Julie Tullos

It’s hard to do much when you are sleep deprived. It’s also hard to do much when there is a constant high-pitched whine in your ear saying “Mama pway!” “Mama sit on couch!” “Mama I hungwy!” “Mama WATCH” and any number of other demands. Baby Girl has gotten awfully bossy lately. When I say “Mama has to work right now” or do laundry, or make dinner or go teach or anything other than meet her demands, Baby Girl responds with screams, tears, tantrum throwing, trying to push me out of my chair or into whichever area she wants me in, and the thing is she does not give up. Not easily, not quickly, and not for long. Leadership skills a parent says. Huh. Maybe when she’s 20 they’ll be leadership skills. Right now they’re just annoying skills.

And Mama does play. A lot. And I’m not even actually allowed to do anything. I’m only allowed to sit in her presence and do exactly what she tells me to. If I try to color she immediately has to color exactly where I was coloring. Or she takes my crayons away. If I try to play with the dolls in the house she grabs them out of my hand – NO! THAT’S not what I want them to be doing! If she wants to throw the ball around I am told precisely where to sit and where to throw. The only thing I am allowed to do is puzzles. And that’s only because she can’t yet do the bigger ones by herself. If I try to get up and leave after what seems like a reasonable time to me (5 minutes is good, right?), there’s immediate tears and yelling and tantrum throwing. Seems like a lot of effort to me but hey, I’m not two.

And I feel bad. Because she’s alone a lot. No other little kids to play with. That’s why she loves her school so much. When I pick her up I’ll ask her – did you have fun? YES! What did you do today? I DID SCHOOL!! That always makes me laugh. And she’s always asleep before we get home. Sometimes I’ll ask her about the other kids in her class. Do you like Kinley? “I wike Kinley” Do you like Noelle? (Sometimes this one is yes, and sometimes it’s no). Do you like Colt? “I wike Coat!” Imagine this in an adorably southern accent and you’ll think it’s the cutest thing ever too. I’ve asked the teacher how she interacts with the other kids and she’ll tell me that she likes to “claim” her toys, and sometimes she’ll let the other kids play with her and sometimes she won’t. “She never gets mad at Kinley when Kinley wants to play. But she gets mad at Noelle a lot – they butt heads.” Says a lot, really. Kinley must not question Baby Girl’s authority.

And Baby Girl doesn’t always whine and cry and boss me around. She does play by herself sometimes. But lately she’s been very tired. And when she’s tired, or not feeling well, only Mama’s full attention will do. And she’s tired because she does not sleep well. She doesn’t sleep well so I don’t sleep well either. So we’re both tired and cranky and it makes me have no energy for playing or anything else. I just concentrate on surviving.

Baby Girl goes to sleep in her bed at night, easily. Doesn’t take too long. But the problem is that she doesn’t stay asleep. And if she wakes up, she gets up. Immediately. And comes into my room. Now, I’ve asked for and received plenty of advice regarding this problem. Used to, I’d get upset and make her go back to her bed. And then I’d have to sit in the chair in her room until she fell asleep. Once I was able to sneak out it would typically be 30 to 60 minutes before she was up again. And we’d start over. Naturally this was taking a huge toll on my sanity. Eventually I’d give up and let her in my bed to sleep. However, the kid snores and moves around A LOT and nobody but her was getting any sleep this way. So, after considering a lot of advice from a lot of good people, I decided to try melatonin. Sure, it worked. She went to sleep almost immediately, just like she was supposed to. But then she was up again an hour later. Apparently melatonin only helps you fall asleep – not stay asleep. So back to square one. Next I tried a pallet on the floor beside my bed. She got the hang of that pretty quick and we reached a truce where she would get up and come in my room and lay down and go to sleep on the pallet. Didn’t even wake me up. This lasted for about 3 nights. It was nice while it lasted.

Lately she has come into my room earlier, and going to sleep on the pallet, but not staying there. (Whisper) “Mama. Ma? Mama? need water! Ma?” You don’t need water baby, go back to sleep. “WAAAA! need waaaatttteeeerrrrrr!” Then Daddy leans over the bed – Go Back To Sleep! She hits the floor. (Daddy means business). An hour or two later… during which time I haven’t slept at all because I’m listening to her snore and solving world problems in my head… “Ma? Mama? I scared.” You’re not scared baby, lay down. Huge sigh from Baby Girl. Yet again another hour or two later…. “Ma? Ma?” I sit up in bed. BABY GIRL DO YOU WANT TO GO BACK TO YOUR BED? “NOOOOOOO!!!!!” THEN LAY DOWN RIGHT NOW AND GO TO SLEEP! Whimper whimper. A couple times I have given up (again) and let her sleep in the bed with me.

A sleep chart and prizes had zero effect. Someone, and then a few someones, said I should get her a puppy to sleep with. A live one. Um. First of all – we are not dog people. We like dogs. But not in the house, and certainly not in the bed. Second of all – allergies? She already has trouble breathing when she’s in bed. And thirdly, and perhaps most important, there is no guarantee that the dog will sleep in the bed with her. I mean, I wouldn’t, if I were a dog. That’s a small bed.

