Anonymoms

Too steamy to share on facebook

2010-07-24T22:22:00.000-05:00

As we're sitting on the bathroom floor today, post pottying and pre re-pantying.

Anonybabe (pointing to a newly discovered spot on her nethers): What's that?

Me: Your clitoris.

Anonybabe: Why?

Then, as I pause a minute to ponder where I'm going to take that one, she moves on.

Anonybabe: Do you have a cla...cl...clitoris?

Me: Yes, most women have a clitoris.

Anonybabe: Can I see yours?

Me: Not today (???!! I know why I defer, rather than get into a yes/no battle with my three year old, but for the record my answer creeped me out mightily).

Why am I surprised that conversations like this are coming up? This is par for the three year old course, right? I just wasn't expecting the anatomy question from that particular angle. Now I'll be ready when she asks about her taint.

Dancing on the glass ceiling

2010-07-24T01:14:00.001-05:00

Hi, kids and kidlettes. I moved to Iowa recently. I am here.

And Anonybabe is a whopping three years old. Old enough to demand princess dresses and nail polish and makeup...lord knows where she learned about these things. Certainly not from me.

She is fixated on becoming a ballerina, so being a nice mama, I signed her up for a ballet class. I found a dance studio that does "Storybook Dress-up" class for very young children. They put on costumes and prance around the studio together for 30 minutes, three days a week for a couple of weeks. I was picturing Disney princess blechiness. Somehow, it's worse.

Anonybabe has a teacher who goes by the name "Peach". She's all of 20, very tan, and very, very good with the kids. But Peach always seems to work some kind of beat heavy techno into the dancing the girls do. We can't see them in the studio, but we can hear it seeping through the walls. We heard it thumping through the door on Wednesday when the girls dressed as cheerleaders before filing out to cheer "Lets! Go! Team!" with metallic pom poms. And then we heard it again today before the girls filed out at the end of class dressed in tulle and tiaras to curtsy for us. Maybe she'll play some 90's era Madonna for them when they dress up as cowgirls on Monday.

I'm trying not to get too snobby about the whole affair in front of Anonybabe. I'm just glad she gets to do something out of the house, and am proud that she is so willing to do this on her own.

But lordy, what is Peach trying to teach those girls?

Scapegoat

2009-12-22T15:38:00.004-06:00

I was cleaning out the cabinet in the conference room ...the place where I used to pump my breast milk before the well ran dry.

I found these stickers:

Wish I'd used them on my breast pump when I had it so I could have had the satisfaction of punching it in the face.

It would have made a much better whipping boy than Anonyhub.

Wormhole vision

2009-11-05T12:22:00.002-06:00

Before Anonybabe was born, I fantasized about what our biggest challenges would be as parents.

As languid bookworms who wrinkle our noses at sporting events, I figured Anonyhub and I would have a jock who only felt alive when his body was in motion, and who felt a library was a self-insulating crypt. I imagined we'd have a vast expanse of "huh?" to cross to understand each other.

I'm not ruling all of that out quite yet, but it turns out the challenge of being a parent is having a kid who is just like you.

Anonybabe gets so completely absorbed by whatever she is doing that she does not want to change it. Period. She'll cry lustily when we tell her her stinky diaper has to go; she'd rather stay in it than have to pull herself away from whatever she's doing. She'll flail and fuss when we try to change her from her pj's to her clothes, only to have her flail and cry again when it's time to change her from clothes to pj's. She hates the idea of getting on the potty, but once she's there we have to pry her off so she doesn't get baby hemorrhoids. She doesn't want to go eat when she's playing, and she doesn't want to go play when she's at the table. But no matter how much she protested about a thing before doing it, once she's doing it she's happy as a clam. Super content, until you try to move her to the next thing.

I may or may not be guilty of such a thing myself. Bloody shit, am I really that unwieldy and annoying?

Slow Boat

2009-11-05T11:59:00.004-06:00

Well, that was over almost as soon as we started.

Physical therapy.

Next week, Anonybabe has her fourth and last session. Her physical therapist told Anonyhub today that she was happy to continue, but didn't think it was necessary. Anonyhub, who told me just last week that he planned to do only one month's worth of sessions, enough to determine that Anonybabe's "legs weren't put on backwards," agreed. The physical therapist will write up a report suggesting activities we can do to help build Anonybabe's strength, and we'll go our separate ways.

Anonybabe is what we thought she was from the beginning. Stunningly, deliberately, willingly slow to move. With the low muscle tone to prove it.

More power to her for it. She fits right in in this family. When the therapist asked her today what her favorite thing to do was, she answered "going to da libwawy!" It gives me flashbacks to the beautiful summer days I used to spend lounging in front of my parents' television watching PBS, or reading, reading, reading until my eyes hurt.

We'll all try to be more active together. Take long walks. Maybe we'll keep one eye towards moving to a warmer, more rural climate where we can roll out of bed and run outside to play without so much forethought.

But I'll also hold this experience in my heart when I'm told Anonybabe is different, is frustrating, doesn't fit. I'm gonna help the girl out when she needs a push. But ultimately I'm gonna let the girl be herself. Slowness and all.

Toddlers Who Talk and a Mama Who Sings

2009-10-29T09:45:00.005-05:00

I was singing to Anonybabe at bedtime last night, looking for new tunes to try on her, and pulled out "My Favorite Things" from The Sound of Music.

"Oh, I like this song," said Anonybabe. "This song makes me happy!"

She let me sing a couple more lines, until I got to the part about snowflakes staying on my nose and eyelashes.

"I have eyelashes!" exclaimed Anonybabe, fingering them. "And I have have eyes!"

And then, as chipper as a Barney character, "And I have a nose....with boogers in them!"

Feathered, friend

2009-10-28T15:22:00.004-05:00

Anonybabe had her Halloween hoo-ha at daycare today.

She dressed as a chicken.

Here she is with her class, parading down the street to show off their sweet duds.

Halloween rocks.

No, thank you

2009-10-23T09:54:00.002-05:00

Anonybabe has learned to say "Yes, please," and "No, thanks," without being prompted.

I'm proud of her, of course I am, and I'm freaking proud of us parents. Do you know how dogged you have to be to insist a 2 year old say that? (We have not been so dogged about other things that would probably serve her better, like combing her hair, but I won't digress on that just now.)

I think she finally figured out that if she's polite, she'll have us wrapped around her little finger. So true. Not to put too dark a spin on it, polite speech is about the most powerful form of manipulation there is. Flattery will get you everywhere and manners are a form of flattery. In a way, you're saying "I value you enough to jump through this arbitrary speech hoop just to show you that I'll go to the trouble to please you." It's a weird, often heartless display of deference. In theory, I don't think the words "please" and "thank you" are as important as empathy, and honesty, and affection. But I needed to hear Anonybabe using those words to me. I couldn't wait for her to be indoctrinated into polite-speak, even though Anonyhub and I agreed that there was nothing so bullying and disheartening as hearing a kid give a rote "thank you" after being prompted by their parent.

Don't get me wrong, I think manners are important. It is important to value other people in everyday conversation, to make them feel appreciated and nice. But polite speech has a way of putting up walls sometimes, a way of keeping us from being forthright.

So now that our little Eliza Doolittle knows the verbal ropes, I should turn my attention to teaching the empathy/honesty/affection stuff I now wish I'd focused on making the behavioral baseline. I hope we haven't shot ourselves in the foot by making it abundantly clear that she should say what we want to hear, and not what she thinks/feels.

Momlicious

2009-10-22T10:25:00.003-05:00

Thanks to BUST Magazine, I found this blog devoted to pictures of moms looking their snazzy best.

Got a picture of your mom that you love, love, love her look in? Send it to these folks:

http://momstyleicons.blogspot.com/

Dia De Los Muertos

2009-10-21T16:46:00.004-05:00

Just loved this post from my friend's newsletter and wanted to pass it on. It got me all excited about coming up with ways to remember my paternal grandmother and maternal great-grandmother to Anonybabe. They were both generally unhappy, crusty, saucy wenches, and I love them both.

xo, Jewel & Martha.

***********************

Boy oh boy, this is our favorite time of year! The Day of the Dead, or Dia De Los Muertos, is a time to remember our Loved Ones who have passed. Celebrated between October 31st and November 2nd, this festival is quite the party for both sides of the Veil! Departed loved ones know this as the time of year when they can very easily revisit and check in on the family they still have here on Earth. Visiting new family members, sharing stories that celebrate life, reminiscing those who've passed, and enjoying favorite foods of the Muertos are some sacred traditions of this culture. Of course, our culture has Americanized this day of celebration which we fondly refer to as Halloween, on October 31st.

We will be honoring our ancestors and thanking them for their gifts and contributions which help us be here today. My grandmother Lois passed when she was just 42 leaving behind her husband and 4 young children. The toll this took on my family was immense, but the strength and love it took for the family stay together is her greatest legacy. She loved peonies, so we will have some around the house to honor her.

This celebration is one we find of great value to every family. Even if this is not a part of your cultural tradition, make it part of your family's story. Share tales of loved ones, make Aunt Toad's famous caramels to keep her memory alive, pull out photos and heirlooms and share the lives of those who loved us.

Even taking a moment during this celebration to remember a dearly departed will let her or him know -- energetically -- they are gone but never forgotten.

Happiness is...

2009-10-20T09:46:00.003-05:00

...listening to the Beatles' Revolver with your toddler while you eat your dinner together, watching her bop to it in her seat and hearing her interjections:

"They are singing about sweeping!"

"Hmm, hmm, hmmm, hmmm, goooood day suuuun shine!"

"Dos guys say dey are wivving in a yellow submarine!"

Just try not to let it get you down when she banishes you from the bedroom at lights out. "Mom, I want you to LEAVE now."

Bob, bob, bobbing along

2009-10-16T16:24:00.003-05:00

Anonybabe can swim, y'all! I mean, she doggy paddles with a YMCA floaty snapped around her tummy, but whatever. She wiggles free from me in the pool and can make her way from one side to the other, squealing with glee, and doing that odd jerky erect neck posture that people who are trying to keep their heads well above the water use. I can't believe it.

It's odd, Anonybabe is the most cautious toddler you'll ever meet. She waited until 18 months to start walking, and then would put her hands down to balance herself if she so much as crossed a doorjamb. She pauses for every crack in the sidewalk. She asked to be picked up and carried at every stairway. So it was shocking to take her into a swimming pool for the first time and have her struggle to swim alone. She would kick and squirm and flail every appendage in an attempt at freedom. She was going for it. She was annoyed by my hands under her pits, my knee placed under her feet so she'd have a place to stand. Last time we went to the pool I tried letting go. Lo and behold, she didn't much need me around. I still hovered, of freaking course, but didn't really touch.

I suppose this shores up the theory that Anonybabe has some undeveloped muscles somewhere that make it hard for her to run, jump, play, climb...on dry land. She has no such hang-ups in the water. Perhaps this lets her be her uninhibited self a little bit.

Funny, I do like being in water, but didn't get around to it much at all in my adult life. But when I was pregnant with Anonybabe, and especially towards the end of the pregnancy, I was in the pool as much as possible. I had a little parasite inside willing me to go, to get a sweet release from gravity, to employ a wet pillow to muffle the noises of the world, to snatch those breath-long segments of isolation.

It was beautiful, and a little sad, to see her gathering these things for herself.

Pretty Terrific

2009-10-15T12:45:00.002-05:00

Well, Anonybabe finally had her first session of physical therapy. A woman named Sam came to our house this morning (while I was away at work), with her therapeutic balls and her clipboard. Anonyhub confirmed my take on her from our phone conversations: late middle-aged, more business than pleasure, a little bland and just-the-facts, but she does have a lot of helpful facts that she readily dispenses. Anonyhub says Anonybabe quickly warmed to her, chattering and zipping around, but that Anonybabe wasn't terribly cooperative about doing things she wasn't interested in doing.

"I am done," Anonybabe would announce, after Sam would ask her to, say, sit on top of a large exercise ball. "I am going to my vewy own room to pway doll house." And she would. Sam would roll with it, coming up with games they could play in her room, suggesting little games to Anonyhub that he could play with her to build up certain muscles, checking out Anonybabe's shoes and feet.

Anonyhub got to talk to her about our concerns, and the fact that they were minimal. He got to talk to her about Anonybabe's daycare, and how they seemed more worried about Anonybabe's development than we were.

"I can talk to them for you," said Sam. "I can let them know let them know what she's capable of when she's in a comfortable setting, and what they can do to encourage her rather than discourage her." If I'd been there, I would have kissed her on the spot. I'm a little embarrassed that it takes a third party go-between to tell my child's teacher that I don't think she's seeing my child's abilities or needs clearly. But since I'm still learning to trust myself and be Anonybabe's advocate, I won't turn down any support along the way.

Yute

2009-10-14T02:58:00.006-05:00

Things are changing so quickly. Anonybabe is rapidly losing her babyishness. It's falling away from her like dandelion fluff: one minute it's there in abundance, the next, gone forever. I'm on the cusp of losing my baby.

