Just in case you’re wondering? It is nearly (not totally) but nearly impossible to fit a stroller in a non-handicapped bathroom. I went to the handicapped bathroom first as I always do when I have the stroller, because I’m certainly not leaving her out there alone while I pee, but the toilet was backed up and would not flush. Great. Luckily at the store I was at, they have one stall that is the same width as a regular stall, but slightly longer, so there is just enough room to squeeze the stroller in. But then there is no room between the stoller and the toilet seat. So, I had to actually straddle the toilet in order to use it. But I did it. It was better than having to pee while I shopped, but that’s all I’m saying about that.

If you give a toddler a fork and a piece of tortellini in a bowl, she’ll probably still use her hand to pick it up, all while holding the fork in her other hand. And then she’ll probably wipe her hand all over her clothes. And then she’ll want another one. So she can do it again. And again. And again.

And also, if you plug your ears while the same toddler is shrieking at the top of her lungs because the pitch is piercing your inner ear drum, the toddler will probably continue shrieking. Higher and louder each time, until you have no other choice but to leave the room so that your ears will stop ringing.

And how was your day?

We are beginning to teach Little Girl how to count in Spanish. There are many reasons for this. One is that learning Spanish in this part of the country is something that you really need to do these days. But the biggest reason is that she refuses to say the word “one”.

Me: Say one!
LG: Two!
Me: No, say ONE!
LG: Two!
Me: Onnnnnnnne????
LG: Twoooooooo????
Me: Fine. Say uno!
LG: Uno!

The only way to get her to say one is to say it in another language.

On the other hand, when you don’t want her to repeat what you say? Like this morning when, without thinking, I called her father a “poop” at the breakfast table?

LG: Poop! Poop! Poop! Poop! Poop? Poop!

*sigh*

In the drive-thru line at McDonald’s today: (Hush! I had a fish sandwich :P)

Me: Say cheese!

LG: Cheese!

Me: Say cheeseburger!

LG: Ahmuhguh! (LG speak for hamburger)

My day sort of started at 4:30 a.m. when Mike got home and woke me up to tell me he was home so late because his truck broke. Again. This time it’s something to do with the steering column. It needs to hold on until July when my car is paid off and we can afford another car payment. Bad truck! Bad! Bad! Then he said he was going to sleep on the sofa so I could get some rest. Of course, he could have just said he was home and I’d have gone back to sleep, but nooooo, he had to tell me the truck was broken and that got my mind going a thousand miles an hour with questions. Argh. (Read on …)

Basically a lazy Saturday today - except for the chunk of it spent cleaning Little Girl’s room, doing her laundry, and packing away some clothes. It’s a job I can usually only do when Mike is home because she is not exactly helpful when I’m trying to put things away. She would much rather take them back out, which sort of defeats the purpose.

Tomorrow I’m going to Mike’s sister’s baby shower and he’s in charge of the munchkin for a few hours. Hopefully, the child, the dog, the husband and the house will all still be intact when I get back. ;)

Hope you all are having a marvelous weekend!

Last night when Little Girl was feeding herself macaroni and cheese (better known as CHEEZE!) and pieces of chicken with her fork! And her bowl! and sometimes her fingers!, she was also smearing mac & cheese all over the table and herself. This I cannot understand. As I think I’ve mentioned before, when I was a child, I was immaculate. Im. mac. u. late. If I got a spot of dirt on my clothing - even a teeny, tiny one - I demanded that it be changed. Like pronto woman! Get me out of these ridiculously filthy clothes! My mother, needless to say, was constantly doing laundry.

Little Girl, on the other hand, could care less if she smears food on her clothes. Or in her hair. Or if she sticks her shoes in her mouth. Eww. I do my best not to react. But sometimes it is very very hard. Okay, I do react to the shoes in her mouth because that’s not only gross, it’s not sanitary. But, I try not to react to the smearing of the food upon the clothes. It is hard. It is very very hard. It may be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. So, you can understand why at those times I begin to wonder if she really does share my mitochondrial DNA.