So we’ll just have to be sleep deprived until we get this all figured out. Makes it easy for her to get what she wants, because I am all will-powered out. That was probably her plan all along…

I’m not going to pretend that these last few weeks haven’t been rough. The murder of a local police officer hit us all hard. The inauguaration of Trump – being full of trepidation and trying to be full of hope as well. And, well, let’s just add some business woes, potty training and two year old stubbornness in there too.

One of the most difficult things we are expected to do (and in fact impose on ourselves) is to pretend everything is alright when in fact it isn’t. It may be a bad day, a bad week or a bad year, but you are going to say “I’m fine” when someone asks you how you are. Unless they are a close friend, they are probably not really interested in your answer anyway.

So when it comes to potty training I continue to say “we’re doing fine – it’s slow, but it’s progressing.” When I actually want to pull my own hair out. A mom at Baby Girl’s school proudly told their teacher that her own baby girl just needed two more stickers on her “potty chart” in order to get the Mickey Mouse waffle maker she wants. I listened silently, and inwardly stunned. A sticker potty chart? A waffle maker? These things HAVE NOT OCCURRED TO ME. First of all, as much as Baby Girl likes stickers, she would not for a second wait until she potties to take charge of ALL the stickers and put them where she darn well pleases. I can see the fight a mile away. No, Baby Girl, you can only have a sticker when you go pee pee in the potty. (I cringe and wait for the WAAAAAWAAAAAWAAAAA scream of all ages). Baby Girl definitely has her own ideas about things. Or if I took her to see a Mickey Mouse waffle maker but we didn’t leave the store with it? OK, well we can for sure actually do that, but to try and explain that she gets to bring it home only when she learns to go pee pee on the potty all the time? I just can’t imagine that this would go over well. But, Hell, maybe it would. I think sometimes that being old and tired limits my ability and enthusiasm for thinking outside the box.

I think I might have to try something drastic, though, with the sleeping problem. Baby Girl wants mama to stay in Baby Girl’s room ALL NIGHT. So that any time she wakes up Mama is right there. This is just a habit, y’all, no nightmares or scared of the dark or monsters under the bed. It is simply another way that she wants to control her environment. I totally get it Baby Girl, and I don’t know how many times I have to explain this to you, BUT I AM NOT STAYING in your room all night. She is way too stubborn and crafty for her own good. I put the door handle thingie on the door so she can’t get out and she rips that thing off in less time than it took me to put it on there. My mother suggests bribery. So in the coming days I will be making a Sleep Chart and filling it in with little stars, I hope. With a prize at the end of a week of staying in bed (or even just one full night). I’m not at all sure this is going to work in any way other than just pissing Baby Girl off even more. I’ve also considered putting a baby gate in her doorway and leaving the door open. I honestly think she’d climb that thing like Mt. Everest though, in about 2 seconds.

And as for being an older mom with her own business where you deal with parents and children – well sometimes you just get downright morose over the whole thing. Especially when something has been festering that just won’t bust open and be healed. And confrontation is not your strong suit. Everyone knows that a riding instructor pours her heart into each student she has. Especially in a very small program. And when there’s a thorn – it really goes in deep. But you smile and say you’re fine, and you do your job and you say nothing. Because, really, what is there to say? Words alone very seldom change anyone’s way of thinking, once a decision or an impression has been made.

Which leads to this whole social media thing. FaceBook is wearing me out. All the politics, the “woman’s rights”, the racism, the protests, the marches, the disgruntlement, even people trying to use FB as a freaking horse vet. (Good God please just call a damn vet!). And for the Love of All Things Holy, just stop already with the “can I get an Amen” (or a like) for this poor creature or whatever. Yes, I believe in Jesus, and No, God is not going to grant me a miracle for professing this in someone else’s Meme. I just want to post pictures of Baby Girl, see sweet pics and videos of kittens and children, laugh a little, and live my life without conflict.

So next time you see someone that might be “fine” maybe look just a little deeper. Maybe try to see the person behind the words. Maybe try to recognize yourself in their troubles. And be kind.

 

As I sat in the chair in Baby Girl’s room last night, waiting for her to fall asleep, I began to reflect on how big she’s getting. There will come a time when she no longer wants me to sit in the chair in her room until she falls asleep. When she will not demand me to Rock! the instant I say “It’s sleepy time!” and continue to demand it all the way down the hall, into her room, into her bed, turn the music on and the lights off. She won’t say Rock! one more time as I lean down and kiss her forehead and respond “I always do.” One of these days we won’t be watching the stars on the ceiling from the ladybug nightlight and we won’t be listening to the strains of Mozart and Bach. A little hand won’t sneak out from under the covers to say “No Mama! Don’t go” if I get up to leave before she’s fully asleep. The Peppa Pig sheets will be replaced by something more grown up and it will be a twin bed instead of an adorable toddler one. I look at the mural of the owl and the tree on her wall and wonder how old she’ll be when she wants to paint over it, and if I’ll cry when she does. And if she’ll roll her eyes at me because I do. Will the chandelier her Grandma bought still hang? What will become of the Dr. Suess framed prints? Or the pink owl lamp her Grandma and I bought the day we learned she was a girl?