Perhaps not coincidentally, I'm starting to resent the aging process. Starting to get a little panicky about it. I'm 34, which is a pretty fabulous age to be. But for the past few weeks I feel that any year, any month, any minute now, I'm going to start losing it sexually, physically, mentally. Am I really never going to have sex with another person again? Are those wrinkles around my eyes really going to settle in? Am I really going to continue getting hairier, fatter? Did I just let my youth pass me by?

I just heard a John Updike story where the aging main character had lost his fight. He'd lost all sense of import, of drama. He was watching life, detached. (Of course he was remembering the days when he was about my age as the ones where he was full of spit and vinegar). The story depressed me.

I know I've many years before I really lose all my youth, but certain things have been retrieving that future day and laying it at my feet for me to take a nice long look at. And instead of seeing all of the great things that come with age - stability, wisdom, confidence - all I can see are the things I'll lose forever.

The nightmare fantasy feels real, and ugly.

Sweep Stakes

2009-10-14T02:52:00.002-05:00

No nap time has changed everything.

One of the major headaches at Anonybabe's daycare has been their insistence on nap time. Completely reasonable to expect all 2 year olds to take afternoon naps, right? But we'd phased naps out at home months before Anonybabe started daycare, in the hopes she'd go to bed at a decent hour. When we were told the children at the daycare took afternoon naps, we shrugged and said, "OK" to them, figuring Anonybabe wouldn't take a shine to it, but it couldn't hurt.

Well, it didn't hurt her, but it was certainly a pain in the butt for everyone else: Anonybabe would babble loudly while the other children were trying to fall asleep, then drop off just as they were waking up. Since the daycare provider would let the kids sleep until they woke up, Anonybabe would snooze for hours, until we came to pick her up, and then wouldn't go to sleep until past midnight. It was awful. I couldn't imagine that the daycare provider would let Anonybabe skip nap time altogether, but I asked them not to let her sleep too long, then told her insipidly that I didn't mind if Anonybabe didn't sleep. That didn't seem to translate.

Finally, recently, Anonyhub told the owner point blank that nap time was detonating our schedule, and that Anonybabe just couldn't take afternoon naps or we'd have to go somewhere else. I think/hope this was presented as the facts, not a threat. In any case, the owner told us that they'd be happy to bypass nap time, they wanted to be flexible.

Lo and behold, everything has seemed to magically change for the better now that nap time is done. When Anonyhub or I pick Anonybabe up in the afternoons her face isn't stained with dried tear tracks and snot. She gives us a big hug and then insists on staying longer to play. In the morning when we tell her it's a daycare day, she smiles rather than pouts. When we get home from daycare, she eats dinner, she plays with us, she goes dutifully to bed and falls asleep around 8:30-9pm. Then she wakes up on her own, ready to eat breakfast, get dressed, and start a new day. No more prying her, protesting, out of her bed in the morning and at the last minute because she went to bed so late the night before.

And here's the kicker: part of why my feelings were so hurt when the daycare suggested physical therapy for Anonybabe was that it seemed like a another in a long list of suggestions on how to help make our daughter better. I thought her teachers were getting all of Anonybabe's effervescent energy and then choosing to ignore it and focus on the things she wasn't doing. At the same time we were getting alarming reports that sometimes make me think the teachers at the school don't know Anonybabe at all. (Ex: "She finally learned the words to the blessing song yesterday!" ?? She's been singing it non-stop at home for a month. "We learned a letter yesterday!" Anonybabe knew her letters before she started school there, etc, etc).

Now that nap time is over, instead of getting alarming reports that make me think the teachers don't know my daughter at all, I've been getting reports that sound more like our little girl. Igor - Igor who has driven me crazy with her brusqueness - has been spending one-on-one time with Anonybabe while the other children nap and now tells me all the little stories I've been expecting to hear at pick up time all along. "She makes up a story with the crayons at the table" says Igor, and bounces her finger around as if it were the yellow baby crayon, the blue daddy crayon, the red mama crayon. She tells me how smart Anonybabe is. How funny. Igor's eyes have started to light up when Anonybabe comes in in the mornings. These are the good reports that have started to trickle in with the carefully worded bad ones.

They tell me that Anonybabe is engaging and animated while all the children are asleep, and then as soon as they wake up, she becomes silent again. That's a little heartbreaking, but not as heartbreaking as knowing that she was a silent little zombie all the time for six months, that the daycare providers weren't seeing her be herself at all. Ever. Turns out Anonybabe wasn't giving them anything positive to ignore. She'd just been sitting in a corner and watching everyone else dance and play around her. That's unsettling in and of itself, and a major breakdown in communication on our part and the teacher's. But who knew the way to untie the Gordian knot of miscommunication was to take away Anonybabe's nap time?

I'm humbled knowing that this thing I never would have asked for on my own - the abolition of nap time for just my little girl - has made things infinitely better.

Bits and pieces

2009-10-13T13:30:00.006-05:00

Although I can never seem to remember them when I sit down to tell someone about it, Anonybabe has taken to saying pretty cute things on a regular basis. Mostly it's just funny to hear our adult phrases and intonations recycled by the munchkin.

Lately, and Anonyhub and I have no idea where this came from, she has taken to murmuring, "I'm the prettiest baby you have ever, ever seen."

Brush it Off

2009-10-13T13:05:00.000-05:00

Had a terrible/fascinating run in with Anonybabe the other night.

I was short on patience at bed time and took it badly when Anonybabe wouldn't let me brush her teeth. She insisted that she'd done it herself (she had) and that she was done. I let her know through gritted teeth why she needed to let me brush them as well, gave her a warning, then held her down on my lap and pinched her nose to force her mouth open so I could brush them.

She was incensed, wailing, humiliated, ego badly bruised. Next I tried to get her to pick up her toys, but she flopped down on her floor cushion, baldly refusing.

"No! You pick them up!" she countered. "I'm the Mama and you're the Anonybabe"

Since we were obviously not getting anywhere by my baldly telling her what to do, I played along.

"Wahahaha!" I cried and stomped my feet. "I don't want to pick up!" Anonybabe grinned slyly.

"Well, you just have to," she said. I cried some more and then succumbed. She told me I had to pick up and then go to sleep in our mud room. She was going to sleep in my writing chair and I was to sleep on the floor. I cried and protested some more, she giggled and insisted, and then informed me that she was going to go sleep in the big bed because she was a big mama. I finally followed her into my bedroom, turned out the light, and let her babble herself to sleep in my bed. I figured it was a small price to pay to let her recover her dignity.

Immaculate Feces!

2009-10-05T15:42:00.003-05:00

I am newly aware of the number of times per day I say "Holy Crap!" thanks to Anonybabe.

She was standing on my lap the other day, and about to fall. "Ho-wee Cwap!" she crowed. I, of course, laughed and laughed.

It was through another friend's toddler that I learned how often I use the banal "interesting". A lot a lot.

I do wish I had some more poetic turns of phrase for these little copycats to parrot back.

Uh oh, it's magic

2009-10-05T14:55:00.003-05:00

Hello, my little Beatle Baileys. How's shakes?

I'm writing to you with the beginnings of a cold. I wish I were nursing some garlic lemonade right now. Home remedy that is freakishly good: steep a couple of cloves of minced garlic in a quart of hot water for 30 minutes to an hour, then add the juice of a couple of lemons and honey to taste. Added bonus: people will smell you coming. I hate taking cold medicine; I have a hard time trusting anything that came from the pharmaceutical industrial complex. There may be a large sticking-it-to-the-man placebo effect going on with this remedy, but I'll take whatever relief I can get. Lemon and honey and garlic are all good for the immune system, so why not?

And I'm writing at the tail end of a short visit from my dad and his wife. I do not have great love for my dad. Maybe I should rephrase, because I can't help loving him even though it drives me crazy to do so. I have zilch respect for him; he's let me down time and time again. I think he's cowardly and selfish and childish. And right when my anger towards him starts simmering over, I realize all the ways that we're alike. There are so many character traits that we share. Hating him is like hating myself, and that gets confusing. This visit is giving me a chance to pick through the twin landmines of a) keeping my boundaries firm around him, and b) being gentle with myself when he does things or I do things that drive me crazy.

Also, had a nice little moment with Anonybabe that I want to turn over in my brain a few times. Anonyhub and I took her to an art walk in our old neighborhood yesterday. Anonyhub had an old college buddy showing his work and I wanted to go too. It was no place for a toddler - people opened up their studios in a big warehouse and you could wander from space to space. There were jewelry artists who had their welding equipment within easy reach, tile makers whose fragile work was hanging within smashing distance. So I ended up holding Anonybabe for a long time while we walked through, probably close to an hour. She loved it. She happily warbled away, played with my necklace, asked me questions. And this feeling awakened in me that I haven't really felt since she was a little baby. I used to get it when we would take weekend trips together, and she would sit in my lap for hours while we flew to friends and family. It was the result of being physically close for a long time, and giving Anonybabe face-to-face attention. It works when we take long trips on public transportation too. What should be a nightmare ends up being kind of magical. I don't get it, but I'm going to respect it, try to work it in.

Hit me with that ruler, please

2009-09-23T11:32:00.002-05:00

I read in some child development rag about setting up rules for your family. It is a tribute to the article that I got through it, because I don't place much stock in rules. Although it doesn't always show, at heart I am something of a libertarian. Rules don't allow for flexibility, they don't fit with the infinite complexity of life. Better to sit and observe your surroundings and come up with a solution that seems right for you, right for the moment, when problems arrive than to live blindly by rules. (Is it a wonder I'm always pinging all over the place?)

This article about rules hit me right where I live, though. It suggested taking a minute to sit down and think about your most cherished values: self-nourishment, thankfulness, empathy, whatever, and come up with 5 simple rules for your household that are centered around those values. That way, you can weave them into all your explanations to your child about why we do or do not do such-and-such in this house. And you get to teach them your value system. And your rules are grounded in things that actually matter to you. This is so much more appealing than reminding Anonybabe to arbitrarily say "please" and "thank you".

Nice and Easy

2009-09-23T10:28:00.004-05:00

I had such a nice weekend with the Anonyfam. Pleasing in pretty much every way. And I'm making a mental note of the fact that it involved a hell of a lot of socializing.

I'm still used to thinking of myself as an introvert. And that's more or less true. I won't show you my hand until I'm good and ready. And it takes me a ridiculously long time to be ready. But once I am, I can really throw myself into my friendships.

Events of note this week:
last Monday: Going away party for some acquaintances. It involved hiring a babysitter and going to a hip little bar, drinking delicious alcoholic beverages and chatting it up amicably with people I'm comfortable with. It also involved a little low-key flirting with my husband and others. Mildly pleasant, and it ramped me up for the rest of my week.

Wednesday: Drug a protesting Anonybabe to the beach after work, where we ate a picnic and frolicked in the sand and waves until the sun set. Anonybabe fell asleep in her stroller in the walk home and I got to take a long hot bath and read a self-helpy creative recovery book that helped me see my way out of a funk I'd been in.

Friday: Storytelling round a campfire at a local nature center. Although Anonybabe chatted pretty much non-stop and we had to carry her away from the herd more than once, I loved it. The nature center is this laid back, hidden gem, and the whole park was designed by the guy we named Anonybabe after. Afterwards, Anonyhub had a concert to go to so he dropped Anonybabe and I off at the train station. At first I was resentful that we had to navigate home alone, but it ended up being fun bonding time. Any sort of travel with Anonybabe usually ends up being a hoot.

Saturday: Got up late, made french toast, cleaned the house. Then dressed up in our party dresses and went to a friends house for a barbecue. Small crowd, good drinks, tons of eating. Anonybabe surprised me by volunteering to sing happy birthday to the birthday girl, and then planting herself in the middle of the room to try to woo the crowd with "B-I-N-G-O". Chica liked being center stage. Who knew?

Sunday: Awakened early by a couple who have a child Anonybabe's age in daycare. They seem keen on getting together and hanging out, and so far Anonyhub and I both really really like them. They called to ask us over for coffee and pastries, and we went, we talked, we want to have each other over for dinner. Then Anonyhub and I scooted back to an interview with a new babysitter. A seemingly awesome babysitter.

So the moral? More social activities for yours truly. This introvert is ready to let it all hang out.

My Ears Ring

2009-09-16T12:44:00.004-05:00

I had a nice little moment yesterday, where I felt embraced by the universe.

A couple of weeks ago I walked over to a condo courtyard near work to draw some pictures. They were pictures I'd had an idea for years ago, but I'd never acted on the idea. And it felt really good to sit in the grass, in the sun, and just do it.

When I walked back to work I realized I'd lost an earring. A big gaudy dangly monstrosity that I love to wear. It is always getting caught in shirts and sweaters and scarves and falling out. "Oh well," I'd thought. "I was due to lose that earring sooner or later anyway."

Yesterday, I was feeling bummed and on the spur of the moment decided to go for a quick walk. I was thinking about how I never go for walks, even though they help keep me sane. I was thinking about the overwhelming drive I have to hunker down and stay put: physically, emotionally, spiritually. It gives me a sense of stability I crave, but I make myself miserable sometimes because I don't get the fresh air/new experiences/mini-adventures I need to keep life going.

And then I happened to look up and see my missing earring, sitting on the ledge of a building. Someone had found it and put it there. And I just happened to walk by that day and see it. I put the earring in my pocket and fingered it like a talisman while I kept walking. This isn't the first time those earrings have come back to me. It felt like the universe was saying "See? Get out and take some chances. Live life a little. Lose things. We'll make sure you're taken care of and have what you need."