But today, my faith in her genetic makeup was restored. Today we went to BOGO to buy her some athletic type shoes for our vacation and because she can’t wear sandals all winter long. We walked into the store and to the racks of toddler shoes. And her response was, “Doos!” But it wasn’t just a statement of fact that there were indeed hundreds of shoes in front of her eyes. No, this was more like the reaction I had when I first laid eyes on Harrods when I went to London. It was almost reverent in tone. Yes, my darling daughter. Hundreds and hundreds of shoes. I think she must have touched every pair that she could reach, by the way. And feeling reverent about a shoestore? That totally makes her my daughter.

By the way, for those of you who like me are tv addicts, I might have started another blog dedicated to television so that I can talk about it to my heart’s content and those of you who don’t care about it so much don’t have to read it. But if you do want to read any of my ramblings on the little box that I’m so addicted to? Please click over there and say hello. There’s not too much there, yet, and I’m not promising there will be tons of posts, but I’ve started the ball rolling with an editorial post about the controversy over this season’s Survivor.

Little Girl fed herself dinner tonight with only a little help now and then from us. She’s growing up so very very fast.

According to Beloit College’s Mindset List for the Class of 2010, the following things are true for the freshmen class (mostly born in 1988):

• The Soviet Union has never existed.

• There has always been only one Germany.

• They have never heard anyone actually “ring it up” on a cash register.

• Smoking has never been permitted on U.S. airlines.

• They grew up with and have outgrown faxing as a means of communication.

• “Google” has always been a verb.

• Text messaging is their email.

• Reality shows have always been on television.

• They have rarely mailed anything using a stamp.

• They have always been able to watch wars and revolutions live on television.

• Public school officials have always had the right to censor school newspapers.

• Small white holiday lights have always been in style.

• There have always been live organ donors.

• Disneyland has always been in Europe and Asia.

• Beach volleyball has always been a recognized sport.

• Television stations have never concluded the broadcast day with the national anthem.

• Professional athletes have always competed in the Olympics.

For more of the list, click here.

This morning when I got Little Girl out of bed, she did her regular greeting: “Hi! Bear?” And then she said “mock!” And I said, “What?”, thinking to myself, “This is a new word! But what on earth can it mean?” I tried to get her to repeat it, but instead she launched into her usual morning mantra of, “Papa? Papa? Papa?”

When Mike came in the house from the garage where he was loading his truck, she said “mock!” again, and we both gave each other that confused look of what on earth is she saying and how did she learn it. Maybe it’s “milk”? But no, milk is “mook”, not “mock”. Finally, he decided she was saying “Mike” and it dawned on me that right before I got her out of bed, I had been trying to call him from the bedroom thinking he was in the great room when he was actually in the garage. So she heard me yelling, “Mike!” as she was waking up and she spouted it right back at me.

I guess this means yelling when Mike is in the bedroom with me is definitely not an option anymore. Ahem.

Tonight Mike was taking LG to bed, and somehow she got herself shut in the bathroom with the lights off (no windows). So all she had was the light coming under the doors. Luckily, she is not the panicky type. Mike said he heard, “Uh oh! Uh oh! Peek-boo? Peek-boo?” and then he rescued her before she got too scared.

Then he got her ready for bed and after he deposited her in her crib, I heard her saying, “Book! Book! Book!” over and over again until Daddy got a book to read to her. The bedtime story has now become a part of the nightly routine along with the toothbrush.

I love that she loves books so much. During the day, I’ll tell her that I’ll read her one of her library books after I do this or that. Like for instance, after I go to the bathroom. “As soon as Mommy comes back from the bathroom, I’ll read you a book.” Of course, the trip to the bathroom is plenty of time for me to forget that I said I’d read her a book, but she doesn’t forget. As soon as I come back into the room, the familiar chant starts, “Book? Book?”

It’s not surprising really. My mom loved to read. You rarely saw her without a book in her hand and she read to me all the time when I was small. I used to be the same way about books - I always had one in my hand. I can’t seem to find the time to read as much as I used to and that actually makes me really sad. But I do my very best to make time to read to LG every day. And that’s something I can be proud of.