Already I look back at the days gone by. I remember the agony of breastfeeding in the middle of the night, when she wouldn’t or couldn’t latch on. I remember the tears and the struggle to understand when she wouldn’t stop crying because of acid reflux. The sweet sweet smell of her little baby head next to my cheek. How itty bitty she was and how I had no idea what to do with her. How long it seemed to take for her to learn to sit up on her own, to stand, and finally to walk. When feeding her a bottle was the most precious moment of time. I remember when she started climbing out of her crib and we switched her to a toddler bed and she slept on the floor for months out of protest.

Someday she will no longer ask for hugs and kisses during dinner time. She won’t take my face in her hands and look inquisitively at me and say “Ma? Ma?” just to be sure I’m listening. She’ll stop asking if I’m ok every time I cough, because I do the same thing to her. One of these days I’ll get to take a shower or a bath without her wanting to do it, too, and maybe I won’t even really notice when that day comes. I’ll get to eat without having to share. I won’t have to sneak chocolate when she can’t see. I’ll be at work in my office and she won’t want to be in there with me. She’ll have more important things to do. Someday she’ll want to go ride without me watching, she’ll want the keys to my car. She’ll want her own phone and her own computer. She’ll want to sleep til noon and we’ll have arguments over nothing and everything.

So, Baby Girl, I will be happy to sit in your room every night until you fall asleep even though some days I am so tired myself I feel like crying. When the nights are tough and it takes you an hour to fall asleep instead of twenty minutes, I’ll watch the stars on the ceiling, I’ll play Words with Friends with my Mom on my phone, I’ll listen to Bach and Beethoven. And I will remind myself that with each passing day we get closer to the time when you won’t want me there, or need me there at all. Your room is my favorite room in the house, after all. Every single thing in it, including you, was chosen or made with love and prayers. So go to sleep, Lovie, Mama is right here, rocking.

It’s already the 4th of January and I have not even thought about Resolutions. Who has time for that anyway? Not parents of 2 year olds.

I’m busy attempting to get Baby Girl to sit on a toilet and pee pee. I resolve not to have a heartattack when she pees on the floor instead. I will remind myself that at least she didn’t pee on an indoor play slide at a public facility. (Shout out to GWR! You are my hero).

We’re over here trying to learn not to spit food out in mama’s hand or on the floor when she doesn’t like something and to throw it in the trash can instead. I resolve not to gag over chewed up peanut butter crackers in my hand.

Baby Girl enjoys pulling out toys that I just put away 5 mins ago and strew them all over the house. She will literally follow me around while I inanely pick things up and grab them back out of their assigned locations exclaiming NO! MINE! MINE! TOY! I resolve to wait until Baby Girl is asleep before attempting clean up of any type in order to avoid a meltdown. Hers or mine.

I resolve to buy stock in the Chobani yogurt company and to sell said stock the instant Baby Girl decides she hates yogurt and always has. Which of course will be when the yogurt market is in an upswing (thereby paying for her college education) and I have 1,284 boxes of yogurt in the fridge. Too bad it’s not gold bars. Or chocolate.

When making an effort to do something with Baby Girl’s crazy head of hair I resolve to try to be more patient and empathetic to her pleas of OW OW OW NO NO WAAAAAAA when I’m yanking the tangles out of her hair. As she squirms and wriggles and slides away from my weapon, er, hairbrush. I will more often ignore the rat’s nest on top of her head and discard those dreams of perfect plaits and bob-curls and pony tails.

I resolve to spend more time reading with Baby Girl and taking long bubble baths by myself. I will find more fun things to do with Baby Girl that are not in my own house – thereby reducing the magnitude of the wreck and my own madness. However we will avoid indoor play slides for the time being.

And finally, I resolve not to lose my shit entirely over the never-ending drama that accompanies getting dressed in the morning and getting undressed at night. I know, Kid, I don’t want to get dressed in the mornings either. But not wanting to put PJ’s on at night? Come on! That’s the best part of the whole day! How is it torture for you? It’s just a control thing, isn’t it? You’re just trying to make me crazy, aren’t you? Can you pleeeeaaaazzzzzeeeee make it simple just this one time? Sweetly and silently let me change you? I’ll give you chocolate! Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. Yeah ok it’s a control thing. I get it. Someday you’ll be wearing a bra. Then you’ll know.

Ah… those golden moments of peace and quiet… you’re actually getting into your work – enjoying the silence – WAIT. SILENCE? Oh Shit.

If there is silence there must also be something going on. Something you are not yet aware of. Something that is going to make you cringe or cry or go open a new bottle. Do you go look? Do you ignore it and hope it’s nothing more than Baby Girl sweetly reading books to herself? OK I have to look. Take a peek around the corner. Shit oh Dear. She’s not reading. She is coloring. On the windowsill and on herself. With purple marker. She is having a grand time.