Flight of fancy maybe. And a good one.

Mah BAY-bies!

2009-09-16T12:39:00.002-05:00

Anonybabe pretends that everything she touches is someone or something else. Everything. While in the bathtub she pretends that baby pink washcloth is going with mama hairball to the toy store; while at the table she pretends that daddy fork and baby green bean are going to the book store; she walks household items around in that bouncy exaggerated pretend walk she learned from us. Bounce, bounce, bounce - characters in her mundane and thorough recreation of reality.

It's cute, I guess, but odd. I tend to get a little tetchy around it. I spent a lot of time in a fantasy world as a kid, and I get annoyed when Anonybabe does the same thing. I want her here, in this world, with me. Was/am I really that annoying to be around when I'm in my head? One of those unfortunate, I-don't-like-it-in-her-because-I-don't-like-it-in-myself kind of things. Add it to the list of things to work on.

But this I really liked:
Anonybabe as mama-spoon: (marching Mama spoon loudly on the glass table over to the cheese slices) bang, bang, bang. Oh! Are you my baby cheeses?
Anonybabe as baby cheeses: Oh! Yes! We are! We are going to go into Anonybabe's mouth!
(Anonybabe chews, swallows)
Anonybabe as mama spoon: (To us) Anonybabe ate my babies! (Anonybabe rests mama spoon on her tongue so she can look down her throat) Babieth! Ah you ehn there?

Jesus fuck indeed

2009-09-16T11:36:00.002-05:00

Jesus fuck am I in a horrible mood today. Anonyhub got the brunt of it. Two angry ranting voicemails worth. I feel bad and he suffers. Well, Anonybabe got her fair share this morning, too. She woke up on the wrong side of the bed, crying, whining with hair-trigger speed.

She is figuring out, in her weird, robot-like way, that crying = sadness. What I mean is, she'll stop to consider the connection. She fell off of a stool the other day and it scared the crap out of her and bruised her bum. She wailed for a couple of seconds and then, when Anonyhub picked her up to comfort her and asked if she was okay, she sobbed "Ye-he-he-hess. I just want to cry for a little bit." And she did. When she fake cries she'll stop to announce it brightly, looking pleased with herself, "I just did a little cry, because I am a little sad." She toys with these announcements, seeing if she can use them to get something: "I am crying because I am sad because I want some apple juice. Wah." When I am on my game I find it clever and interesting to see her work through the emotion/response/reaction cycles. But this morning I wasn't interested in seeing her work out how she could get the breakfast she wanted by crying about the breakfast she had. I wasn't interested in her sincerely tearful implosion after I cheered her up by showing her how her three banana segments could be put together like a puzzle to form a whole banana...and then they kept falling back apart when she'd try to pick them up as one. I tried to sit her on my lap to comfort her, which worked until I tried to get her to eat breakfast, and she would dissolve into tears again.

Then I was angry that I had to try to make her eat, angry that I had to try to rush an unwilling toddler to daycare (why exactly was she in daycare again?), angry that I had to then go to work instead of hanging out with her, angry when Anonybabe refused to get herself out of the car, angry when Anonybabe was suddenly in a great mood as I carried her in, angry when Igor made sure to complain to me that the previous day Anonybabe just chattered and chattered while they were trying to get her to take one of those fucking naps that I hate because they fuck with Anonybabe's bedtime, angry that yet again all I seem to hear about is how inconvenient Anonybabe is.

The result was two angry emails to Anonyhub. Why are we doing this? Why can't we change it? Why aren't you helping me? What the hell are you doing with your time anyway?

Not really fair considering I was just telling Anonyhub how happy I was with his jobless status a few days ago. And just last night I was thinking what an amazing housekeeper he is. Truly. And he's been making damn sure that he finds ways to contribute to the household income - arranging for unemployment, and selling off his record collection as needed.

There's a lot going on here, including a couple of nights without enough sleep and a shitty diet that probably has my blood sugar on the fritz, but I know I'm not happy working 5 days a week. Who is? But I want something different, and I'm tired of asking Anonyhub to make the necessary changes to make me like my life.

Me, me, me, Meeeeeeeeeee

2009-09-08T18:00:00.000-05:00

Anonyhub and Anonybabe are off to visit his parents until Friday. If Anonybabe hadn't been so freaking psyched about going, you may have found me a bit verclempt. But she was happy to leave, so I am happy to see them go. Father/daughter bonding is good stuff. As is grandparent/grandchild bonding, if the grandchild is willing (no matter how bloody annoying said grandparents may be to their daughter-in-law). And Mama alone time is a sweet, sweet nectar that I'll be drinking deeply from this week.

Tonight, I set up a little writing nook, I watch Mad Men, I sleep.

Tomorrow, and the next night, I socialize with my lady friends.

Perhaps, if you see me this weekend, I'll be all aglow.

Cute stuff

2009-09-08T17:08:00.004-05:00

I've been trying to record little snippets of Anonybabe talking so you all can hear. It's just so hard to capture her very distinct cadence by writing about it. Hopefully soon I can figure out how to edit down the digital clips that I've captured on my iphone.

In the meantime, here are some things she said recently that cracked my shit up. Anonybabe is not so scatological, but since I think it's funny when she is, my stories are. Perhaps I'll remember some sweeter ones to share later:

This one is a little old, but must be shared. I should preface that when Anonybabe wants to pretend like she's someone else, she'll say "grow, grow, Grow, Grow, GROW" in this little escalating sing-song, and then say hi to you as whatever she is pretending to be. I have no idea where she got it, but she does it a lot. This is my favorite example. Anonyhub was peeing with the bathroom door open, as he is wont to do, and Anonybabe walked in to watch him.
Her: Daddy, what is that? (pointing to his penis) Do you have a tail?
Him: No, honey, that's a penis. Remember, we've talked about them bef.....
Her: Daddy, do you have hair on your boodie?
Him: Well, yeah; I do.
Her: grow, grow, Grow, Grow, GROW! Hi, daddy! I'm some boodie hair!

Yesterday I was taking a bath while Anonybabe and Anonyhub played in her room. At one point I immersed my head and blew bubbles out of my mouth, and Anonybabe heard me and asked her dad what that noise was. He told Anonybabe I had probably farted in the bathtub, and she promptly made up a song about me farting in the bathtub, but not in the potty, but making bubbles in the bathtub. Hee.

Friendly Fires

2009-09-02T10:33:00.004-05:00

Thanks to my friends who very nicely encouraged me over the past couple of weeks while I let myself play the drama queen over Anonybabe's physical screening.

And I apologize to anybody who was offended over my histrionics about a little physical screening.

I feel I should explain, a bit.

To kids who can't do what the other kids can do (i.e. everybody):

I don't feel it's the end of the world because Anonybabe can't run, jump, hurtle down the playground as fast as other kids her age. In fact, deep down I think it's no big deal at all. I hope I'm right about this, but I think it's just a part of her story. A part of her personality. Chica is freaking deliberate. Chica is hella slow to move. Whether she does it because she is compensating for this or that doesn't seem like it matters that much. It makes her unique, it makes her frustrating as hell, and it makes her delightful, all at once.

So my depressed freak out over Anonybabe's screening wasn't so much because *sob* "Anonybabe is slow! Horrors! However shall we survive?!"

My depressed freak out was more of a crisis of confidence as a parent. I had already decided that Anonybabe was what she was. And then her teacher (who I'd incidentally never heard one positive thing about Anonybabe from) tells me that she thinks Anonybabe needs to be screened for a physical problem the same way she might tell me Anonybabe needs to be screened for cancer. Like she needs to tread carefully. Like I might start banging my head on her toddler sized table and shaking my fists at the sky. Like I shouldn't have been trusting my gut instincts when they told me Anonybabe was just fine. Like all of the things I'd been using to gauge her development and well-being (her communicativeness, her inquisitiveness, her imagination) were dwarfed by her terrible slowness.

Which made me stop and think...should I be concerned? Should I be as hushed and shifty-eyed about the fact that my daughter can't get air when she tries to jump? Should I be as dismissive about her verbal precociousness? Was she precocious at all? Was I in an Anonyfamily bubble?

And here's where I started to go off the deep end. My childhood was steeped in religious fervor, isolation, and a sense of family angst. It was a world unto itself that was completely turned upside down more than once. So it didn't seem like such a crazy stretch to imagine my view of Anonybabe was way off while her seemingly nice, seasoned veteran of a daycare teacher's was spot on. And since her daycare teacher seemed only frustrated and sad about Anonybabe's place in the world alongside her peers, my first step was to see if I could drop my view of Anonybabe and see whether I could pick hers up. Fortunately, I could not. But I did some amazing emotional gymnastics to try to do so.

It is to my everlasting shame that I seem to always give someone else's opinion the benefit of the doubt before my own. And, if I can continue being a bit of a drama queen: it scares me about my soundness as a mama. If your mom can be so easily pushed out of your corner, that can't be great for your self-esteem.

And on and on on this downward spiral.

See what I'm doing here? Going down this path that is less and less connected with reality? It's like going on the Oompa Loompa boat ride. Thanks for taking the mini-tour with me.

Anyway, the downside is that I was dismayed and embarrassed to see how far afield I could go just by somebody telling me that Anonybabe might want to get a little help climbing the monkey bars.

The upside is that now I know what it takes to make some of my old-standing issues blossom. And I know that I want to work on getting said issues under control. Maybe if I feel up to it, later I'll talk in more detail about these mystery issues.

In the mean time - thanks for being nice.

Let the Healing Begin, PLEASE

2009-08-26T13:35:00.002-05:00

So the screening for Anonybabe was ridiculously pleasant. Not to mention low key. Three therapists (one occupational, one developmental, one physical) met us at Anonybabe's daycare. Anonyhub, Anonybabe's teacher and I sat in a back room full of toys and foam steps and chatted while the therapists took turns asking Anonybabe to perform certain tasks: draw a line on a piece of paper, point to a picture, stand on one foot. She loved the attention; she loved doing the tasks.

After 30 minutes of this, the therapists each gave a quick evaluation and let us know whether they recommended any therapy: occupational - no, developmental - nyet, physical - yes, if we wanted to. More or less, Anonybabe has the physical prowess of a 17 month old, in a 29 month old body. The physical therapist seemed about as concerned about this as I would have liked to see her be, in other words: not very. We are going to give physical therapy a whirl since there's no real reason not to: it looks like it'll be cheap, pleasant, and fun for Anonybabe. We can back out at any time if we don't like it (which I don't foresee happening). It could make Anonybabe feel more comfortable in her body. Might help, couldn't hurt.

During the whole process, the daycare provider sat in the corner and cooed over Anonybabe, saying what a good girl, what a smart girl she was, how very articulate, on and on to the therapists. How she was just overwhelmed when there were other kids around and wouldn't try anything physically challenging. Why hasn't she been saying any of this stuff to me?! Further, why did I need so badly to hear her say it?

*Sigh*
1). I have a lot of old issues surrounding iq and performance that seem to be swarming to the surface with this whole fiasco.
2). I think I'm unnecessarily looking for a way to vilify our daycare provider so that I have an excuse to leave her. I did the same thing with my OB-GYN until I realized...she doesn't have to be evil for me to want to leave. She can be fran-freaking-tastic and yet wrong for our family.

House of Glass

2009-08-24T10:56:00.000-05:00

I don’t know why the physical screening of Anonybabe is wreaking such havoc on my sense of self, my sense of place.

When her daycare teacher never comments on how verbose Anonybabe is, how imaginative she is, how she’s picked up quickly on songs, and letters, and numbers, but instead only talks about how achingly slow Anonybabe is on the playground and how she likes to play by herself, I think maybe I have a very warped view of my daughter.

I had decided to think of my daughter as super smart in some ways, super slow in others. And now that I’m told she may need physical therapy, my concept of who she is and where she is has been busted wide open and I find myself panicking about things that in turn seem ridiculous and menacing.

What about Anonybabe’s stilted way of talking? The way she hesitates between each word? I think she has a killer vocabulary for a two year old, but what do I know? I’m not around 2 year olds all day. Maybe I should have thought of her strange intonation and peculiar cadence as a sign of SOMETHING WRONG (insert doom music here).

And yes, chica doesn’t run, jump, play with ease. But she’s progressing. Always has been. At her own turtle pace. Was it wrong of me to think she was just being so very herself by taking her time?

If nobody else sees my daughter as special, why should I? Am I just a stage mom in Anonymom clothing? I feel like there are so many ugly things to unpack here, and I’m not even sure where to start.

I want to go back to seeing this as just physical therapy. A helping hand. I really hope that the therapist who screens Anonybabe says something nice, something comforting about her. My fragile sense of self could use the boost.

Right Round, Baby

2009-08-23T00:51:00.002-05:00

Whew. Nothing was as I expected today.

First off, Anonybabe and I had an impetuously planned playdate with a little girl and her father; we met them through Anonybabe's daycare.

