Since moving to our new house, the one where I give directions by telling people “You can’t miss it, it’s the one that looks like all the others”, we have gotten to know our next door neighbors pretty well, probably because I sometimes get confused and pull into their driveway, thinking it was mine, silly me. They have 2 little kids and Delaney sits perfectly right between them in age.
Being the only child that she is, Delaney has latched onto these children like a newborn to the boob. Not a day goes by, not an HOUR goes by, that she doesn’t PLEAD for me to let her play with these kids.
Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful for the distraction and the play dates that occupy her time. And I’m happy to know that their parents are nice and normal, potential perfect neighbor material. We have had freakishlyinappropriateneighbors before and so this change, it is good. I am also proud of Delaney for making friends. After watching her watch the neighbor kids through the holes in the fence, longing to play with them, for weeks, I am happy it has all worked out swimmingly in her little world. By the way, the Dude next door was all “Hey, we see your daughter’s eye peering through the fence all the time, it’s pretty funny” and Mike goes “Well, sometimes, that’s me.”
And it was really quiet.
And then they laughed.
With all the sarcasm that’s flowing around the battle station here, you might be surprised to know that we do, in fact, care what people think about us, we like to keep up appearances just as much as the Jones’. So, it was important to us that we try to control our daughter and her rabid attempts to suck the faces off of the neighbor kids.
We started off small, baby steps, having the kids over for an hour at a time and then sending Delaney over for an hour at a time over the span of 6-7 days we did this. But things started getting sketchy when Delaney decided she’d had enough of the rationed-out new-BFF-interactions.
The other day, I hear her doing her usual thing, playing, pretending, tormenting the dog in the backyard when all of a sudden, I realize I haven’t heard her. For like 10 minutes I hadn’t heard her. The backyard yielded nothing but cinderella crowns and a stick collection, then I turned the corner to see the gate wide open and knew she had escaped. Sure enough she was over at the neighbors.
I don’t know what was more embarrassing, that I didn’t know my child’s whereabouts for 10 minutes or that my neighbors thought I had sent my 4 year old over, unaccompanied, without a pre-cursor phone call. A tad mortifying, to say the least.
And then?
Like a moth to the flame, she does it again, 2 mornings later. I was at work but apparently, Mike said he awoke to the doorbell and our neighbor accompanying our sleepy eyed, bed-headed child swaddled in a living room throw blanket back to our house. Which, I have to commend her for thinking ahead and shielding herself from the bitter morning dew for her long trek across the front yard, A+ for preparation Delaney, A+.
But ya, the new neighbor first impression bit couldn’t be going any better, if you ask me!
Oh Hey again! Sorry my child so desperately wants to live at your house instead of ours! And clearly you see that our word is LAW around here because that talking to she got the other day for running away and not telling us? It CLEARLY instilled the fear of God into her.
So, here we were feeling like we’ve risen to the top of our parenting game, like our neighbors must think we are total schmucks, why else would a child rise in the morning and immediately plan her escape?
But lo and behold. All’s well that ends well. The universe smiled on us, because the younger of the two neighbor kids? Totally pooped her pants at our house today.
YES!
And that, my friends, is how you become pals with your neighbors here in the Wild West. You gotta settle the score, even things out. Our neighbors, you see, want to be friends with us, wanted us to know everything was okay, so they sent over their kid to shat her pants in our playroom. That’s how it works. It’s a natural progression. So now when one of THEIR kids does something embarrassing again, we’ve already talked about it, to keep the friendship going, we’re going to send Delaney over with a picture of Mike’s nipples.
Something about my child is…. different. Different, I don’t know how to describe, but not in a creepy or scary way. Unless my suspicions of her being Mother Theresa Reincarnated are indeed accurate and in that case, that’s a little creepy, I’m not gonna lie. Being the Mother of Mother Theresa Reincarnated puts a lot of pressure on me as well, pressure I don’t necessarily feel like dealing with, you know? It’s all a bit much to handle, the creepiness and pressure of having a Saint for a child.
Sigh.
Let me demonstrate, a verbally illustrated picture perhaps.