Well of course you have to whip out your phone and take a picture of the naughtiness before you cry or laugh or scream. If you’re lucky she won’t even notice you taking the picture and you’ll get a good one you can use for blackmail someday before you rush forward into the madness to remove the purple marker from her purple fingers and listen to the ensuing screaming of injustice. Coloring on the wall is also a favorite. Seems ok since you haven’t gotten around to re-painting that wall yet. Only to discover the paint you have chosen doesn’t quite cover up the crayon marks. And you’ve already painted the entire rest of the room. Shit oh Dear.

A few days ago I was wondering where the precious Angel was since I was cooking dinner and not hearing a peep from her. Assumed she was watching TV. Y’all. Do not assume. It’s bad for your heart. With trepidation I start searching the house. Finally find Baby Girl in Mama and Daddy’s closet quietly and methodically ripping ALL THE BOWS OFF THE CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. That were hidden. From her. Until Santa Claus came tonight. So much for the element of surprise on Christmas morning. Although, since she also ripped most of the name tags off, there could be a bit of surprise since I am not at all sure I put the tags back on the right packages. I seriously almost had a heart attack.

Speaking of heart attacks, the other night my husband practically had one. We were eating dinner at Babe’s (Chicken for those who don’t know) and as we were finishing up Baby Girl wanted to sit on my lap. In order to avoid any whining or bad behavior I let her. So Sissy and my husband’s cop partner were sitting across the table with hubby and I sitting next to each other. The guys were talking, Baby Girl was being quiet and happy and I was simply enjoying drinking my Sweet Iced Tea. All of a sudden Sissy starts snickering and pokes my husband’s partner and he starts laughing too. Then he says “Hey um, Tony, you might want to take a look….” Hubby looks where they are pointing at Baby Girl and does a complete double take and says Oh! OH SHIT! Baby Girl had gotten a panti liner out of my purse and had unwrapped it and was playing with it. Even better – she would not let me take it away from her! If you can’t cry you gotta laugh right?

Sometimes it’s just bad parenting judgement that makes us cringe. Like letting your two year old take a piece of sidewalk chalk in the car seat with her. Next thing you know the car seat straps, the snuggie and the child are covered in pink chalk. Because she was being – you guessed it – QUIET. Or sometimes you fall asleep, um accidentally, on the couch (or your husband does) and things start to happen that are only discovered later. Like writing (again in marker – where does she find them?!) on Mama’s lovely rustic wood desk. Or covering Mama’s computer screen with ink pen scribbles. Or leaving her alone to eat her yogurt only to discover her giving herself a yogurt rub all over her own body. And also the chair. And the table.

What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger right? And Baby Girl is pretty darn adorable even when she’s doing naughty things. We’ll call it character building.

I hope everyone has a very Merry Christmas! Peace on Earth, Good Will towards Men.

 

 

Five minutes. That’s all I need. No, maybe half an hour. Ok at least an hour. Alright, alright – give me a full day please. A full day without being the favorite. The only person in the whole world who can make this princess happy. The only one who can get up with her (at 5:30 am), get her breakfast, and spend the entire day granting every wish. The only one who can give her dinner, give her a bath or put her to bed.

I am the one person who can’t go to the potty alone, or go outside without her, or take a nap or bathe by my very own self. I can’t walk down the hallway without hearing “noooooooo waitttttt waiittttt.” Putting laundry away? Please. She has to help. Cooking dinner? She wants cookies right now. Put in a Mickey Mouse DVD? “Noooooo Peppa! Peppa!” Try to work in my office? “Mama come PWAY! PWEASE!” Sit down on the couch and cover myself with a blanket? God Forbid. Takes less than a minute for Baby Girl to start pulling at the blanket and demanding something.

Baby Girl don’t you want to play with Sissy? Nope. Daddy? No way Jose. So you’re going to scream and cry and have a ridiculously huge fit and make Mama feel horribly guilty if I try to go outside without you, or take a little rest alone? You Betcha.

You want to go to school today? You do?! YAAAYYYYYY!!! Oh joy, Mama is so excited. Let’s get you dressed so you can go to school. Can Sissy get you dressed? No. Will you let Sissy do your hair? Nope. OK fine, Mama will do it. Let’s Go Baby Girl! Woo hoo. Free four hours for Mama.

What’s this?! Normal teacher isn’t here today? Oh Shit. Here it comes… “WAAAAAAAA NOOOOOOOO MAMAAAAAA!!!” Tears, spitting, crying, screeching, HITTING the other teacher. So mortified. Baby Girl please let go of Mama’s hair. Mama is leaving now. “NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” OK here you go new teacher – you have fun with this. Mama is going to go shopping and run completely necessary errands feeling horribly, terribly guilty at leaving you screaming with one person you don’t know, even though you know all the other people in your school. She’s gonna have a great time. Biting her fingernails and waiting for the call from the school saying Baby Girl isn’t calming down and you have to come get her (sort of like being kicked out of an airplane for violence.) Glancing at the phone every five seconds praying there’s no message from the school and yet, really wanting to know – did she calm down? Is she ok? Is she playing with her friends? Or is she hiding under the table with tears running down her poor little face? What a fun way for Mama to spend her free four hours. Of course Baby Girl was (and will be in the future) totally fine after about five minutes. Report from school is that she had a great day. Really? Well I’m glad someone did.