I asked them over after a day where Anonybabe must have asked me to play dollhouse with her 60 times. I thought maybe inviting somebody over who also wants to play dollhouse all day long might be in order. "Do you want to ask Mira over to play dollhouse?" In response Anonybabe grabbed her red toy phone and pretended to dial the numbers. "Hewwo?" she said, pausing appropriately. "Miwa? Do you want to come over and pway doll house wit me? .... Ok. If you say so." I hunted down the family's number and made a playdate on the spot.

I was excited about it. The parents seem to be in the same boat as Anonyhub and I: not the oldest parents on the block, but no spring chickens, a little overwhelmed by their lone 2 year old daughter who is blond, bright, chubby, and bossy. I envisioned commiserating about the surprises and hardships of parenting over a beer while the girls played.

But the girls did not play, and parental bonding didn't really commence. Our interactions in general were pleasant enough, but the net result of their visit was that it depressed the hell out of me. Anonybabe was quiet. Withdrawn. Unhappy. Crotchety. Is this how she acts around her classmates all the time? I know she doesn't dislike this Mira. She clambers for playtime and attention when older kids come to visit. And Mira is a busy girl, she gets around. It was painfully obvious how slow to move Anonybabe is. Especially when we went to a playground and Mira was climbing and sliding and running and jumping. At one point I started to tear up when Mira clambered up a spiral pole that Anonybabe has been fascinated by for the last year but can't even begin to climb alone. I said something about how bright Mira seems to her dad and he said something along the lines of "I think so, but I don't have a point of comparison. But her daycare teacher says she thinks she's really advanced and should probably meet the teachers at the Montissori school down the street." Then I think he tried to console us "I think it all evens out, kids develop at different speeds." I had such a whirlwind of emotions after that. Does anybody in Anonybabe's daycare see her as a cool and smart kid? Am I a crazy mom for thinking my daughter is great? Am I a crazy mom for worrying when other people don't think so? I didn't like the picture of myself that was developing, of me as a jealous angry mom who thinks my daughter that no one else sees as special is all that. Like I said, depressing.

Then we went to dinner with a botany professor friend of Anonyhub's, as well as the friend's dad. This professor is a delightful and charming teacher. He's enthusiastic and funny. But he tends to dominate the hell out of personal conversations, he goes off on happy tangents and doesn't come up for air for half hours at a time. I wasn't looking forward to dinner. But it was fricking wonderful. And Anonybabe was in a great mood: she chattered to herself and played with her food while we listened to the professor's father dominate the conversation with funny stories about Timothy Leary and his own dabblings in transcendental meditation.

I just wanted to cuddle Anonybabe the whole time we were at dinner. And it was good to remember that even though Anonybabe seems to shrivel when she's around other 2 year olds, she's boisterous and fun around adults, preteens, even 4 year olds. And when I can step the hell away from comparisons, I can enjoy her for who she is. Whether she's smart or slow, short-fused or imaginative.

My girl.

What not

2009-08-20T14:07:00.002-05:00

I'm so angry that I'm working and Anonyhub is not.

That is all.

Actually, there's a lot more.

This morning, upon waking and surly without her pacifier, Anonybabe said to Anonyhub: "Daddy, I'm feeling pretty upset right now." I couldn't help guffawing from the next room. And then I clapped my hand over my mouth and hoped that she hadn't heard. I don't want to give her any reason to stop saying things like that.

Anonybabe's daycare provider has suggested that we get Anonybabe screened for some sort of physical disability. She was slow to crawl, and to walk. She still runs at quarter speed, can't get any air when she jumps, is loathe to climb on and off of our bed without some help. And she's a month shy of 2 1/2. I had kind of put worrying about her development aside because she's just barely hit all her milestones. She's always been so slow and deliberate; she'll hang back and study people and situations carefully before cautiously wading in. I had chalked this up to her personality. But our daycare provider thinks maybe she's cautious because moving doesn't come as easily for her. She had another kid who was screened and found to have underdeveloped stomach muscles (or some such) and has had a little physical therapy to help develop them for the past year, to great effect. We'll see. Anonybabe is supposed to get an evaluation this week. I oscillate between excitement (yea! physical therapy for 2 year olds is probably fun, and maybe Anonybabe can experience the joy of hell-for-leather movement sooner rather than later) and nervousness (what if this is an ugly, joyless process that only focuses on what's wrong with Anonybabe?).

Which leads me to a bitchpoint. If I may: my daughter is exceptional. She has crazy mad skills in certain areas. She is unique.

Quite honestly, so is every kid on the planet. It floors me that there really is something amazing about every person out there. I think I've always liked to believe this. It feels hopeful. It feels nice. But since being around children, I find that it's true. If you spend enough time with any kid, they are going to do something that knocks your socks off. Ride a bike. Tell a joke. Climb a slide. Solve a puzzle. Dance. Sing. Construct. Give you a well-timed hug. So much earlier, so much better, so much more naturally than you ever would have dreamed.

And of course, we think Anonybabe, with all of her quirks, has her own areas in which she shines. I guess I thought when we sent her to daycare, I would have another person to talk shop about Anonybabe with. I imagined someone else seeing all of the cool things she does, and gossiping about her with us at the end of the day. I imagined this daycare provider doing that with all of her kids and all of their parents.

But have I heard of any positive Anonybabe peccadilloes since she started daycare? I have not. But I have heard plenty of negatives: "Mama, Anonybabe is having trouble walking, and we think the diapers you use are hindering her." "Mama, why don't you be patient with your daughter, and let her climb the stairs by herself?" "I kept trying and trying to get Anonybabe to go down the slide by herself today, but she didn't want to go."

Now I expected to hear about how Anonybabe could be challenging. I expected her to be behind when it came to socializing, and I knew she was a slow mover. I looked forward to getting a fresh perspective on areas where Anonybabe could use some help. I expected to hear ways we could work with her at home so she could be more comfortable and more amenable to daycare.

But I expected to hear some nice things about Anonybabe's strengths as well as her weaknesses. Even something as mundane as "Wow! She knows her numbers really well for her age." or "My, Anonybabe is really verbal." Areas where I'm proud of her. Areas where she's comfortable. Areas where she shines.

Feels like I'm only hearing about what's wrong with Anonybabe from this daycare provider. It didn't help that she used buzzwords like "she's behind" and "it couldn't hurt to get her evaluated and get her some physical therapy, then she could even be ahead of her peers". ??? !! ??

I can't tell if I'm being overly sensitive, or if my mama radar is sending the alarm and telling me to go somewhere else and find someone who actually likes being around Anonybabe. Who actually sees what she's doing, not just what she isn't doing.

I just want to be adored, is that so wrong?

2009-08-06T18:36:00.004-05:00

We have our second set of house guests within a couple of weeks, and Anonybabe has been forking out the canned ham for all of them. She loves the activity, loves the attention, and I suspect she is wearing out our more accommodating guests with her calls of "Guys! Hey guys! Do you want to play in my new room with me?" "Guys! Hey guys! Do you want to play dollhouse with me?" "Guys! Hey guys!" every few minutes. She is ebullient, and persistent.

I found myself worrying that our guests didn't like her. More accurately, I found myself worrying that all of our guests weren't enamored with her.

And then I realized what I was doing. I want everybody to love Anonybabe completely all the time. I get a little panicked if I think they are less than enthralled with her. I preemptively talk her down in front of other people. My sister does this with her son, too. We do this with ourselves.

The shifting of the baggage has begun! And it is bullshit! How do I stop myself from wanting her to be looooved by everybody? How do I stop myself from wanting me to be loved by everybody?

Sigh. Is there a way to love Anonybabe for Anonybabe and to love me for me? Warts and all? Over the top exuberance, and bitchy low moods? And let other people decide for themselves if they want to partake of us, and let them go on their merry ways if they don't?

I feel like I need some psychical therapy. Anybody know any good exercises?

A surge of blood

2009-08-04T15:05:00.004-05:00

Can I share something goofy and narcissistic with you?

I'm addicted to Scramble - it's a facebook game like online Boggle, where you try to find words on a grid of letters. You can see the scores of other players. Being a quick typist and a word geek (don't forget obsessive-compulsive lazy-ass office worker who spends much too much time playing) I get high scores, the highest of my friends.

But an ex-boyfriend got within three points of my score, and when I saw that he did, I felt this overwhelming surge of lust for him.

Which cracked me up.

And really, who do you share something like that with except your blog buds?

I am simultaneously embarrassed/charmed by me.

Up for air

2009-07-16T08:53:00.002-05:00

Hi, all. I've been in the process (boo!) of moving (yea!), ingesting Anonyhub's new unexpected (boo!) jobless status (yea...!...?), and tolerating a visit from the in-laws (boo!) who helped us move (yea!).

I've been coping with all the hoopla by spending any spare moment at work playing soothing, mind-numbing computer games. Ah, sweet mental nothingness. Actually, that stuff is more like jack-off material for the brain. Gives your mind a frenzy of alluring puzzles to play with, which it can completely immerse itself in for a couple of minutes. Then, when the game is over, blink, realize where you are and that your stress inducer hasn't gone away, and then immediately dive back in. We all have our ways of self-medicating. Mine happens to be Scramble.

Anonybabe is adjusting well to the new place, is alternately dismayed and delighted with it and her grandparents. I'm just tired and overwhelmed with all the unpacking we have to do and will be happy when Anonyhub's parents leave today. They have been incredibly helpful moving things from place to place and watching Anonybabe, but I feel like they are pissing on my territory. My mother-in-law has a way of throwing out a million tiny thoughtless insults that I waste a lot of energy trying to ignore: "Well, your place is a wreck!" "That just looks hopeless!" "Well, I told your husband that Anonybabe should take a nap" sandwiched between endless rambling about their timeshare and home renovations. She didn't pick up after herself or do dishes, and I found myself passive-aggressively leaving all of the dishes in the sink for her to do.

All of this is done until the next family get-together.

Anonyhub and I thought we would unpack as we went, and we did for a while, but now we've just run out of steam. Any tips from you who've moved on how to rejuvenate? Should we just walk away and spend an afternoon on the beach together to regroup? Yes? Good answer!

S'kid stuff

2009-06-23T00:33:00.002-05:00

Where the Wild Things Are:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RY-dXsR_ZFg

Where the shits and giggles are:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wsLqKAvKiQM

Mad Marriage

2009-06-16T12:18:00.003-05:00

Anonyhub and I have watched a few episodes of "Mad Men" together over the past couple of nights. Good show. It's mostly about sexism so far, and set in the 50's so the characters can say outrageous things no one could get away with now.

We talked for hours after both of our TV-watching sessions ended. It was nice. Anonyhub said some things I didn't expect him to say; he made me laugh, and vice versa. We talked about sex, and past relationships. For so long, we've only ever talked about Anonybabe. We were/are both a bit obsessed with her.

I like that my focus on Anonybabe is easing a bit. She's still the apple of my eye, but the more I see she can fend for herself, the more I let go and let her hold her own. It felt appropriate - if exhausting - to play hovercraft over her for a couple of years. Now, it doesn't feel so appropriate. I feel like I'm waking up and realizing I have a life, I have a husband, I have some goals. It's pretty exciting, actually. Knowing that I have all of these things and a kick-ass little kid to watch blossom along the way.

Help

2009-06-15T13:47:00.004-05:00

To the two people who read my post now and again: Hi. I found a couple of parenting magazines that accept submissions from people such as you and me, and I was thinking of recycling a blog entry to send in to them. Be it silly or sad, is there any blog entry you found memorable? Or, more likely, a subject I may have touched on that you think about on a regular basis? Let me know and I'll try to send something in. I do love the smell of rejection letters in the morning.

Thanks.

Dad, Dad, Daddy-O

2009-06-15T12:26:00.000-05:00

http://www.dadcentric.com/2009/06/black-hockey-dadcentric-reviews-bad-kids.html

Toy Story

2009-06-15T10:49:00.003-05:00

What is it with toy stores and throw-away parenting revelations? Because I had another one standing by the wooden doll houses Saturday.

Anonybabe has been asking to go to the toy store a lot. We take her to one Anonyhub and I frequented well before she was born. They have a Thomas the Train play table that she loves, and balls, and books, and...well, toys. And I like taking her because she likes it so much. Although taking a 1-2 year old is not as fun as going alone. I can still remember wandering freely through the store and wanting this or that tidbit for my very own. Now I just spend my time making sure Anonybabe doesn't wing a Thomas across the crowded store and accidentally hit someone, or mouth the sippy cups emblazoned with kids' names, or wander out the door.

As I was leaning on a shelf and yawning lustily while Anonybabe was put a wooden doll to sleep in his wooden doll house bed (green wooden dollhouse, complete with little wooden recycling station and little wooden solar panels...I didn't know whether to cheer or roll my eyes), I realized it was my own damn fault I was bored. I was in a fucking toy store. So I willed myself to at least imagine - if I weren't watching Anonybabe and could play with anything - what I would play with. I didn't realize how rusty my own play wheels were until I felt them laboriously grinding into motion. It was really hard to think about which toys tickled my fancy, honestly. But being there was a lot more fun when I started trying to engage myself. And I thought of things I could play with Anonybabe. Things I actually want to do. Not that we should always be playing what Mommy wants to play, but having two people with differing but vibrant ideas about what constitutes fun has to be a lot better than one zombie deadbeat wishing she were watching TV instead.