The other day I took Delaney shopping downtown. In Boise, it’s tricky doing anything outdoors this time of year because often it LOOKS chirpy and cheery and sunny out but then when you step outside, it’s like stepping out into the arctic tundra and then your stuck wearing flip flops and a tank top in sub-zero degrees. People look at you like you’re an idiot when this happens and you often have to yell back at them that WHAT?! you HAPPENED TO FORGET WE LIVED IN IDAHO FOR A MINUTE OKAY?! GET OFF ME! This is especially embarrassing when not only are YOU dressed like you’re in denial but you also dress your CHILD like you’re in denial, like you made your whole family try to WILL it into spring that morning. And this being National Child Abuse Prevention Month, something Boise is taking very seriously right now, you just don’t want to find yourself in this predicament.
So being the thoughtful and ever-evolving Mother that I am, I asked Delaney before we left to put on a jacket, that I thought it might be a little cold out. Being the mature 4 year old that she is, she politely declined saying she had been in the backyard already and it wasn’t cold and she had also thought ahead and put on a long sleeved shirt. So, I was all “Really? Okay, if you say so, four year old Daughter, you would know what’s best for yourself” and we left the house without her jacket. Legendary Mom skills already playing into effect. Because the earlier described rendition of public humiliation? EVEN BETTER when the child is going without the comfort of warmth but YOU THE PARENT are nice and snug in your parka. Classic. Way to be, Mom.
Of course, as you would guess, once we get ALL the way downtown and out of the parking garage, I realize that it’s actually cold outside and my kid doesn’t have a jacket.
I mention this to myself, out loud, saying “Shoot, it’s pretty cold out, gosh dang it.” Then I continue talking mostly to myself but now also towards Delaney and say “I’m sorry Honey, I’ll buy you a little jacket at one of the stores, okay?” And we head out to brave it on our supposed-to-be-fun-and-cheap-but-now-not-so-fun-and-not-so-cheap shopping trip.
Ten minutes goes by, we are briskly walking down the sidewalks trying to find the closest children’s clothing store when Delaney looks up at me while we are stopped at a crosswalk and says “Mom, I’m so sorry, I should have brought my jacket, I should have listened to you, it’s MY fault Mom and I’m really sorry.” Then bats her eyes a few times.
(pause)
(pause)
(pausing while you realize that FOUR YEAR OLDS DON’T TALK LIKE THIS.)
What the? Whose child is this? She doesn’t get this kind of reflectiveness from me, that’s for sure. She IS Mother Theresa! This kind of stuff happens ALL THE TIME! All the time she think, ponder and reflect on situations, EMPATHIZE and convey feelings like this. It’s just beyond me. I’ll find myself, all the time, saying “Well Honey, everything’s okay, you’re a kid you know.”
She’s just so….
It’s like she carries this burden. This burden of making sure everything is right in the world.
Again, just the other day, I was making German Pancakes for breakfast and they takes 30 minutes to bake. During the span of the 30 minutes, Delaney must have asked me 5 times if she could have some fruit snacks, a fruit roll up, a bagel, some candy etc… to which I kept saying that No, the food would be done soon, I was making special pancakes and they would be delicious. Well, not 3 minutes before the timer goes off, Delaney runs in to tell me that she ate a WHOLE SLICE OF PIZZA ALL GONE MOM! I was bugged because 1. the scrumptious breakfast I was making was SO close to being done and 2. I never cook fancy breakfasts and I envisioned a round of applause once the timer went off, NOT a full-tummied kid who wasn’t interested. So I said “Oh DeeDee! I was making special pancakes, remember?”
I’m not kidding, for the next 2 hours, she must have told me 37 different times that “Next time, Mom, I won’t eat Pizza when you’re making special pancakes, Mom, I’m sorry about that Mom, I’ll wait next time for the special pancakes to be done and I won’t eat Pizza, okay Mom?” I finally had to say “Delaney. I am NOT mad. Nobody is upset here. Everything is okay. I don’t want you worrying about the pancakes anymore okay?”
I mean, what child cares this much? She’s an over-carer. It makes me look like a freak-out Mom, like she’s one of those kids that has to soothe her parents because her parents can’t soothe themselves. But it’s not just us. She does it with everyone. She’s a people soother.