Different day – same game. Mama wants to take a much needed, much deserved little time out NAP. Alone. With the door shut. Daddy says he’ll play with Baby Girl and put her down for nap. Miraculously this all seems to go well and two hours blissfully pass in a dark, quiet room. Sound too good to be true? Of course it is. The instant Baby Girl wakes up from her own nap she is hollering for Mama. Daddy will just not do! So I reluctantly drift up and out of my comatose state – because really you cannot ignore the screaming, screeching, completely beside herself Baby Girl. No matter how badly you want to. Guilt washes over and you find yourself getting up, saying OK OK I’m here. Please stop crying. Which of course she does. Immediately. Because I’M HER PERSON.

It’s flattering, yes, and of course knowing this little person wants her beloved Mama rather than anyone else makes you feel all squishy inside. But it’s also torture. You want to make sure the time you spend together is quality, fun and enjoyable. But when you are at your wits’ end because you can’t string two minutes alone together it is hard to be patient. It is difficult to feel loving every minute of the day. In fact, it’s impossible. You also feel very badly that your husband doesn’t get the same treatment. That he isn’t the favorite. Maybe one day this will change and she’ll become Daddy’s Girl. If that happens, maybe I’ll mind. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just take a longer nap.

I have been taking comfort in my own home lately. Retreating you might call it. (Or hiding). Really enjoying the fact that the heat is on at night and it is getting chillier and more like winter. In years past I have not typically enjoyed winter – long nights, short days and not much to do. Being cold. Freezing your ass off (literally – because full chaps don’t cover your butt cheeks) while riding and teaching, getting mud and dirt and snow and horse hair everywhere, and re-scheduling endless lessons due to same mud and snow and WET STUFF and WHEN will it be spring?!

This year somehow it seems different. I’m not teaching that much, we have fewer horses to take care of right now and if it wants to rain and be muddy – I just hope the horses keep their shoes on. I am not going to worry so much about the weather (well maybe a little) or having to clean the stalls a billion times – something I get to avoid most of the year because we leave our horses out all the time. The horses are well fed, we have a hot water hook up to the barn now and lights and my Dad’s four wheeler. I have a baby girl old enough to entertain herself and not get into too much trouble in the barn. (The 2 year old I mean – the 15 year old gets herself into plenty of trouble in the barn!).

Inside, my Baby Girl is watching A Curious George Christmas and resolutely taking the “toys” off the Christmas tree while I resolutely continue to put them back on. She thinks the lights are magical. She has no idea yet who Santa Claus is or what is coming on Christmas morning. She’s doing crafty little Christmas things at school and learning Christmas songs and having a great time. I get to dress her up in cute little Christmas themed outfits and pajamas. I get to show her about hot chocolate and marshmallows, popcorn and Christmas cookies. She’ll learn what reindeer are. She sat on Santa’s lap and didn’t cry – wouldn’t smile either but hey you take what you can get sometimes. She has her Daddy’s smirk.

She won’t get a Hatchimal this year because she doesn’t know what they are yet. She doesn’t connect things she sees on TV to things she could actually acquire. A Charlie Brown Christmas will only be another cartoon she gets to watch and Mickey’s Christmas Carol will just be another “Mouse” show. She’s not thumbing through the Toys R Us catalog or making a ridiculous list of expensive stuff she doesn’t need. Today I bought her some Welch’s Fruit Snacks and THAT made me the greatest Mommy ever. A week or so ago somebody brought her a used plastic dollhouse with plastic furniture and plastic dolls and she has played with that thing non-stop ever since.

This year I am stepping back. Taking it all in and chilling out. I am not stressed about Christmas. I have done what shopping I felt like doing and now I’m done. I’ve done a few cards. I did not manage to buy lights for the house. But I don’t care. The family pictures we took in Frisco’s central park didn’t turn out very well and Baby Girl was sick the entire week after that. Oh well. Nobody gets pictures of the Tullos family this year. For the next three weeks I will simply be watching Baby Girl enjoy this season that I love so much. Next year she might realize who Santa is and what it means, she might ask for presents. Things might be a little stressed. I might feel like I have to cook (buy) a big Christmas dinner or mail a thousand cards to everyone I’ve ever known. I might not be so relaxed about a broken ornament or two. I might stress over getting the gifts just right. I might have to wade through Hell to find a Hatchimal.

But not this year. It’s warm and cozy in here. I think I’ll open another bottle of wine and watch Mickey’s Christmas Carol with my Baby Girl.

For the first year and a half of her life Baby Girl refused to say Mama. I waited impatiently for the day she would call out from her crib – Mama! Mama! Instead, when she wanted my attention she would just cry. You’d think her first word would have been Mama or Dada or something fairly normal. Nope. Her first word was Meow. Because the damn cat never shuts up. Well now that makes two of them. Once Baby Girl figured out the Mama thing (or at least decided she was going to actually use the word – I swear she was holding out because it entertained her to watch my frustration) – she has not shut up since. I gather most kids are like this. MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA progressing eventually to MOMMOMMOMMOMMOM!