But going to the playground still sucks. I was always more of a stay-inside-and-watch-PBS kind of kid. I don't like playing on the playground equipment. I like walking, which bores the shit out of Anoybabe. We'll have to meet in the middle on that one, but at least I am trying to think creatively about ways I, and hence we could have more actual fun.

Shake, Shake, Shake, Senora

2009-06-09T16:28:00.000-05:00

Coincidence? I think not.

2009-06-07T16:29:00.002-05:00

It feels like I say this every few days, but it seems true: something has shifted. I feel tolerant of Anonybabe's peccadillos all of the sudden. I don't know why. But there are a few happenings clustered around this feeling that may or may not be related.

Happening the first: Anonybabe's daycare had their annual picnic on Friday. All the kids and parents got together at 4 o'clock for pizza and chit chat. (It was fun; a crowd of middle-aged introverts with only one or two kids each. Anonyhub and I are hitting it off nicely with several families). At one point Anonybabe wandered off with a balloon she'd been given and managed to pop it on the lawn. I asked her to pick up the pieces of orange rubber and throw them in the trash can. While we were walking to the trash, she got distracted by some revelry by the swing set and threw her balloon bits down to run over and join in. I called her back, and as I stood over her, dictating that she pick up each piece she'd missed, I had a moment of clarity. I was being a fucking asshole. Yes, I did and do want to teach Anonybabe to be responsible for herself, to clean up her messes and be generally considerate. But I was using my responsibility to teach as an excuse for being lazy and rude. If I were with an adult who was picking up, I'd have given them a hand. Especially at a freaking picnic. Something in me relaxed - I decided it was okay to use some common sense and a sliding scale when it came to teaching my daughter responsibility. Hmm, it wasn't until I wrote this sentence just now that I realize this was exactly what Anonyhub was lecturing me about last week.

Happening the second: I finally tried spanking Anonybabe. A sharp slap on the hand that I warned her about ahead of time. It didn't work at all. She looked at me quizzically after the first slap and then laughed nervously after the second. It was bedtime and she wouldn't be quiet. The punishment didn't help the crime because she was venting nervous energy to begin with and the slaps just amped her up. But I felt strangely light and free after trying it. I'd come to the conclusion that spanking isn't a big deal and is worth a try, and I'd decided if it worked, I was gonna use it. It didn't (that time - not saying I won't bust it out again) and I lost the guilty feeling that I was avoiding a simple fix for no good reason.

The upshot is that I found myself being laid back with Anonybabe yesterday. Enjoying her and/or keeping my cool when she went off the handle. She's been a horror today and - knock on wood - it isn't getting to me like it usually does. I hope the self-control and tolerance lasts, because it's delightful. Something about it feels like it did when Anonybabe was a newborn, and being a parent was nothing but draining, but I had this deep, deep sense of peace. For the moment, I feel like my gut instincts are on track.

Incidentally, I have also been getting more Anonymom time. Time with friends, time to myself.

Burning Buns of Fire

2009-06-02T11:54:00.002-05:00

I have never wanted to spank Anonybabe as badly as I wanted to spank her last night. It would have been incredibly satisfying to smack her little behind hard. I only speak the ugly truth.

She spent the early evening throwing things at me after I asked, then told, then harshly told her not to. This is not something she's usually wont to do; she casually tossed my shoe to me when I walked in the door "Mama? You want your shoooe?" and after I asked her not to do that she spent the rest of the night observing the effects of launching this or that item in my direction (a ball, a food-covered fork).

And then we had an awful bedtime. Much of it our fault, she'd slept in with Anonyhub and didn't take a nap, and then we didn't get her to bed early so that she was incredibly slap happy by the time we turned out the lights and told her it was quiet time. She babbled and sang at the top of her lungs, stood up and crashed down in her bed, kicked and squirmed. None of this would be an issue if we didn't share a bedroom. But I was also going to bed early because I was nursing a cold. Plus Anonybabe has pulled this sort of stunt in daycare, when she's in a room of 2 year olds trying to take a nap. The girl does need to learn to be quiet when we ask her to be quiet. She feeds on the attention she gets from being loud when she's supposed to shush up and it's fucking obnoxious. She attention-mongered for something like half an hour, pushing my buttons, pushing Anonyhubs, giggling nervously and giddily when we would snap harshly at her to be quiet. I longed to slap her behind repeatedly, vengefully. Thankfully, Anonyhub saw how unhinged I was getting and he kept me at bay.

The only time she would be remotely quiet was when we were in her face. Anonyhub finally picked her up and pinned her arms and legs and rocked and shushed her to sleep.

Sigh. Did she run the show last night? Yeah, she did. Would a spanking have been in order? Possibly. I'm saving that for my nuclear option. It may be that they would work beautifully with Anonybabe and I'm doing us both a disservice by not spanking her. It's a little arbitrary to withhold it when I've pinched and yanked her in the past. But I don't know that spanking is such a good idea for me either. I had weird spanking experiences as a child and so the act is a little bit tainted for me. Plus they didn't work on me, so I'm a little bit biased. But I don't think physical pain is such a horrible thing to inflict on a kid, it's the psychological jabs you throw that are the problem. And those can happen with or without the application of palm to behind. I don't think they are such a big deal.

We'll see. I get the impression discipline is a custom-made ride for each parent and child, so I don't feel so bad that I'm flying blind, here.

The old girl now has it

2009-05-31T00:06:00.002-05:00

That was invigorating.

I'm still tipsy from a get-together I just got back from; a friend of ours is moving to L.A., to try to make it as a stand-up comedienne. She had a goodbye party tonight and Anonyhub and I stopped by with a sleeping Anonybabe.

I wasn't expecting to enjoy it. At all. I worried that a judgmental ex-boyfriend was going to be there; I worried that I'd see people I'd always had trouble making chit-chat with (people I hadn't seen in 8 years).

But it was fun! Anonyhub had to drag me away. I was ready to booze and chat it up far into the night. On the walk home, I told Anonyhub I think I was expecting a party with 20-30 somethings, like the one's I experienced 10 years ago. I didn't count on everyone maturing as much as we had.

Seriously? In almost every way, I love not being in my 20s any more.

2009-05-29T16:12:00.004-05:00

So for three days now, Anonybabe has been a freaking blast. I'm glad; I was really starting to worry after 3 odd weeks of just feeling distant and alienated from the chick. I felt guilty. I felt panicky that the alienation was going to last. I obsessively fantasized that we were already that mother/daughter combo - the one that just doesn't get each other. Ever.

Apparently fate is offering us at least a little respite. All of her oddities are now charming to me instead of grating; I'm not sure why. Today we went on a walk and Anonybabe brought Francis her stuffed cat. She kept chanting "Super Fwancis, meow, meow, meow, MEOW!" and on the last meow she would toss him down the sidewalk. If he got particularly good air she would giggle and say "Oh! Fwancis! Dat was good fwy!" and pick him up to do it again. She also freaking delights in walking under or over chains used to separate sidewalks from strips of grass. I know that doesn't sound charming, per se, but somehow Anonybabe makes it work. We both know she couldn't have done that particular trick 2 months ago without doing a faceplant on the sidewalk. She'll straighten up, eyes shining and trumpet "Mama! Mama! I go ober de chain! Can I do it again?"

Anonyhub gave me some food for thought that I haven't quite figured out how to digest yet. I mentioned last night how much more I'm enjoying our daughter and how it helps that she hasn't tried to bite, pinch, hit, or flaunt her disobedience in a fuck-you manner for three whole days.

"Yeah..." he started a line he's tried to start before with me. "Sometimes I think with the biting and hitting, you should just let it go." This is the point where I usually launch into a diatribe about those kinds of things always being unacceptable and how I want firm boundaries around them, and on and on. This time I waited to hear Anonyhub out.

"You get yourself so worked up about disciplining her...I think you work yourself into a corner where you make it impossible to like her very much. You might do more damage to your relationship to her than the good you do trying to teach her to act nice."

Humph. And Hmmmm. How right is he?

Angel in the Corn

2009-05-26T22:11:00.005-05:00

As if my daughter heard some of my recent inner angst, she served up a heaping plate of awesome tonight that I enjoyed royally.

We had a nice evening from the get-go: sitting at the table and eating beans and rice (which she managed to eat without upending solids or liquids onto herself or the floor. She smeared just enough on her chin and cheeks to make herself adorable). Reading Sesame Street books in the Laz-E-Boy. Pretending like her puzzle pieces were Thomas the Tank Engine characters. "Mama? Can Naughty Diesel say 'Yes, Thomas, what you say, Thomas"? She was being so charming that it was easy to indulge her entertainment whims. "What do you want to do next?" I would ask. "Read a book? Ok. Read it again? Sure. Eat cinnamon bread with a double pat of butter? Why not?"

So when she asked to put on her chicken costume around bedtime, I rolled with it.

She has the most awesome hand-me-down chicken costume in the history of chicken costumes for two year olds. It's a white, full body affair with Foghorn Leghorn feet that fit over her shoes and a little hood for her head complete with a red crest. The body is a fuzzy white, and in it she looks like a little chicken cherub.

She was so excited to put it on; she started flapping her hands manically when she spied it in the coat closet. "My chicken out-fit! Heee! My chicken out-fit!" Once I snapped it on, she let out a stream of "boks" in time to her footfalls. Then she started speaking her version of chickanese, adding a perfunctory "bok bok" to the end of every sentence. "I am going to the kitchen bok bok." "Mama, can I wide in my gween stwoller bok bok?" I of course answered in kind. "Ok, bok bok". "I'd be happy to push you bok bok".

And then to top things off, she fussed only a very little when it was time to take it off and go to bed, and then sang herself to sleep while Anonyhub and I putzed around in the living room.

Oh, Anonybabe. More, please. I could eat this up with a spoon until the day I die.

I just like to watch you bleed

2009-05-26T13:13:00.004-05:00

Anonybabe vacillates between appalling me and making my heart want to break open with love and gratitude.

She's been hitting, biting, pinching to get attention. Once when she pinched me a couple of times as I told her not to, I warned her I was going to pinch her back to let her know how unpleasant it was, then let her have it, hard, on the arm. She gasped, flinched, and moaned for a moment. Then she gathered herself and said brightly, "Mama? Can I pinch you and you will pinch me back?" It's moments like these that steer me away from spanking.

The time-outs in her "little bed" seem to be working somewhat. She followed my script for getting positive attention, asking me "Mama, will you talk to me?" exactly as I'd requested her to do instead of biting me.

I pointed out a little grub wrapped around a blade of grass on Sunday, and carefully scooped it up with a leaf so she could take a closer look. She promptly grabbed it and squished it between her thumb and forefinger, watching its brown juices ooze out onto her hand. I gasped out a "No!" and told Anonybabe that she'd killed the worm. "Oh," she repeated sadly, "I killed it." "You have to be gentle with animals; gentle," I said. "Otherwise you can hurt them." She picked up the grub again and squished it in exactly the same way. She wasn't being willful (for once, there's plenty of that), but she was clinically detached as she crushed the grub. I'm wary of this cool detachment, this lack of empathy.

My faults are legion: I can be breathtakingly self-centered and thoughtless, lethargic, depressive, self-righteous. But inflicting physical pain, on purpose, without regret? Not one of my faults. So I have a hard time seeing this in Anonybabe.

I'm Posting Because I'm Not Sleeping, or, In Which I Regurgitate My Day With Little to No Editing

2009-05-23T04:54:00.006-05:00

(Yawn). Oh, this is much better than reading facebook in the pre-dawn living room. At least while I type I can close my eyes.

Good morning. I'm looking forward to a long, no-obligation-to-anyone-but-ourselves day with Anonybabe. Yesterday was awesome; we looked at a couple of apartments in the morning and finally signed up for the one we really like. It's near Lake Michigan, in Evanston. The bedrooms are small, but it does have 2, plus a sunroom, living room, dining room, and mudroom (ah, sweet separate living space!). Plus it has a lovely little deck and yard that stoked my fantasies of entertaining on a regular basis. Come on over from mid-July onward, ya'll. We aren't but a hop skip and a jump from the Metra Evanston Main Street stop.

After putting down a security deposit, Anonybabe and I spent the day playing through all of the parks around the place, and they are legion. A tiny toddler parked tucked between two buildings a half-block away. A larger park complete with basketball courts and large separate play areas for toddlers and big kids 2 blocks away. And then, if you're feeling brave enough to cross treacherous Sheridan road, there's a janky but charming park by Lake Michigan, where Anonybabe swung on the weathered blue baby swing looking out over a seemingly endless expanse of water. We met a mom and 2 year old at the first park that looked freakishly similar to us, and who I easily chatted up. We heard two women talking in what I believe was Italian in the second park, breaking into stilted English only long enough for one to say to the other, "Who suffered more, Prometheus or Job?" (??). We had a nice time at the lake park, where tons of dog-walkers were letting their charges sniff around. A lady who wanted to let her dog off the leash came over to ask our permission first. She let us interact with her dog to assure us he was safe with kids. Max slobbered on us a bit and then took off like a shot. When we were leaving the lake park, Anonybabe said "dat waydee tay 'Goo Bah'; can you tay 'Goo Bah', mama?" I thought she wanted me to say "Good bye", so I kept saying it over and over at her request, until I realized from her intonations she was saying "Good Dog!" Once I said it, Anonybabe grinned to herself and we were able to move on.