She tells her cousin “It’s okay Cousin, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, it was an accident, I love you.” She tells her Grammy “Grammy, I love your face and the way you sing.” She tells her Teachers “You look cute today, good job teaching.” She tells me out of nowhere ALL THE TIME “Mom, I think you’re the best Mom ever.”
Huh? Shouldn’t you be peeing on toys or something?
This clip captures a tiny bit her ways, her careful, quirky, patient ways. Is it just me, or would she not make excellent room mates with an 89 year old forensic pathologist named Beatrice?
You’ll be THRILLED to know that I have been to the all knowing and wise American Idol Guru again.
I know. Be still. I come to pass on his wisdom.
BAAAAAASICALLY, we all can’t wrap our big internet arms around the cute Irish girl with the rockin pipes because the Guru says Scary Blue Eyes gives off a yellowish-green aura which indicates that she feels as though she deserves to win the show. And nobody likes a deservy-show-winner.
Elaborate?
Let’s.
It’s not as fun to watch someone accept praise by going “I WAS JUST ABOUT TO SAY THE SAME THING!!!” than watching, say, David Archuletta or Jason Castro who nearly stutter themselves off the stage with all their goofy, awkward likeable-ness. Watching one makes you cheer and watching the other makes you feel like you don’t need to cheer, the contestant already loves themself some self enough, they don’t need your cheers. Cheers are way more fun to give to someone who will blink excessively and make squampous facial expressions in front of 130 million people.
I still like her. And when she hits those big notes, it really does give me chills. The Ladies just aren’t doing it for me this season.
A little lady who DOES do it for me, is this one:
I give you: The after-cut.
It’s not nearly as scary in these pictures as it was in real life.
But see how she puts her fist up by her mouth like that when she is embarrassed or shy? It’s quite possibly the cutest thing ever to happen on earth. Cuter than that baby Panda. Cuter, even, than Justin Timberlake in the Mickey Mouse Club.
She’s doing it again here. She was, quite visibly, disturbed about the whole thing. Especially since she was, like, totally stoked about her chop until her psycho, lame MOM came in to ruin everything.
So, there you are. Once again, the two most important things in my life wrapped into one post. My kid and tv. Another valuable discussion here at the Battle Station. Class adjourned. You’re welcome.
edited to add: So now I feel bad because Irish was in the bottom three. And so now I like her again. Not that I didn’t like her before. But I kind of didn’t. But now I do, more so than the little I did. Damn you American Idol. You musn’t play with my emotions this way!
Things are looking up, people. It’s a new day, a new era in the Battle Station household. It’s sunny out, we went to the River today on a walk, our dog (sloth) actually walked for 1/3 of the time, our kid rode her new bike, we are back on the adoption list and we have a corrective appointment scheduled with the home automation people who CURSED our house with motion controlled INDOOR lights. Yes, things are looking up.
And yes we can. Yes we can.
I love saying the Barack slogan just intermittently throughout the day. It’s my thing right now.
Delaney’s thing right now is to say FOR REAL after everything she says. Example: I just farted, FOR REAL Mom! So between the two of us and our fancy new idioms, it’s certain to be a good time around the battle station. And that’s why Mike has decided he really really wants to organize the garage tonight on his one night off.
As he was walking off to garage he yelled: Okay! I’ll really miss you girls while I’m organizing my tools in the silence of the garage! To which Delaney yelled: You’re not even the boss Dad, FOR REAL! And just to drive it home, I yelled out a final YES WE CAN, YES WE CAN right before he shut the door. It was magical. I recommend being a part of the majority within your household. Multiply and replenish your home with girls. You will not regret the decision and your counterparts will have nothing to do but be outnumbered all the time.
Mike is sooooooooo close to finishing this blasted last semester. It’s so unbelievable that we have decided to not talk about it. It’s the unspeakable thing. We must not speak of it, for fear of disrupting the Murse (male nurse) God. The Murse God is testy, unpredictable and apparently friends with President Bush because the whole crazy long deployment thing halfway through the nursing program? Murse God COULD have exercised some Murse God Powers there and instead chose to use the opportunity to vacay in the Caribbean somewhere.