The kid is awfully cute when she’s talking. She’s trying hard to figure out colors – and she’ll say PINK! BUE! WED! YEWWOW! but doesn’t match them to the correct colors yet. Oddly, she knows all the letters of her name if you ask her – and she also knows P, B and O. I have no idea why these particular letters seem to be her favorites. She’s getting easier to understand too which is nice. She’ll say “I DO! I TOO POTTY!” or “I TOO SIDE!” Which means you are putting on your shoes or jacket and she’s panicking because God Forbid you go outside without her. Anytime she wants to do something with you, she’ll put the TOO in front of the word she wants to do – so adorable. Of course this comes with some drawbacks. She’ll want to DO TOO things that are not close to being acceptable. Like cook bacon. Or open the oven. Or push the buttons on the washing machine 40 times. When she does get to do something, she’ll say I DID IT!! She’s so delighted with herself. She’ll say I did it! for just about anything.

She currently has two new favorite phrases. One is “I can’t do it.” Oh boy. (Roll my eyes). I usually respond with “Oh yes. You can.” Because it’s usually something simple like move a toy from one spot to another or throw something in the trash or brush her teeth.  Something she simply doesn’t want to do. If she gets frustrated or mad she will start to scream. I’ve had to threaten her with timeouts over the screaming. I had no idea a 2 year old could scream like that. The volume and pitch of the screaming is like ice picks in my eyeballs. I’ve taken to hiding in my office hoping she won’t find me anytime I sense she’s getting frustrated.

Her other current favorite is “one second.” The kid uses this phrase to procrastinate over everything from changing her diaper to getting dressed to taking a bath. The first two times she said it we just died laughing. She even holds up one finger to accentuate the one second. Of course if you ignore her and continue to do whatever it is you were trying to do she quickly accelerates the one second plea to screaming, as above.

Sissy’s favorite is when Baby Girl says “is cute!” which she’ll say for just about anything. A shirt, a stuffed animal, a cookie – “aww, is cute!” Usually followed by a hug or a kiss. Pretty darn adorable really. My favorite thing is when she says yes. It’s really nice to hear after all the billions of Nos I’ve gotten in the past year. You can finally ask her if she wants something and she’ll say either Yes or No. Thank God. Of course, no still prevails most of the time but at least now I know she knows the difference.

And then there is the Repeat Button. If you even attempt to ignore anything Baby Girl says you are setting yourself up for “MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA I CAN’T DO IT I CAN’T DO IT MAMA MAMA MAMA FLY MAMA BUG MAMA I CAN’T MAMA HEP HEP MAMA I CAN’T DO IT” until you sigh, get up from your cozy office chair and go get the damn fly swatter so the kid will stop driving you crazy over a fly that will fly away before you find it anyway. And then she’ll say “Where go?” Well, little one, I’m sure with all your screaming you probably busted it’s little ears out and it died a sad, painful death somewhere where you will eventually find it upside down on the floor slightly close to one of your toys which will inadvertently cause another meltdown. Even though it’s dead.

And don’t even try to get yourself a nice sweet tea from Sonic or Chicken Express without intending to share. You’ll get “I TOO TEA I TOO TEA I TOO TEA” incessantly. Even while you are in the process of pouring her tea into her cup or putting her straw in. GEEZ US KID gimme a damn minute! I’m getting you tea!

So the moral of the story is don’t teach your children to talk. Ha ha, just kidding. I just wish they came with an off button, or at least volume control. For those moments in your life when you just can’t take it anymore. I may invest in some ear plugs…

Toddlers on steroids. I highly recommend this. Miserable for children and adults. NON STOP crying. So fun. Just how you always wanted to spend your Thanksgiving week.

Almost two weeks ago Baby Girl started feeling a little under the weather. A little warm, a little cough, a runny nose. Off and on for about a week. Then last Sunday as Sissy curled our hair and we all got ready to go to our Family Christmas Pictures appointment Baby Girl started acting a little cranky. In the truck she was whiny and fussy. Now that’s pretty normal for her – she hates to be in the car seat. But once we get to the location Baby Girl refuses to participate. No smiles, no being still and sweet. No playing with the photographer or laughing with Sissy or Daddy. Aggravating of course, but we got through it.

So then we decided to go to dinner. We get to Olive Garden and Baby Girl does not want to eat. I notice her cheeks are red. The wind, Daddy and Sissy say. I say that’s not normal. As always, Mama knows. Pretty soon Baby Girl is curled up in my lap on the booth seat, not eating and not misbehaving. She falls asleep on the way home. Now I’m getting pretty worried. All of this is VERY unlike her. She’s usually grabbing at food and trying to crawl across the table, or eating the sugar directly out of the packets while I try in vain to actually enjoy what I’m eating.

Next morning I take Baby Girl to her regular doctor – we think she has flu they say. But they can’t do the test for it because they don’t have any. So no definitive diagnosis. Spend a miserable afternoon and evening at home. Little did I realize that things were about to go seriously down hill. Next morning Baby Girl still has a fever. Later that afternoon we do some finger painting which she really enjoys. Then she wants to watch “Mouse” – Mickey Mouse Clubhouse is her favorite thing. At least it’s not Wonder Pets or Dora the Explorer. Although the whole Toodles thing just makes me crazy – how the hell does he hide all the tools and where do they go when they are done with them?!