Man, Anonybabe is such a little weirdo. I can't seem to help but see her this way. I don't think I'm going to try to change that. I sort of feel like the way we fundamentally perceive each other was written long, long ago. I can and will try to treat her with as much love and respect as possible, and stay conscious of enjoying her in the moment, but my basic perception has a life of its own. As it should. I had a good talk with my (admittedly senile) grandmother while visiting Texas last weekend. The gist of a particularly nice stretch of conversation was that people really are born who they are and there isn't much you can do to change it. Parenthood is the serenity prayer writ large.

So my daughter perplexes me, is what I'm trying to say. She's smart, but does things that I just don't get. Right now she vacillates between being sweet and violent. One minute she's hitting my face and the next she's showering me with kisses. I really do feel like her test subject for the way she can treat the world. She seems to be trying out different behaviors, seeing how I'll react, tinkering with the behavior and then trying it in a slightly different way to see how I'll react. I'm sure she's doing this with everybody to a certain degree - she's new to all human relationships - but sometimes it's weird to see the wheels turning in her head. I don't think of her as a sweet or loving person. She doesn't seem warm to me. It seems she approaches life with her head, although her heart is there, beating strong, behind it.

Enough with the vagaries & inner landscape descriptions. Here are some sweet things she did lately:

In our bedroom now, her bed is close enough to mine that I can reach it when I'm lying down. She likes for me to reach through the bars when we're going to sleep and hold her hand. She held tight to it for several minutes as we tried to quiet her down the other night, then said. "Mama? Mama, I wike it when you hold my hand. I wike it when you hold my hand when I am going to sweep in my wittle bed."

She approached little kids on the playgrounds we went to yesterday and asked them if they wanted to join her! "You want to go down de swide wiff me?" This is a far cry from her usual stony-faced silence or "don't wook at me!" I was stunned and thrilled. She won't be an asocial shrinking violet! Yea, daycare!

She also stopped on the sidewalk yesterday to lay down on her stomach, hands on her chin, looking down. "What do you see?" I asked, looking around to see if our future neighbors were giving us the side-eye. "Mama! Mama, I am watching some ants!" I couldn't help eating that one up with a spoon, even if she was sprawled on the sidewalk like a dirty little street urchin.

I'm Posting Because I'm Not Sleeping, or, In Which I Regurgitate My Day With Little to No Editing

2009-05-23T04:05:00.000-05:00

(Yawn). Oh, this is much better than reading facebook in the pre-dawn living room. At least while I type I can close my eyes.

Good morning. I'm looking forward to a long, no-obligation-to-anyone-but-ourselves day with Anonybabe. Yesterday was awesome; we looked at a couple of apartments in the morning and finally signed up for the one we really like. It's near Lake Michigan, in Evanston. The bedrooms are small, but it does have 2, plus a sunroom, living room, dining room, and mudroom (ah, sweet separate living space!). Plus it has a lovely little deck and yard that stoked my fantasies of entertaining on a regular basis. Come on over from mid-July onward, ya'll. We aren't but a hop skip and a jump from the Metra Evanston Main Street stop.

After putting down a security deposit, Anonybabe and I spent the day playing through all of the parks around the place, and they are legion. A tiny toddler parked tucked between two buildings a half-block away. A larger park complete with basketball courts and large separate play areas for toddlers and big kids 2 blocks away. And then, if you're feeling brave enough to cross treacherous Sheridan road, there's a janky but charming park by Lake Michigan, where Anonybabe swung on the weathered blue baby swing looking out over a seemingly endless expanse of water. We met a mom and 2 year old at the first park that looked freakishly similar to us, and who I easily chatted up. We heard two women talking in what I believe was Italian in the second park, breaking into stilted English only long enough for one to say to the other, "Who suffered more, Prometheus or Job?" (??). We had a nice time at the lake park, where tons of dog-walkers were letting their charges sniff around. A lady who wanted to let her dog off the leash came over to ask our permission first. She let us interact with her dog to assure us he was safe with kids. Max slobbered on us a bit and then took off like a shot.

When we were leaving the lake park, Anonybabe said "dat waydee tay 'Goo Bah'; can you tay 'Goo Bah', mama?" I thought she wanted me to say "Good bye", so I kept saying it over and over at her request, until I realized from her intonations she was saying "Good Dog!" Once I said it, Anonybabe grinned to herself and we were able to move on.

Man, Anonybabe is such a little weirdo. I can't seem to help but see her this way. I don't think I'm going to try to change that. I sort of feel like the way we fundamentally perceive each other was written long, long ago. I can and will try to treat her with as much love and respect as possible, and stay conscious of enjoying her in the moment, but my basic perception has a life of its own. As it should. I had a good talk with my (admittedly senile) grandmother while visiting Texas last weekend. The gist of a particularly nice stretch of conversation was that people really are born who they are and there isn't much you can do to change it. Parenthood is the serenity prayer writ large.

So my daughter perplexes me, is what I'm trying to say. She's smart, but does things that I just don't get. Right now she vacillates between being sweet and violent. One minute she's hitting my face and the next she's showering me with kisses. I really do feel like her test subject for the way she can treat the world. She seems to be trying out different behaviors, seeing how I'll react, tinkering with the behavior and then trying it in a slightly different way to see how I'll react. I'm sure she's doing this with everybody to a certain degree - she's new to all human relationships - but sometimes it's weird to see the wheels turning in her head. I don't think of her as a sweet or loving person. She doesn't seem warm to me. It seems she approaches life with her head, although her heart is there, beating strong, behind it.

Enough with the vagaries & inner landscape descriptions. Here are some sweet things she did lately:

In our bedroom now, her bed is close enough to mine that I can reach it when I'm lying down. She likes for me to reach through the bars when we're going to sleep and hold her hand. She held tight to it for several minutes as we tried to quiet her down the other night, then said. "Mama? Mama, I wike it when you hold my hand. I wike it when you hold my hand when I am going to sweep in my wittle bed."

She approached little kids on the playgrounds we went to yesterday and asked them if they wanted to join her! "You want to go down de swide wiff me?" This is a far cry from her usual stony-faced silence or "don't wook at me!" I was stunned and thrilled. She won't be an asocial shrinking violet! Yea, daycare!

She also stopped on the sidewalk yesterday to lay down on her stomach, hands on her chin, looking down. "What do you see?" I asked, looking around to see if our future neighbors were giving us the side-eye. "Mama! Mama, I am watching some ants!" I couldn't help eating that one up with a spoon, even if she was sprawled on the sidewalk like a dirty little street urchin.

Love Bites

2009-05-20T06:54:00.003-05:00

"Shut your eyes and your mouth" were the last things Anonybabe heard through my gritted teeth last night.

This at midnight after I'd moved her from my bed to her little bed and she kept babbling and singing.

This after she'd just spent over an an hour babbling and singing and flopping around in my bed while I tried to go to sleep.

This after I'd tried to make nice for a day of neglect by reading to her in the "big bed" and letting her go to sleep there with me - something she'd asked for.

This after she'd bitten me (again) to get my attention. While I was on the computer "uh-huh"ing to her, she slowly leaned over and sunk her teeth into my arm. I whisked her to her little bed (she really seems to hate this punishment), wouldn't let her out no matter how much she cried and begged until she could tell me why I'd put her there and listed nicer ways she could get me to focus on her.

You know, I'm trying. I know why I'm being so shitty to Anonybabe. Why is she being so shitty to me?

Perhaps that's the wrong question. Perhaps the answer to that just leads to a morass of self-pity and woe. Perhaps the only question worth paying attention to is "what can I do to help Anonybabe be herself and a decent human being?"

But my question now is "Why the fuck do you keep biting and pinching me, Anonybabe, when you know it's just going to land you in the pokey?"

P.S. Yes, I'm considering spanking for this, but am trying to take the mildest method that works first. Besides, it seems illogical to tell Anonybabe I'm going to hurt her so she'll stop hurting me. Not that logic seems to have any bearing on this parenting gig sometimes. I'm not above doing whatever works.

Update

2009-05-14T01:12:00.002-05:00

Oh yeah. Have I mentioned that daycare has been going well? Really well. So well that my main problem with it now is jealousy over Franky the daycare provider. Anonybabe thinks she hangs the moon. And she does. She pushes Anonybabe in all the ways I'd love her to be pushed. Towards independence, towards kindness, towards empathy, towards responsibility, towards assertiveness. It isn't all butter cookies and rainbow marker sets, but I'm very glad Anonybabe is getting a little something outside of the Anonyfamily household.

Closer to Fine

2009-05-14T00:50:00.004-05:00

Bear with me, because this is going to sound more than a little pervy at first.

I am going to miss my daughter's vagina when she is potty trained. Don't get me wrong. I can't wait to put my poop wrangling days far behind me. When Anonybabe can take responsibility for her own bowel movements, I will be dancing in the streets. But it dawned on me yesterday when I was wiping her down and giving her a good spot check to make sure everything looked to be in good working order, the deep level of intimacy we are still swimming in. We left breastfeeding behind almost four months ago, and I'm still amazed at how quickly "our" community property boobs became mine again. In less than a month I became uncomfortable letting her nurse the few sporadic times she would ask for it. It ain't no thang but a chicken wang for me to clear her own feces out of all her crevices, but pretty soon that will be as odd as it is when she asks me if she can help me wipe.

Time is joyfully marching on. Anonybabe learns new and exciting skills every day. Her circle of experience and independence is ever widening. And I'm happy for her. But I'm a little sad to leave some of her baby closeness behind.

I feel like I need a little grieving ceremony each time this happens. Something to help me let go so I can look forward to the next big phase we pass through.

Set up Camp

2009-05-13T16:56:00.006-05:00

Anonybabe and I spent Mother's Day doing a 4 hour drive home from Indiana.

We'd "camped" Friday and Saturday nights with friends (read: one night of sleeping in a tent and then waking up and realizing what the fuck are we doing in the mud and cold in Indiana in May, and one night of sweet slumber in the Fort Wayne Holiday Inn). We did this without Anonyhub, as he had to work. Plus he hates camping. I've taken Anonybabe on one camping trip per spring/summer since she was in utero. At two years old, this last trip marked her third where the wind, sun, and rain actually tickled her skin. I'm not a big camper; I'm definitely not an extreme camper, but I love lounging outside for extended periods of time. I love making a fire and then orbiting around it for the next couple of days. I love the cycles of tent staking, firewood gathering, food prepping, drinking and sitting.

And I love the connection I get with Anonybabe. Every time we've gone I get a warm mother/daughter glowy feeling. I don't know if she enjoys camping too, or the extra attention, or she's just basking in the glow of my good mood.

This year the lovefest was a marked departure from the way I've been feeling about her lately. I've been feeling alienated from her. Like something's wrong with her or me. Like we'll always be strangers. I went into the camping trip feeling lonely and panicked about her mental health and my own, about our relationship, her education, her social skills, my parenting, yadda, yadda, yadda.

I don't know what shifted while we were slogging through the Indiana mud, or how long it's going to last, but for the past couple of days I feel like I've been able to accept her more for who she is. I worry that she's weird, that she's eccentric. She is. And right now that's delightful. God give me the grace to think that as much as possible during her lifetime. I really, really want to take pleasure in who she is. Even and especially if she's a crazy bee-yatch. And I really, really want to be myself around her. Messy and chaotic and inspired. Moody and lethargic and manic. I didn't realize how much I was putting on the sanitary mommy act around Anonybabe until I got to drop it for a few days. And that it may have more than a little bit to do with why I've been feeling so distant and blue.

Nothin' but a self-induced heartache

2009-05-09T01:31:00.005-05:00

I...don't know what to say. Tonight I want to grieve over a lost vision of my relationship with Anonybabe.

Between work and some househunting and writing assignments and a period that seems to have come back with a hormonal vengeance, I've been tetchy and short-tempered and distant with her. It's been hard to connect with her and I hoped that was a passing phase. She's also been driving me crazy; I don't always enjoy being around her. That has me worried and sad. It's ridiculous to expect to be on the same page as your kid forever, but more and more often I feel like I don't get her. And Instead of the warm, fuzzy idealistic future I've been envisioning, I see a darker, more isolated scenario. One in which I rarely understand where my daughter is coming from. One in which I don't even really want to be around her, and vice versa.

Here's what it boils down to: I think she's weird. The way she's always blabbering on drives me crazy. She catalogues everything that's happening, over and over. All 2 year olds are a little OCD but this...and her intonation is so peculiar. A friend said Anonybabe is like a living, breathing Dick and Jane book, but with a crazy lilt at the end of each word.

I worry there's something wrong, the kind of something wrong that'll keep us from being close. Even if it is only because Anonybabe is a garden variety eccentric.

How many mothers go through this? I suspect a lot, but it is unimaginable that the world can contain that much heartache.

****************************************
Later: Okay, I realize the asshattery involved in worrying so over a functioning, eating, sleeping, talking, and laughing 2 year old. What can I say? Old asshattery dies hard. No matter what her personality, her needs, her challenges, I have to learn the same lesson: enjoy her as she is, Anonyhub for Anonyhub, me for me no matter what. And guess what? It don't come natural. Sorry.