Bummer about David H going home, eh? (That was a segue into an American Idol discussion) I think the whole male stripper thing didn’t bode too well for the chap. Which, I found it curious that he didn’t mention that tidbit in his little bio video before his song, did you not as well? I was an airport screener, I was a waitress, I was a nurse… I rocked a male thong! Vote for me America! Poor lass.
Good news though! I think I finally figured out why I can’t love on some David Cook! Mike said it perfectly. He passed the tele while running around the house JUST as David Cook was doing his little bio thing, Mike stops and watches, five seconds go by and he says (sarcastically, as David) “No matter what is happening at the moment, I feel it deeper than you”. I dropped my jaw and was all, THAT’S IT! THAT’S why there’s no love emittance from me for David! I couldn’t pinpoint it!
And then he left. Just when I need him most, he appears, answers life’s riddles for me and then leaves me deep in thought at his abounding wisdom. His American Idol wisdom.
If any of you are having this problem, this inability to pinpoint why a contestant bothers you problem, please send all inquiries to Mike at AI Energy Expert dot com. Botherless tv can be right around the corner for YOU too.
You guys, thanks for the love. I love the internet. I got some awesome emails. One in particular was from Mel and contained within it the most beautiful gift. Pictures of another child with the same mangled butch cut and big sad cry eyes. Mel said, “I have always saved these pictures because I KNEW someday I would be able to help comfort another victim of toddler scissor hair.”
Another awesome email, I loved this, it said that when SHE pulled those kinds of shenanigans as a child, then SHE would be forced to go under the scissor herself. That’s right. Delaney’s cousin should have to sport the scrimpy crop as well.
Which, don’t get me wrong, the idea made me laugh. A really evil laugh reminiscent of Cruella DeVille, envisioning Delaney’s cousin being strapped into a chair, squirming and me coming at her golden locks with a pair of freshly sharpened scissors.
BUT. That’s a little excessive. And she’s four. So that also makes it weird. In addition to that, I don’t think she would even know why it was happening. Just like you can’t punish a puppy for pooping on the carpet 3 hours ago, too much time has passed, the puppy doesn’t get it. So it would be in the case of the Lock Amputator. That sort of thing has to happen directly within the moment of the action as a sort of natural progression. You cut my child’s hair, you get cut. Boom, right away, like that. But alas, it was not so. Sadly, my first instinct isn’t to lash out at my four year old niece. Damn.
The pictures do exist of those first fateful moments after the incident but unfortunately they are on my sister’s camera and for those of you who know my sister, you know that I will never see those pictures again because my sister, she suffers from an incurable, devastating disease known as “Erratic Follow Through Syndrome”. But we love her in spite of this.
So in light of not being able to show you the sad, dismal and dreary pictures of her tattered hair, I can show you what it looks like now. So, here we go.
From the front:
From the side:
From the back:
Pretty stinkin cute, right?
I mean, aside from some crazy sparse bang action on the right side, it looks somewhat like a hairdo a parent would pay another adult hair stylist person to do. Am I right?
Delaney is still loving it, if the pictures don’t already give you any indication of that. And as long as she’s happy, I’m happy. Except when an Applebees’ waitress asks what “HE would like off the children’s menu”. That doesn’t make me happy. Because when I was about Delaney’s age, my Mom did ON PURPOSE AS AN ADULT to me what Delaney’s cousin did to her except my “hairdo” had a tail. A TAIL of hair coming down my neck. (Pause here while I barf) Needless to say, it was the most DISGUSTING thing to ever happen to me and I still haven’t forgiven her for it.
Where was I going with that? Right, I was called a boy all the time and it really messed up my whole entire life. I, to this day, remember exactly the whole scenario when another Mother at the park called me a little “boy, or girl or child.” You don’t forget these things. I just don’t want Delaney’s life to be ruined forever.
I WISH that title had something to do with our adoption. But lo, it does not. On that front we are looking at a few more days before we get our new Immigration approval back since we moved to our new house. Once we get that, we are back on the gravy train. The LONG long really really long gravy train which is the waiting list. And on THAT end, we probably have another 3 months (or, you know, TWELVE, it’s hard to really say) before we get our referral.