Anyway, after a little while I come to check on her and she is lying on the floor whimpering and covered in goosebumps and she is BURNING UP. Temperature is 102.6! MAMA FREAKS OUT! Baby Girl has spent relatively little time being sick in her whole two and a half years. She wasn’t sick at all her whole first year. So this is a whole new battleground for which I am woefully unprepared. Call her doctor – doctor says take her to hospital. Now, Daddy is currently in Sherman visiting his Dad, who is also in the hospital. I call him up and tell him to get his a$$ back to Pilot Point.

Once I get her to the hospital she is laying limp in my arms, burning up and whimpering. Of course I have to freak my mom and dad out too so they can share in the worry and stress. They get us back to a Fast Track room (where I later learn is where they take you when they think you aren’t really an emergency and therefore you get a cubicle instead of a room and you get charged less AND you get an NP – not a fully fledged MD). At some lengthy point later they actually do a flu test and it comes back negative. Of course. So then they decide to x-ray her lungs because she is breathing a little weirdly. Or snoring like a freight train through a cold winter night, as I point out.

After about a hundred hours of waiting we finally get the x-ray. Then wait another twelve hours for the results which show Acute Bronchitis. I said “how bad is it?” Wise Guy NP says “bad enough to bring her to the hospital.” Huh. HE says her throat is fine, her ears are fine, her nose is fine. I’m a little skeptical but with the diagnosis I feel a little better. He prescribes antibiotics and steroids to help with the breathing and we go home.

He says wait til tomorrow morning to give her the steroid because it’ll keep  her awake. Thanks for the tip, Doc. Baby Girl and I spend a miserable night with her not breathing well, therefore not sleeping well and myself being totally stressed out and exhausted. That was Tuesday and Tuesday night. I think. I’ve lost all track of the days. This morning my husband asked me what time my first lesson is and I was like “what lessons?” Totally forgot it’s Saturday. Anyway, on Wednesday we give her the steroid. Now, she’s not eating anything at all so she’s hungry but I’m guessing her throat is hurting too bad to eat. Hungry equals cranky. Tired equals crankier. Fever equals Hang On to Mama and Don’t Let Go Even if She has to Pee.

Wednesday afternoon she falls asleep finally about 2:00 after being awake as per the doctor’s prediction. She’s still asleep at 5:00. Daddy says you better wake her up because if you don’t she will never sleep tonight. I’m gonna tell you right now mamas… NEVER LISTEN TO DADDY. I wake her up and she proceeds to cry for THREE HOURS. It was finally my own mom who pointed out that it was probably the steroid causing the tears and the misery. Trying to put her back to bed on Wednesday night I tell my husband I’m going to throw Baby Girl out the window. He takes pity on me and actually comes in to lay down with her. As he should since it was HIS FAULT she’s crying and screaming MILK! MILK! over and over and over and over.

Thursday morning I get to sleep in. After listening to Baby Girl cry (read: Freak the F&*K out) when Daddy went in to get her instead of me, she finally calms down and I go back to sleep. At 8:30 my husband wakes me up and says “Baby Girl isn’t feeling well.” Really? Well this is new news. It’s Thanksgiving morning. But unfortunately he’s serious. Temperature reads 105, 106 and 107. Stupid thermometer is clearly not working right. But she’s obviously burning up and whimpering again so…. back to the ER we go.

THIS time we are “upgraded” to private room, an MD and an even longer wait while they decide A) what is really going on and B) what new charges they can come up with. Pus all in the back of her throat. Tonsils wickedly swollen, lymph nodes swollen. Strep test is negative. MONO test is positive. How the hell does a toddler get mono?! So of course I google it. WebMD and all the other helpful sites say that if a young child gets mono, the symptoms are usually so light that most of the time you don’t even know they have it. Uh huh. Interesting. What a bunch of baloney. Baby Girl is sick enough to be in the ER on Thanksgiving Day. I don’t think that qualifies as “lightly symptomatic.”

So eventually (like 3 pm) we get to go home once again. My mom and dad have come anyway bearing turkey and all the fixings. They are at the house waiting for us, bless their hearts. My mom and I spend the late afternoon wondering why the thing on the turkey won’t pop up. My husband and my dad spend the afternoon fixing a broken water pipe by one of the paddocks. Baby Girl sleeps and is miserable. Turkey dinner at 7 pm! We are thankful for NOT currently being in the ER.

Friday I make the mistake of giving her the steroid again – she falls asleep twice on her own – once on the living room floor and once on the floor in her own room. This time I do not wake her up but as soon as she does wake up it’s NON STOP CRYING all over again. OH what fun! What joy! My parents take off to go back home. Can’t say that I blame them. Baby Girl spends the whole day crying, whining and clinging to me. But finally the day is over and steroid has worn off and the rest of the bottle is now in the trash can.