Missed Connections

2009-04-29T11:35:00.002-05:00

I miss my daughter today. Terribly.

So I just did this little thing I've been doing for the past year: I stop, and close my eyes, and take five breaths. And I pray, or meditate, or focus...I don't know what you really call it...but I take five breaths and think about the person or situation that's on my mind.

I didn't really know what to focus on. My ache because she wasn't here? No. Connecting with her? It seemed weird and invasive and needy to try to connect with her mentally while she was playing at daycare.

So I ended up just kind of thinking about connecting. About how I don't necessarily get my daughter. I think she's kind of strange and somewhat off putting with her constant verbal labelling of everything and her extreme introversion and her occasional tendency to bite, and on and on. How do you connect with someone you don't really get?

You spend a lot of time with them. A lot of time. So that's-a what I'm going to do. Moment by moment, build my connection.

Ida Maria

2009-04-28T15:12:00.001-05:00

And here's a little punk pop to cleanse your palette.

Oh my God! I can't get this out of my head:

Random acts of Lawrence Welk

2009-04-27T18:32:00.003-05:00

I stumbled upon this when I was trying to find the Le Chic video for the last post. I think we need to jump right in. Shall we?

Aaaaaaaaaah Link Out!

2009-04-27T17:55:00.004-05:00

Things I wrote a while ago that I am finally posting:

Watch her sleep

Innocence and Peppermints

Poopsamillion

Babe in Arms

Country Mouse

Gender fender

2009-04-27T07:26:00.005-05:00

Anonybabe gets dressed in unisex stuff a lot. Her middle name is actually a boy's name, although it isn't common here and sounds girlish to the American ear. As a rule, I don't push her towards girlie stuff much, unless it's a girlie thing I'm into.

I love flirting with gender lines. I don't know why. Even though I come across as fairly prim and proper when you first meet me, I secretly love thwarting convention. It's pretty childish, probably stems from a repressive upbringing, whatever.

I want Anonybabe to learn what I believe: that although there are biological differences between the sexes (and how), gender roles are a lot more up in the air. They are social constructs that she can flaunt, or abide by, or choose to help redefine. I want her to know she has that freedom.

I don't think Anonybabe looks particularly boyish until I look back on pictures of her dressed all in brown or sporting her blue hoodie with jeans and black converse. Am I turning her into a boring-wardrobed butch kid just because I don't like frills or pink?

I need some broader and more satisfying ideas of what it means to be a woman than the ones I grew up with. It's a little unimaginative to run screaming from nail polish and Aquanet to blue jeans and short hair just because, fuck you, I can. Which is exactly what I did when I went to college. At 18, I went from lipstick and hair bows in Arkansas to baggy khakis and short hair in Illinois. Because I imagined I could finally get away with it. Because I wanted affirmation for something other than the way I looked in a pair of jeans. Because I relished the opportunity to define myself by something other than my looks. The only way I could imagine doing that was to be as nondescript as possible. I was angry. I was sheltered. I was unimaginative and could only think in binary terms: gussied up, or dressed down. Smart or pretty. Female or male.

It has taken me a long time to learn how to try to look good for me. Pregnancy helped with that a lot. Damn, I was in love with my body then.

But I see these pictures of Anonybabe in her blah clothes and I feel like I haven't moved forward much at all. To a place where I can indulge in all the joys of being a woman and the joys of being masculine. To let them all coexist and come to full bloom when and how they may. Anonybabe needs more than just binary options.

Sigh. I've come a long way, baby. But I have a long way to go.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

P.S. Friends of mine: The pink hand-me-downs you sent are getting plenty of play on Anonybabe. She insists on them frequently.

Let me confide who I'm liking these days

2009-04-27T07:16:00.004-05:00

I'm sorry I haven't blogged in a while (Jesus, this smacks of all those times I wrote in my diary as a girl: "Diary, I'm sorry I haven't written in a while; I'm going to try to do better." Not to be pessimistic, but my fervent promises to write regularly generally ended with an even longer dry spell.)

Anyhoo, I hope to write more. It's generally therapeutic. I feel there's a subtle inner shift going on with me and I've been a little more protective about letting it all hang out. Plus, I like each of you people I've given this link to and sometimes don't want to let all my ugliness hang out in front of you. I've been feeling pretty ugly lately. Plus I've been avoiding this big school writing assignment. I hope to shit that turd out and start keeping it regular. We'll see.

I've just been stuck in a morass of laziness and self pity. And occasional business and good times. Living my life and/or shutting down a little emotionally. You've been there, right? Periods of retreat? Of course you have. And if you haven't....I...don't really know what we're going to talk about at parties.

Country mouse

2009-04-09T08:30:00.006-05:00

Just climbed the stairs to my el stop. It's morning, and the sun is shining in a straight shot from Lake Michigan 20 or so blocks down a major street onto our platform and right into my eyes. If I squint, I can see some skyline in front of an explosion of light. Chicago's skyline is awesome. For years it was the one thing that took my breath away when I would drive in from work in the suburbs or round the corner on Lake Shore Drive. Here lately I have to will myself to even look at it.

Anonyhub and I have talked about moving to the countryside for so long. We just didn't know where or when or how. Neither of us are self-starters, and that's putting it mildly. I certainly like being enveloped in the arms of a employer. I have a rebellious streak, but only to get attention. If I'm honest with you and myself, I'll admit that I feel safest and surest when I'm carrying out someone else's orders. I prefer to do my real living in secret. I'm an introvert born and bred, after all.

The point...is irrelevant, but somehow I got here from this: Chicago, the city, she has been good to me. Very, very good. But the siren song of the country never stopped calling and it's time to start heeding the call. To see another place for the first time and soak it all in. Chicago has been a feast for my eyes - the beautiful and the ugly - but not really for my senses. I spent a lot of energy shutting things out rather than letting them in. And I want to live where I can walk barefoot in the dirt and grass again. That act is a prayer and a meditation unto itself. So many of my friends are talking about doing this, about moving outside of the grid with their kids, trying their damnedest to tend house, grow vegetables, pursue those dreams that have been percolating for years. Just as the city was our calling 10 years ago, the house and the solitude is our calling now. Many of us have parents who did the same thing. Up and moved to Louisiana, or Canada. Tried to build a house with their bare hands and live simply. Most of them live in baby boomer houses in baby boomer suburbs now, but we can still learn a lot from what they did. Why they did it.

I really don't know

2009-04-01T12:00:00.002-05:00

This whole daycare thing has me in kind of a limbo-induced funk.

Last night, while cleaning out a basket of old papers, I finally read some photocopied articles about homeschooling that I got from a home school association meeting I went to months ago. In them there were a couple of choice quotes from students who were encouraged to follow their interests. Like...throw all of their energy into following their interests instead of worrying about what they should learn. The idea is that kids especially (and adults too, when they don't have it quashed out of them) are naturally sponges who adore learning. Who can't help but do it. And if you constantly arrange a tasty buffet of learning opportunities in front of them, they will just eat it all up. They will love to learn, and love life (if I read the subtext correctly).

I love this philosophy. It appeals to me. It resonates with me.

But it makes me think, why the hell am I pushing my daughter into daycare if she doesn't want to go?

I got a panicky feeling several months ago that my daughter needed to be more challenged in lots of ways. She needed to be around new ideas and new activities. She needed to be around new people so she could figure out how to handle herself. She just needed more. More than Anonyhub and I could give her. So we enrolled in a couple of classes at the YMCA. Swimming. Gym time. That went pretty well. Then I decided to go visit a couple of daycare/preschools. Montissori based. One had a fabulous group room for 3-6 year olds. It was bright and vibrant and ordered. But their room for 2 year olds looked a little sad. All the 2 year olds looked like they wanted to be home with their mommies. So I decided to visit a home daycare where an ex Montissori teacher kept 8 kids by herself. It seemed great, in theory. Really great. So we signed on.

And here we are, this morning I dropped Anonybabe off for day 6, and she sobbed and sobbed. She did not want to go. I took lots of time to sit with her, in the driveway, inside the door, and still she howled. Several people now told me she's doing it to get my attention, that she's fine once I'm gone. But if she's doing it to get my attention, shouldn't I listen to her? Don't get me wrong, I don't stay home every time she gets upset that I leave. Far from it. I go to work 40 hours a week and I leave Anonybabe crying with babysitters on occasion without a backwards glance. But this...seems to be getting worse rather than better.

And I...I know Anonybabe needs to socialize with other people...I do want her to learn how to do that...but is there a way to do it successfully so that it is more on her own terms? So she initiates it when she's comfortable? I'm a huge freaking introvert, so I may be a little too protective when it comes to social discomfort. Although I love being with trusted friends and family, it is absolute torture sometimes to have to hold a conversation with people I don't know. I know from experience that throwing myself into the deep end of a pool doesn't necessarily teach me how to swim through a daunting situation. Sometimes I drown in it and then I'm spooked from it for a good long time. If Anonybabe hates this daycare, these perfectly nice people and children so much...I'm not going to force her to deal with it.

I'm going to try this daycare for a few more weeks and if she still doesn't want to go, we're starting over. She still needs more socializing, more learning opportunities, more, more, more.

But I'm not going to drag her kicking and screaming the whole way. I wouldn't want that for me. My parents drug me kicking and screaming plenty of times. Did that help me or hurt me? I really don't know.

Day Wear

2009-04-01T09:00:00.003-05:00

That was awful. I just dropped Anonybabe off, sobbing, at her daycare. Granted, she sobbed about several things this morning: the fact that she had to wear a sweatshirt, that I wouldn't hold Francis while she tried to put on his shoes, that I cleaned her high chair tray. So she was a little tightly wound today to begin with. But yesterday her eyes looked red and puffy when I picked her up from daycare, like she'd been crying on and off all day.

Sigh. We're going to give this a good long trial run. But so far, things are not trending in the right direction.

*****Update*******
She was, of course, fine after 2 minutes. She played me like a Nintendo 64.

Anonypose

2009-03-26T14:37:00.011-05:00

To be honest, I'm not really sure why this blog is anonymous.

It's mostly because I modelled it after this blog, and since his was I thought maybe that was the way to go...I thought maybe it was considered incredibly uncool to subject your child to scrutiny on the world wide web, I didn't want to feel obligated to share this with my family, and I thought I might feel more compelled to write if I did it behind a thin veil of secrecy. I now see the veil is almost completely unnecessary, but I keep it out of inertia.

One thing I've missed is sharing pictures of Anonybabe. I love seeing pictures of other people's kids. It takes me behind their eyes and gives me fodder for my imagination. I'd love to share some head shots of Anonybabe and Anonyhub, except that I'm not quite ready to break with the anonymous format.

This morning I realized I had a slew of pictures that don't really identify anybody in my family...at least they leave a reasonable doubt as to who they are. I've decided to post several for your/my viewing pleasure.

Enjoy!

Walking with Francis:

I don't know what the neighbors did to piss Anonybabe off, but she's certainly not shy about sharing her displeasure:

Anonybabe and Anonyhub:

In the car:

In the bus:

In the bath:

On the job:

Heaven/Hell

2009-03-26T13:29:00.002-05:00

Igor surprised me be being vivacious and chipper immediately after I complained about her. And then she proceeded to give Anonybabe a lecture about only using her paci during nap time in front of me...despite the fact that we planned on letting her use it as her security blanket in her new environs.

Sigh. Nothing Igor does is a crime, and I watch Anonybabe closely when Igor does something uncool to make sure she's handling it. She generally gives Igor a blank "I'm tolerating you, bitch" stare and lets it go.

I worry that I'm an overprotective Anonymommy. So it was nice to hear a couple of you tell me that you thought Igor sucked and it was even nice to hear you recommend that I take stronger measures than I'm prepared to take with her at this point. I agree with my best friend's caveat "It's probably good for Anonybabe to be around people who don't think everything she does is the best idea ever." She then proceeded to tell me to rat Igor out to her boss and confront her myself.

Anyhoodle, I thought we'd try Igor and her sweet boss - let's call her Franky - out for a month and reassess after that.

Have I mentioned what a saint Franky is? She's better than I imagined when we interviewed her. She offers Anonybabe hugs and frequent "I love you's" and doesn't at all take it personally when she's rebuffed, she's given me detailed status reports of the day, including the good, the bad, and the ugly in an unrequested voicemail on Anonybabe's first full day; she lets Anonybabe participate if she wants and lets her lurk around the edges of activities if she wants; she gave Anonybabe a birthday present - a puzzle, because she noticed that Anonybabe liked doing puzzles the few hours she'd been there.

I think I'm in love...except why would she hire such a blah and bossy bitch to be her assistant? Is good help that hard to find?

Far and Away

2009-03-24T11:54:00.003-05:00

Left Anonybabe at daycare for her first full day today. It sucked. The nice, awesome owner who reeled me in with her smiles, and warmth, and you'd-better-dress-her-in-stained-clothes-because-we-like-to-make-a-mess-up-in-here-how-else-you-gonna-learn philosophy is going to be gone today. She was out last Tuesday - for Anonybabe's first short trial day - too.