Why, you ask, is this taking so long? Well, my internets, the easy answer is: I don’t know and the long answer delves into popularity within the Ethiopia program now since China is not so hot and Guatemala is not so hot and Haiti is not so hot and Vietnam is not so hot. Intermix the popularity with the fact that we are using one of the most popular agencies within the Ethiopia program and the fact that our request for 2 kiddos under 3 (biologically related) is a somewhat narrow request. And that’s the long answer in a nutshell. But in answer to the more FRUSTRATING question which is WHY were you told you’d get a referral within 6 months when in actuality it looks like it will be more like FIFTEEN? And to that I would say, TRUST ME, WE WONDER THIS ALL THE TIME.
Wow. I had some frustration pent up, no? Sorry about that.
Whew.
In regard to the title of this post, I’m talking about the most dreadful moment in a Parent’s life. A moment in which you cry, scream, curse the GODS! Unparalleled agony, surreal shock. All of this, I went through yesterday. A day forever embalmed into our memories. The day that Delaney’s cousin cut off all her hair. CUT. OFF. ALL. HER. HAIR.
Please digest.
I know.
Picture two four year old girls, a pair of craft scissors, a Barbie vanity pushed up against the door and 25 minutes of unsupervised play.
And then picture the tufts of beautiful sun-bathed, silky hair all over the floor, the scattered remains, the MURDERED, butchered strands of love that lay upon the floor.
THESE strands of love. Taken from us far too soon. Much too soon.
And then there was Delaney’s face. Her big, saucer eyes peering out from behind what I can only describe as an insane asylum freakness of hair. So thrilled to show me her new do. So happy about what they had done. That is, until I LOST MY MIND WITH GRIEF and was GASPING in shock, called my sister upstairs and she proceeded to cover her mouth in sheer terror. And it was then that Delaney, confusedly started to flip out as well, realizing that something very very bad had happened.
When Delaney gets confused and frustrated she starts blurting out sentences that don’t make any sense whatsoever but she says them in a way that insinuates anger and frustration in her tone. So, at that moment Delaney started yelling “THAT’S NOT EVEN BETTER! AND THIS IS NOT ANY SENSE! YOU’RE WRONG! THIS IS NOT ANY BETTER MOM! THIS..! THIS IS NOT..!”
And then I held her while she sobbed.
I picked up her sweet face with strands of loose hair hanging off it and told her she was not in trouble, everything was fine and now she would have really cute short hair. I took a deep breath, threw her in the car and ran her over to my hair stylist for an emergency fix while my sister went searching for the culprit who had mysteriously gone missing once the evidence surfaced. Once “the REAL and ONLY haircut girl” finished the new pixie cut topped off with super short bangs, Delaney looked in the mirror and said “I LOVE my new hair!”
And it IS really cute. And really short. Boy short, to be exact.
I called Mike shortly before he came home from work to warn him and to make sure his reaction was that of “OH MY GOODNESS THAT HAIRCUT IS THE MOST AWESOME COOLEST HAIRCUT EVER!” as opposed to his more natural reaction of “WHAT IN THE? WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR HAIR?!” He was a really good Daddy and made a really good deal out of it. And when she walked away, he turned to me and said “She’s turning into the Lesbian we always hoped she’d be.” Which is what Mike says when he is trying to cope with her growing up into a teenager and therefore being within a 100 mile vicinity of another male teenager. “Lesbian at least until College is finished” her Dad always said. Ah, the fond memories being created in this home.
Pictures coming soon, of both cuts. As soon as our new computer is done being built. (still loathing HP, by the way). Until then I leave you with your imagination and your nightmares.
I cannot tell you how SICK! I am of the snow this winter. It’s not magical anymore, it’s not special. It’s crap. And it will NOT stop. It’s been a full on blizzard for days on end and I’m feeling as though my life is starting to mimic “The Shining”.
I know I run the risk of sabotaging my own efforts of getting you all to move here to start our blogging commune when I mention something like this. I try not to ever say anything negative about Boise so as to give the illusion of rainbows and butterflies all the live long days because even though I know none of you will ever move here, I still believe that ALL of you COULD move here, if it not for your complete selfishness. And so the fault lies with you, I wash my hands of this.