This morning Baby Girl has finally woken up without a fever. She is smiling and eating a cookie. She is playing. I realize she may have re-lapses over the next few weeks before she gets over this entirely but for now I am grateful for the respite.

We are thankful.

This past weekend opened up a whole new can of Mama Bear Roars that I didn’t even know existed. All her life Baby Girl has been gushed over and cooed at and told she’s adorable. As her Mama, I just glowed with the never ending praise of her and never had any reason to have to defend her or protect her feelings because nothing negative had EVER happened. Until Sunday.

I have been teaching children for about 20 years. I have been their coach, their cheer leader, their champion, their devil’s advocate, and their other mom. I have loved them and respected them, and with some, got close enough to have fantastic relationships with them throughout their childhood and into adulthood. I have cried with them, cried over them, and cried because of them.

But NOTHING prepares you for the strength of the love you have for your very own child that bears your entire heart in her tiny little body. When she cries, you want to cry. When she hurts, your heart breaks. When they are first learning about this world they live in you rejoice in their discoveries and watch with wonder as their world expands around them. They have such joy with all things that you are completely unprepared for their first taste of disappointment. Getting peed on by a frog is not the same thing, y’all.

As a horse trainer and riding instructor mom, it was my dream for my little girl to ride horses herself. I could not wait for the moment she would get to wear braids and jodphurs and sit on that pony at her first horseshow. I bought the pink and blue bows with the “S” monogram on them about 6 months ago. I searched eBay for the littlest boots I could find. A friend gave her the cutest little black show gloves. Baby Girl and her Sissy practiced walking, practiced jump position and were totally pumped for her first lead line class. Sissy would take Baby Girl in the arena while Mama and Dada cheered from the sidelines. All Baby Girl’s friends (my students and their parents) would be watching. They were all just as excited as she was. The parents volunteered to take pictures and video, the girls did Apolo’s (the pony) hooves and were on standby for however they might be needed. We showed up at the arena at about 8:45 am ready for the class to start around 9:00. There were four other little girls in her class so it was going to be a competition! (Where they all win blue ribbons and stuffed ponies of course).

And we waited. Now, I KNOW all about the “hurry up and wait” issue at shows. Lord knows I’ve been to about a billion shows. But as we waited for the conflict in the other ring to end so Baby Girl’s class could go, she soon got tired of being on the pony. OK let’s get down and play with the doggie for a little while. Thirty minutes later the doggie was done playing and Baby Girl was ready to do something else. She’s pretty good at entertaining herself so she played with rocks, ate candy, and messed with her sister. After TWO HOURS the class still had not gone. At this point it’s going on 11 am and it’s time for Baby Girl’s nap. Sissy puts Baby Girl back on the pony and takes her over to the little field to walk around, where inevitably, disaster strikes. A horse spooked and Apolo jumped sideways slightly and Baby Girl falls off. On the opposite side of where Sissy was so she couldn’t even catch her. Baby Girl is now in tears and no longer wants to ride. She wants her paccy and her snuggie and she wants to go home.

Finally I ask if I could take her in the arena to walk around once because it was obvious we were not going to make it until whenever the class would eventually be held. Baby Girl cried all the way around the arena. Not because she was scared to ride but because she was just pooped. She had actually been at the show all day Friday, all day Saturday, and then this whole morning. She had been so good the entire time and she was just DONE. Dada then took her home where she finally fell asleep for the afternoon.

I was disappointed for her, because she did not get to do what she had practiced so hard for, and I was disappointed for myself because the moment I had been dreaming of had gone up in smoke. I thought I would complain to the President of the organization about making the little girls wait for almost three hours for their class. (I was told the class finally went about 45 minutes after Baby Girl left). Y’all – these girls are all 2 1/2 to 4 or 5 years old. They are doing Lead Line for pete’s sake. They should not have to wait three hours. Concessions should be made. Figure It The F**K Out is what I wanted to say. I managed not to say exactly that, but as I made my complaint I was astounded by the response I received. Zero compassion for the little girls. Zero tolerance for my disappointment and anger. And yes, I yelled. I didn’t start out yelling, but when your complaint and your concerns are not heard and not acted on and you are standing there trying to advocate for your child’s feelings and you are not winning, a Mama Bear suddenly and ferociously consumes you. I walked out of that office stunned and heartbroken. Then I saw those other little girls who had managed to wait it out and were able to participate in their class. I saw them on their ponies with their blue ribbons and I lost it. Thankfully a good friend of mine was there on her massive horse to shield my tears from the general public.

Later that day the Show Manager did try to make things right for which I am extremely grateful. She was kind, and compassionate and even offered to re-do the class. She reacted to my disappointment in a way that dispelled my anger and made me feel heard. Such an important thing to do for someone who had looked forward to this moment for such a long time.

Baby Girl will get to show again, I know. There will be more shows, more ribbons, and plenty of good times. But the very first show will never happen again. That moment can never be replaced, and it was tainted with tears and disappointment. However, I have a ton of photos of her smiling in her bows with her pony, her Sissy, her Dada and me. And that’ll have to be what we remember. Smiles and Good Friends.