Archive for November, 2007

Happy birthday to me

It’s my birthday today.  I’m not 30, but I sure do feel like it.  At least.  Maybe even 35.  And that’s because Eirinn doesn’t like to sleep much anymore.  She’s decided that sleep is a bad habit to keep.  It’s probably even a sin in some religions.

Guess what she gave me this morning for my birthday gift?  Four temper tantrums within a half an hour.  Lucky me, huh?

Tantrum #1 – She wanted an Elmo diaper.  Psst – they are ALL Elmo diapers.  But she wanted an Elmo diaper.  No, not that one.  No, not that one.  Not that one.  Nope.  Nuh uhn.  ELMO DIAPER!  I still don’t know what she actually wanted.  She was clearly saying “Elmo Diaper”, but after offering her five (5) different diapers, all of which had a picture and/or pictures of Elmo splattered across the band and on the bum, I realized that maybe she didn’t actually want an Elmo Diaper and that “Elmo Diaper” is code for something that I have yet to learn.

Tantrum #2 – The soother.  She thought, in honour of my birthday, we could turn a blind eye to the “big girls only have a soother when they go to bed” rule.  Just for today.  But Mommy don’t play dat.

Tantrum #3 – She wanted me to read her Diego book.  Not to her; on my own.  Whaaaaaat?  Nevermind the breakfast I was feeding her, the breakfast I had yet to eat myself, the lunch I had to make, the snacks I had to assemble, the wrangling-fussy-toddler-into-some-semblance-of-winter-clothing.  I should take the time to read the Great American Novel that is Diego Saves Sammy the Sloth.  For the thousandth time.

After three tantrums between 7:20 and 7:45, I didn’t have the energy to challange her when she asked to wear her red dinosaur rain boots instead of her pink Pooh bear snow boots.  Fine.  No big deal.  It’s cold, but not frostbite weather.

Tantrum #4 occurred on the way to my mom’s house.  She tried to take her arm out of her coat sleeve while buckled into the car seat while we were in motion.  She got stuck.  And because I am 28 and not 35, I just laughed at her.  Because if what I get for my birthday from her is four temper tantrums, she deserves to be stuck all awkward-like for the two minute drive to daycare.  Ha.  Ha.


Vampires beware

Do you know what you shouldn’t feed a toddler?  Croutons.  Extra garlic croutons.  Unless you like that brand of stink.

Monday at lunch Eirinn spied the bag of croutons on the counter at my mom’s.  They were unopened because no one wanted to eat them.  No one, that is, except Eirinn.  Those croutons were all she wanted to eat for lunch.  And, being spoiled rotten, she got them and ate them all.

That was Monday and today is Wednesday and she still reeks.  The garlic spreads throughout her body and seeps out of her pores like sweat.  Stinky, pungent sweat.  Sweat that makes me want to heave my non-crouton lunch all over the floor.  Which is really sad because when Eirinn wants a kiss, I distract her with something else (Is that Dora at the door?) so I don’t have to bring my nose that close to her mouth.

This can’t last forever.  I’m sure it will dissipate soon.  Please, Lordy, make it dissipate soon.

This is one of those stories I’m going to tell when we meet her first boyfriend.

Smarter than your average bear

Now she’s getting into paragraphs:

“Lookit, Bugba.  It’s a picture of Baby Eirinn and a pony.”

I would be a whole lot more proud of her if she didn’t wake up at 2 am for a two hour long “Mama!  Daddy!” session for no apparent reason.  But even so, this little 20 month old amazes me more and more every day with what I didn’t even know she has been learning.  When does she pick this stuff up?  I always thought she was too busy running laps around the dining room table.

Blanket, soother, towel, diaper. Bliss.

We’re not even going to talk about Saturday. 

Sunday, Anonymous Husband and I got a HUGE chunk of Christmas shopping done.  I’m so proud and relieved.  The stores weren’t quite at the insane, claustrophobia-panic-inducing craziness yet, but they were getting there.  But we were quick, stuck to a list, got a little creative when necessary, and popped off at least 10 of the 30 humans and animals we buy for.  There’s still a lot left, but a third done by the last week of November is pretty darn good for a procrastinator and a non-shopper.

While we were out punishing our Mastercard, Eirinn was at Anonymous Grandma and Papa’s house.  Eirinn doesn’t often nap there; it’s just too much fun and excitement and she wouldn’t want to miss one second.  Not for lack of trying by Grandma, Eirinn just won’t give in.  So she went without a nap yesterday.  And, surprisingly, she wasn’t too bad without it.  We could tell she was tired, but she was coping reasonably well.

In the bath when we got home, she had passed the ‘coping reasonably well’ stage and was ready for bed.  She wanted her blanket in the bath with her, which, obviously, was not possible.

“A-lankie…Mommy?  I crying.”  Which she was.

And she continued to cry big, fat, sad, tired toddler tears until I got her out and dried off.  Laying on the ground with her blanket, soother (which is for big girls when they go to bed, and she was on her way so she was allowed to have it), still wrapped in the towel, and her diaper, everything was ok.

“I have A-lankie, I have sooder, I have towal, I have diapie.  I happy.”

Sometimes she can be the sweetest little thing ever.  And other times…we’re not even going to talk about Saturday.

What a way to start the day

She was awake at 4:30 A.M. this morning. 

First she was out of her blankets. 

Then her socks “fell” off. 

Then she was screaming bloody murder for no apparent reason.  “MOMMAAAAAY!!!” 

It’s like she has some sort of internal alarm clock set to Half Past Some Ungodly Hour, A.M., and when the alarm clock goes off, a fiery hot cattle prod pokes her repeatedly until one of us gets up with her.  And if we don’t get up right away, her bladder explodes pee all over her pajama pants, which then makes us feel guilty for not rising like a cheery little mama bird at her first tweet.  Or squawk.

WHY COULDN’T ALL OF THIS TORTURE HAPPEN AT 7?  7 IS NOT SUCH A HORRIBLE HOUR TO WAKE, IS IT?  (I’m yelling because with 5 hours sleep, I lose all sense of social etiquette and yelling at 9 a.m. seems appropriate.)

I can see how this day is going to go and I’m not sorry I’m at work.

The Winner, by TKO…

Eirinn has a cold.  Not a bad one, but she definitely has that air of sick around her.  And flowing out of her nose in a green translucent ooze streaming straight down into her mouth.  And smeared across her cheeks.  And stringing from the nostril to anything she has kissed, drank from, or rubbed up against.  And she sounds like a smoker.  A 20 month old, two-pack-a-day, one-puff-from-a-tracheotomy smoker.

But I haven’t given her any medication.  Why?  Because I’m a horrible mother who likes to watch my daughter suffer?  No.  Because she’s not acting sick.  Besides the ridiculous mood swings, which may in fact be premature Terrible Twos, but that is something to be debated.  Other than that, she is fine.  She’s playing as hard as ever, eating as irregularly and infrequently as ever, and sleeping only as long as what is humanly required.  As Per Usual.  So I haven’t drugged her up with anything other than fluids.  I figure (with a fair amount of scientific evidence to back me up) that she can fight this cold on her own and it will only strengthen her immune system for the future.

Kind of like our version of bare knuckle boxing. 

Good luck to you, Cold.  I’ve tried fighting Eirinn and TRUST ME, you will not win.

Some kind of funny

This made me snort-laugh at work.  Read this while I try to think of something half as witty to write.

Tornado Eirinn

The life and times, trials and tribulations, crimes and punishments, lessons learned and scores settled by my daughter, Eirinn, AKA The Tornado.

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When I Wrote

November 2007
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