trials and tribulations

Yesterday, after a horrible night of sleep on Annabelle's part and consequently on my part, Annabelle was in rare form. Clingy and naughty all in one. She woke up geared to go to her friends birthday party, which was still a day away. This was explained to her and disappointment ensued. We went to get said friend a present. When kids are under 5, I generally get them clothes for birthdays, because clothes are like a present for the mom and kids have way too many toys anyway. So we went to Gymboree to get clothes. First we had to get dressed. Small battle over what to wear, huge battle over hairstyle. Annabelle's hair is long enough where we need to start putting it in barrettes or pig tails, but she resists completely, pulling them out shortly after they are installed. She likes to feel the wind in her hair, I guess. Then we made a pitstop at Alma Latina, with Hyphen, who took the day off, for a dose of chorizo. She had to sit in my lap the whole breakfast. Then a trip to Target, which got this response "No, No Target. I don't want to go to target, I want to get Andrew a present at Gymboree." Once we were inside, she insisted on walking, not riding in the cart. (in case you are wondering why I haven't smacked her yet, it is because she is two and is asserting her independence and I am trying to help her make "good choices" now, so she won't drink and do drugs in high school--or some other such nonsense I am currently reading in a parenting book entitled Love and Logic.) While at Target, looking at maternity clothes, she told me she was going to hide from me and hid in numerous clothes racks, squealing with laughter when I found her. Finally, I decided she was making bad choices and deposited her in the cart. Smallish tantrum.

Finally we arrived at Gymborre, which she enjoys because there is a tv. There was no one in the store save me and the salesladies. I felt free to shop without watching Annabelle too closely and I peeked over where the tv was to check on her only to discover Annabelle, naked as a jay bird, just finishing the removal of her panties, watching tv. Annabelle likes to be naked for reasons I have not completely discerned. (Note: when I told my mom this instead of laughing, she got quiet and she called me the next day and scolded me saying she could have gotten molested--I was impressed by the restraint on her part, she waited an entire day)

We got home and got ready for her first private swim lesson, which I had been talking up all week. I went to the kitchen, to talk to H and when I went back to her room, she had managed to get a bottle of baby powder and shake its contents all over her floor. She wanted to continue to shake it and I said she could do so outside. (Note: this is not the parenting book, this is me, remembering what it was like to be a kid, and how some messes were just irresistible.)

Swimming lesson? Disaster. Cried to entire time. Mind you, the teacher wasn't super great at getting acquanted with a toddler, she just got her in the pool and said, "let's see you kick."

We got home and I went to talk to H again, who was making lunch and when I went to her room, she found the sunblock and had squirted it all over the floor. This was at the point where I officially lost it and yelled (I am not a yeller mom) "What are you doin????????!!!!!!" And then I did the only thing that was humanly and lovingly and logically possible.

I called in the big guns. I got her father.

In our house, Papa rarely disciplines. If mama rarely yells, papa certainly does not. This is kind of an "apple of his eye house," where the Apple is loved and adored tremendously by her papa/pops/poppi.

I got the paper towels to clean up the mess and was about to walk in the room. H saw me and shooed me away. I could hear him gving her a quiet talk about being naughty and how "some things are toys and others are not and it is okay to play with your toys, but you have to ask mama and papa to play with the things that are not toys." Then I heard "do you understand me? Look at me Annabelle, look me in the eyes. Do you understand me." Then a quivering "yes. I sorry papa. I sorry I squirted this sunscreen." I walked in and scooped her in my arms and cuddled her and said "it's okay." To which papa replied and rightly so, "Actually, it's not okay, but we forgive you."

He went back to the kitchen and we cleaned up the mess.

After I was fnished, I followed him to the kitchen, and slapped him on the butt, pro-athelete style. "You are awesome. That was awesome back there. You are the best dad. Way to go." And he is the best dad, I challenge you, gentle reader, to find a better one....

Today? She is a cherub. A delight, a model citizen, that when in high school will carry packages for old ladies crossing the street and rescue little birds that have fallen from their nests, etc.

Tomorrow? Quien sabe?