I often look around to see why she is so quiet and I find her sitting looking at one of her books. She knows where the library books are kept and she’ll often go grab one and sit on the floor looking at it contentedly. And if I ask her to put them back, she knows exactly where they go. Loving books is a gift that lasts your whole life long. And I’m glad we’ve been able to give that gift to her.

We’ve had our cookware since we got married. It was a wedding gift and it has been very well used - which is easy to see when you look at it. Therefore, it’s time to replace it. Fifteen years is a pretty good life I think. Way back then, T-Fal was the thing and that’s what we got. And it’s worked very well. But, I’m sure there are better! Newer! More exciting! brands of cookware on the market now. So, give me your recommendation. We’re not gourmet cooks by any stretch of the imagination, but we do cook a lot and sometimes we do leave things on the stove a wee bit too long because someone has distracted us. So non-stick is probably a good option around here. What say you? Do you have a favorite cookware? Give me some ideas to check out!

I wrote this a few weeks ago when I was waiting for Mike to pick me up after jury duty. After all, I had a half hour to waste and eating the Krispy Kreme I bought only took ten five minutes. Ahem. So here is my essay on the city. A little departure from the normal toddlers-writing-on-themselves-with-pens and dogs-stealing-the-remote-control stories.

There’s something palpable and alive about downtown in pretty much any city you visit…people rushing (or not so rushing) from one place to another - always activity. And if the downtown has a good night life - the activity never ends.

It’s quite the contrast to the cold monoliths that rise up out of the ground all around you, in juxtaposition with the green of the trees and the grass that dot the landscape among the long stretches of concrete and asphalt. Cars zoom by in a never-ending parade, only stopping when the angry red orb tells them they must.

The people that give downtown its appearance of constant motion are as varied and as different as they can be. Men in ties and dress shirts (rarely a suit jacket to be found in the blazing heat of a Phoenix summer). Parents with children holding firmly to one another’s hands. Women in heels and dressy clothes going to their high rise office jobs. Workers in more casual attire - uniforms and shorts and t-shirts - coexist with the local homeless man with dreadlocks sitting on a low wall resting his weary bones in the shade for a few moments, before taking his shopping cart, which must hold his every possession, and moving on. Skin of all colors and facial features, voices of many accents. Downtown is where you seem to see the most diversity because sooner or later we all need to go there for some reason or other.

The buildings cast their shadows and block the sun hanging lazily in the bright blue sky. Greyish white clouds float above, softening the harsh lines of the buildings. An occasional airplane passes by.

I prefer the quietness of the suburbs, but a visit downtown now and then is a good reminder that the hustle and bustle goes on. And on. And on.

Last Night…

Karin looks for the cable box remote control in the great room. Karin does not find the remote control in the great room. Karin grumbles under her breath at Mike or LG or whoever has hidden the remote control from her and does it the old fashioned way, by actually pushing the buttons on the box. How 20th century.

This morning…

Mike asks Karin where the cable box remote control is for the great room. Karin tells Mike she has no idea and Mike tells Karin how he spent 20 minutes looking for it when he got home last night - even lifting the bean bag! In the corral! And looking under the sofa! Karin asks Mike if he looked here? Yep. There? Yep. Over there? Yep. No remote. Oh well, we’ll deal with it later.

Later this morning…

Karin, Mike and LG get in the car to go to church for the pancake breakfast because the stove is sort of out of commission at the moment due to some tile issues going on. Karin has LG’s milk cup in her hand. “Mook! Mook! Bup! Bup!” Karin does not give her the milk cup. “WAHHHH!” The crying abruptly stops. “Peas?” LG gets the milk cup. (Yes, I know I let myself be manipulated, but when she does what we’ve been asking her to do all on her own, meaning that she “gets” the connection, what else can I do??)

When we got home from the pancake breakfast…

Mike finds the cable box remote control sitting on the sofa. As if it had been there all along. Which it had not. Upon further examination, we realize it has dirt and tooth marks on it. Aha! The culprit is not Mike or LG or even Karin. The culprit is…Melody! But, at least she brought it back inside right?

This is what happens when Mommy is sick and Daddy is in charge.