, but it's easier to hold the fork in her right hand and shovel food into her mouth with her left. She's shown improvement over the past couple of weeks and I'm trying to enforce it as much as possible. Along with her "please"s and "excuse me"s. She's coming around.

Scarlett can count to ten - sometimes perfectly, sometimes out of order. Today she counted my fingers by grabbing one hand and saying, "1,2,3,4,5" and then the other hand saying, "6,7,8,9,10". I was impressed by that.

She knows some shapes: circle, triangle, rectangle, square, diamond, heart, star and oval mostly.

She doesn't really know her colors - sometimes she picks the right ones out of her crayons but I think a lot of times it's coincidence.

She still loves music at meal times and in the car and her current favorite television show is Super Why. Recently she's been able to recognize the letters M, O, B, I and P. Off to a good start!

We went to the aquarium and zoo on Gregg's vacation and she wasn't impressed by the fish or animals. She had the most fun running around the playground getting soaked in the water-play area.

We bought her a sandbox this weekend (in which I liberally sprinkled cinnamon because I read that it keeps bugs away) and she loves dumping that sand everywhere.

I've been taking her to the beach in the mornings on nice, sunny days and she loves playing on the shore. Yesterday she bolted into the water, shocking the crap out of me. Thankfully I was right next to her - holding her hand until she briskly let go. She fell to her knees in the cold water almost immediately. She was a bit stunned but was ready to keep playing. I was kinda pissed because I thought I was prepared for anything yet didn't have a towel or change of clothes. Scarlett- 1, Mama- zip. We managed to dry her off with a sheet and salvaged the trip with a slide and swing at the playground.

She's a roughneck. For sure. She's bold. She's not shy. She falls down and gets up saying, "ok" over and over. Definitely not a delicate flower.

One thing that is pretty adorable: She gets behind my father's motorized wheelchair and thinks she is pushing him from room to room (while he uses the controls). She even makes the grunting noises like it's soooo hard!

Scarlett continues to be the light of my life. I post a tiring amount of her photos on Facebook but I want my friends and family to know that the little faces she makes, the sweet smiles and smirks - they are so accurate in depicting her personality. She's such a little maniac. She's a dash of Pippi Longstocking, a heap of Punky Brewster and a pinch of Dennis the Menace. She's our sweet Scarlett June... and she's growing up too fast!