Things wouldn’t be SO bad today except that Mike took my van to work. Something that I know to be of a revengeful nature on his part. He probably figured that if he took MY car and left me with his “tobaggon on ice” which he knows I deem a death trap on wheels and therefore refuse to drive, he must have figured that I couldn’t go anywhere and spend money and shop for cute things or make impulsive decisions in a shopping mall pet store. Which, I see his logic, somewhat. He DID, I guess, leave for work 2 days ago and upon return, discovered a new puppy in our house. But GEEZ, what’s the big deal?! You know? Take my car away? A bit harsh, I’d say. All in agreement, say aye. I know, right?
It’s just that Delaney and I needed to do some birthday present shopping and we ended up at the mall. EVERYONE knows that when at the mall with a kid, it’s pretty much required of you that you take the kid to the pet store. It’s an unwritten law, you MUST DO IT. So, fearing the consequences of disrupting the alter-sphere-of-parenting-law-bondage (just go with it), we indeed went to the pet store. Upon which, we bought a dog. But the decision was made entirely by Delaney, I told Mike this, it had nothing to do with me! I turned my back for ONE second and when I turned back around, Delaney was just finishing up the paperwork. It was done. I had no choice but to bring the dog home after that.
Meet Annie.
She’s a Lhasa Apso, 4 months old and was discounted at the pet store because she had been there too long. Which made us want her even more.
So far, she’s been scared of every single thing, tip-toes around our house and shakes. But this morning, a sign of life! She wagged her tail! And all day today, she’s been following Delaney around and dare I say it, pouncing? She almost comfortable enough to behave like a real puppy but not quite yet. The absence of barking is awesome though, which I guess is the perk of having a scaredy-dog.
Delaney is smitten. Her life from now on will be marked from THIS POINT. Just as we have B.C. and A.D., Delaney now has “before Annie” and “after Annie”.
And I now have a full day of a wild child and a peeing dog. Oh and the blizzard.
Somehow, we ended up with a four year old on our hands. Without even asking, she continued eating and growing and now we have a four year old on our hands. Which, is so incredibly KID-ish, to be four.
When I imagined myself as a Mom, I always saw me with an infant and then I could see me with teenagers (because every teenager likes to envision how much COOLER they will be when THEY are the parent which is SOOOOO much cooler, like, ten TRILLION times cooler). But the whole in-between stuff, I never saw. Basically from 2 years old to 14 years old, I figured I’d wing it. Which, I suppose is what all parents really ever CAN do which is on the contrary to what I envisioned as a Teenager which was that my parents had a PLAN to make my life utterly un-livable. But wisdom will tell you (and I am incredibly wise) that there is hardly ever a plan and if there ever was one, it’s gotten revised and worked over too many times to consider it legible anymore.
I suppose there is beauty in not having a plan from the beginning because then you can’t beat yourself up over not following it. And in that regard, I have succeeded. If there is a category for not following a non-existent plan, I win in that category. I feel I should get a prize for that.
So, considering there was no plan to not follow, she turned out pretty darn great. Not bad for two amateurs who thought having a baby would be cute and fun.
I mean, we’ve gone down the checklist and we feel we have fared fairly well. (I’ve always wanted to say “fared fairly well” and it was just as awesome as I thought it would be). Here’s the checklist.
Says please and thank you. check.
Loves books. check.
Can order a strawberries and cream frappucino. check.
Rides a pink bike with training wheels. check.
Knows her letters and can write her name. check.
Skilled in the ways of toilet-using. check.
Knows all the words to “Fergalicious”. check.
Thinks peanut butter and honey sandwiches are the most delicious things in the world. check.
Calls Bob Dylan “Uncle Bob”. check.
So, I mean, CLEARLY she’s on track here, right?
It’s hard for me to leave the Threes behind. The Threes were good to us. We had a good time, it was a good year. I can’t imagine the Fours being as good to us as the Threes were, but I’m hopeful. I just don’t want her to become all jaded yet. When does that happen? Do four year olds ask to be dropped off a block before the mall?
The year of the Fours. It’s the year she will become a big sister. Little does she know, the year of the Four will be a big year for her. And here’s hoping that we as her parents can continue to wing it another year. As planned.