When she's gone her Igor of a helper is boss, who has a grim smiling mouth and frowning eyes. "Come here," she'll say to her charges in a syrupy sweet voice. "Come here and look at these fish. Come on." I don't like her. Anonybabe doesn't like her. She refused to take Igor's hand this morning when she tried to lure Anonybabe away from me to play with their new slide. "Come on." Igor cooed. "Play on the slide now." as she shooed me away with both her free hands.

I heard Anonybabe crying as I left.

But then there's this. I'm at work, now, as usual. Anonyhub went to work for a couple of hours and then called me to complain about the radio show his co-worker was listening to while they priced records. "It was horrible," he moaned. "It was some talk show that was supposed to be about progressive politics but all they did was slam some woman who insulted Michelle Obama. Why can't they have a show about how great Michelle Obama is instead?" Yada, yada, yada.

As I nodded and um-hummed, I felt a shift and a clicking sensation. This felt familiar. This felt like a pre-Anonybabe shooting of the daily shit. For the past two years, when Anonyhub called I could hear Anonybabe in the background, yammering her head off, demanding to talk to me, demanding that he stop talking to me, demanding "gwapes". And vice versa on the days I call Anonyhub at work.

For the first time in 2 years there was no one between us.

And it was good.

Miss Independent

2009-03-19T13:47:00.005-05:00

Well, I'm fostering independence now, baby.

In the 2 weeks since I last blogged, Anonyhub and I farmed Anonybabe out to his parents and took a 5-day vacation, and then started her in daycare. Wham, bam, see ya, ma'am.

We've encountered a few tears, but a whole helluva lot less than I expected from her (some more than I expected from me).

I can tentatively say that I feel good about the daycare (activities! weirdos other than mom and dad! small people other than the one in the mirror! regularly scheduled food and naps!).

I can say that I feel good about the vacation without reservation. As much as Anonhubs' parents make me want to tear my hair out with every other visit, Anonybabe likes 'em. And if she likes 'em, well, bless. I want her to spend time with and know any family members she doesn't like - I think it's important to know your roots and how to navigate them - how much more will I encourage her to be around people she's comfortable with?

Why she would choose to be comfortable with these particular people, I cannot say. Every bad thing I can say about them is a little assholish on my part: all they ever want to talk about is how they're renovating their house; they're into recreational shopping; every food they make involves ingredients from cans, plastic tubs, or bargain meat bins; they all live within a square block or two of each other; they do not read; they never once thought about attending college; they hate all the movies I like and like all the movies I hate; they vacation in Cancun every year. Sigh. They aren't bad people, but they are often boring, tedious people. It doesn't help that they would probably say the same thing about me.

But everybody needs an emotional home. I never expected Anonybabe's to be with me, with us. Chances of that happening seem as slim as winning the lotto, with all of the factors that have to click into place, genetic and otherwise. If she feels understood by anybody I'm happy for her. That's hard to come by. It's something to cherish.

Babe in arms

2009-03-16T18:08:00.003-05:00

Last week I decided to stop carrying Anonybabe around everywhere.

I did so willingly until that point, picking her up whenever she would ask. She was slow to learn to walk; she was incredibly deliberate and cautious about everything she tried and walking was no exception. No step-taking until she was absolutely ready. I didn't push her to walk, I sat back and let her take things at her own pace, secretly worrying when toddlers several months younger than her were flying past at top speed.

So she didn't start walking until after 17 months. And even then she was unsure on her feet. And then it was winter in Chicago and there was snow everywhere and the snow freaked her out so that it ended up making more sense to carry her or put her in the stroller. It is only within the past month that she lost her fear of touching/walking in the snow. And it is only recently that the cold/snow abated on a regular basis.

So a couple of weeks ago, a month shy of Anonybabe's 2nd birthday, I finally decided I was going to stop picking up Anonybabe on demand. We went to the grocery store, which is several blocks away, and I carried her most of the way back, but when we got to the end of our block I put her down and told her I needed her to walk. "No, Mama, No!" she cried "No ho ho hoooo! Anonybabe walk, No!" I kept walking and urged her to follow me, and she started to wail. Long and loud, so that tears and snot and saliva joined stream and dropped in a long, clear, drip from her chin. A neighbor came out to see what was happening and gave me a penetrating stare.

"Are you giving mama a hard time?" she asked.

"I'm giving her one," I answered, "She's used to being carried everywhere and I'm making her walk." Meanwhile Anonybabe sobbed in the background and refused to move. Eventually after 5 minutes of sobbing and yelling, she shuffled a quarter of a block or so. It was too cold to stay outside for the hour it would take to get to our house at this rate, so I scooped her up and thanked her over and over again for trying to walk. I felt like a little bit of a jackass, but knew that I had reached the end of my rope when it came to carrying her around. She's heavy, and she's capable of walking. Ergo, she needs to walk.

I feel a little bad that Anonybabe was subjected to such a sudden switch, but she should probably get used to it since that seems to be my m.o.

Poops-a-million

2009-03-16T18:06:00.003-05:00

Dudes. Anonybabe pooped in her mother freakin' potty yesterday.

It has oh-so-slowly dawned on me that in potty training, I will have to take the reins and call the shots if I want this thing to happen. My tendency is to just watch things happen at their own pace, watch them unfold.

I think when I thought about it at all I assumed this was how I would potty train. I'd go to the bathroom around Anonybabe, I'd talk about it, I'd let her know that this was what was expected of her, and when she was ready she would choose to do it.

Turns out I'm not that patient. I know that she's fully capable of using the potty. Time to speed up the process. Time to sit her down on the potty every couple of hours and praise her to the stars if something comes out. Time to talk constantly about how she'll be out of diapers soon. Time to bribe her with left over Micky Mouse birthday cake and ice cream.

I want to be done with diapers. I can't snap my fingers and make that happen, so I'm going to do several other things to push us in that direction.

Innocence and Peppermints

2009-03-16T18:05:00.004-05:00

I have this cock-a-mamie idea:

that people carry the seeds of their future within them...that if you know where to look for it, you can see the luck, the happiness, or the tragedy of a person's entire existence in their eyes/actions/demeanor when they're a child.

But now that Anonybabe is around, I'm feeling the opposite. She's not exactly a blank slate, but she's a damn site closer to it than I ever thought she'd be. She is poised on the cusp of writing her own story. For reals. That's exciting. And strange.

Perhaps I took Oedipus Rex a bit too seriously in junior high. I tend to project this air of tragedy on kids. Like they already carry the mantle of grief and confusion and responsibility that adults have. I still don't think innocence is a virtue. A luxury, maybe. _Maybe_.

But I was surprised to see a glimpse of clean innocence in Anonybabe last night. And I was surprised by how...natural it felt.

Watch her sleep

2009-03-16T17:59:00.004-05:00

I'm scared to let myself enjoy Anonybabe. She was freaking delightful yesterday. Babbling and talking. Thanking me for stuff. Pooping in the mother effing potty for Christ's sake.

I think back to those first nights in that first year...they were nightmarish. I really felt like I was going to die or she was going to die. Stop breathing in the night. Like I wasn't going to be diligent enough. Of course I didn't really think that she was going to be suffocated under a pillow or by her own CO2, but...if I was awake, and I often was, at least every hour on the hour - I'd think, might as well check, just to see that she's okay, just to make sure this isn't the one time I assumed things were okay and they weren't, just to do everything within my power to make sure she is safe and happy, because god knows most things are outside of my control. I was just...so scared and unhappy. And lonely.

This morning as I climbed out of bed and into my clothes while Anonybabe and Anonyhub were still sleeping, I went back to say a little silent blessing and goodbye over each of them before I left. I always go to Anonybabe first. I thought about this as I leaned over her to watch her breath, as I thought out my declarations of love and wishes that she have an exciting, fulfilling, captivating day. I looked over at Anonyhub, head thrown back, mouth open. He used to get the benefit of my laserbeam focus before Anonybabe came along. When she did, I kind of dropped him like a hot potato. She needed me, but it kind of boiled/boils down to the fact that I want her. I choose to be consumed by her. It's so easy to fall into. The dopamine riverbeds were all dredged out so that when that first flood of the mother obsession hormone hit, it flowed easily in her direction.

Can I really live this and observe it at the same time? Motherhood, I mean? In my mind's eye, I'm always holding up all of the failed and broken and tepid and twisted parent/child relationships I know - and they are legion. Why in the world would I think my relationship with my daughter would be any different? Everybody loves their kids. Everybody does what they have the resources to do. And yet everybody suffers. But I think I'm trying to jump ahead to the suffering part, the alienation, the stifling anger, the lifelong damage. I'm trying to head it off at the pass. And I don't really think I can. Rather, the only way I could would be to bypass all of the good parts of being a mother: the intimacy, the miracles of growth and development happening right before my eyes, the depth of affection. I think they are all part and parcel. And I know that to embrace the good is to necessarily open myself wide to the bad. To feel even more keenly than Anonybabe does the pain she'll inflict on herself while she's trying to figure herself out.

The process of pregnancy and childbirth wasn't as bad as I feared. In fact, it was pretty awesome. Maybe the same thing will happen as Anonybabe grows up and becomes a human in every sense of the word. Maybe watching her grow up won't be as painful as growing up myself.

I'm ready for her to become sinful, in some ways. I'm ready to be com padres.

Game on

2009-03-02T14:01:00.003-06:00

My dad was a football player. A pretty good one, I'm told. He was a star player in high school and college, set some records, even played pro for a smidgen of a moment. He had (and even has to this day) a hard time letting go of his glory days.

I thought of it as no coincidence that he had a hard time letting go of the days when his kids worshipped his every move. He would talk wistfully about the time when we adored him, before we started calling him to task about this or that. I never had much empathy for him for that. "Suck it up," I'd think. "Kick your damn ego out of the way so we can interact like adults."

But I'm starting to sprout a little empathy for the man. A body could get used to all of this hero worship. It is heady, heady stuff. Anonybabe gets pissed with me, sure, and often. But I'm still the greatest thing since sliced bread as far as she's concerned. I find myself forgetting that this has got to change, and will soon.

She is usually still asleep when I go to work, but she woke everybody up before dawn this morning, chattering her head off. We got to eat breakfast together, and then I suited up for the cold. Usually the sight of my coat and hat are enough to elicit moans from Anonybabe, but this morning she said brightly "Bye, Mama! Bye bye!" I am ashamed to admit that it was very very hard to kiss her and leave while the getting was good. "Where are the tears?" I thought. "Where is the gut-wrenching need for me?" I hesitated, found myself waiting for it...then had to will myself out the door.

Oh, god. In how many microscopic ways am I fostering dependence? I regularly shock myself with my own ugly desire to be the center of her world. I want to be aware of her need for me, respectful of it, tender with it. But I want to be happy for her when she is content without me.

If it ain't broke...

2009-03-02T13:55:00.002-06:00

Anonybabe seems to be intent on squeezing every last drop of goodness out of her winning "I hab idea" phrase.

Most recently she composed a tune on her 4 note toy piano: "Iiiiii....haaaab...iiiiii.....deaaaaaaaa!"

Shave and a haircut

2009-02-27T14:54:00.005-06:00

Two bits of awesomeness I got to witness today:

1. Green bean theatre:
Scene - Kitchen, lunchtime. Anonybabe is in her highchair after a leisurely lunch while I putter around the stove, back turned.
Thump, thump, thump of a green been being walked across her tray
Anonybabe: Oh! Gween bean! You o-tay?
Anonybabe-as-greenbean: (In a high falsetto) Oh! No! I pall down!
Anonybabe: Oh no! Apple toss! You o-tay?
Anonybabe-as-apple sauce: (In a gruff low voice) Oh! Yes! I o-tay.
Thump, thump, thump of green bean walking towards blue spoon, who embraces green been and then proceeds to eat her.
Anonybabe-as-blue-spoon: Nom, nom, nom!

2. Unclear on the concept bee:
Since Anonybabe seemed to dig on learning her letters, we got her some alphabet magnets to put on the fridge and will occasionally spell out her name, or ours, or simple words.
Scene - kitchen, standing at the refrigerator
Anonybabe: May wore!
Me: May wore?
Anonybabe: May wer oh pidge!
Me: ???
Anonybabe (lining letters up backwards on the fridge): Eeeeck, Teeee, Seeeee, Eyeeeee, Beeeee, Deeee!
Me: Oh! Make words on the fridge?
Anonybabe (pointing to each letter as she says it): Eck, Tee, See, Eye, Bee, Dee pell (and here she draws her finger backwards along the line of letters she made "I hab idea!"
Me (swoon)

Aw, girl

2009-02-27T14:54:00.004-06:00

I just kept Anonybabe transfixed on the changing table for a good 5 minutes with a Keith Sweat-esque song I called "Poop in your boodie, girl"

That is all

I hab idea

2009-02-24T16:30:00.003-06:00

Anonybabe has been cracking me up and charming me with all her new thangs.

Two faves:
1. She has been announcing lately that she "hab idea" before toddling off to do something.

2. She fed pretend food to her Micky Mouse doll when we were waiting in the car for Anonyhub's train. She wanted to feed Micky some of the banana we'd just finished, and I told her we didn't have any more. So she said "Anonybabe...gib...Micky...ba..na..NAAAA" and made a motion like she was scooping something out of her hand. Then "Anonybabe...gib...Micky....tawbewwies!" and made another hand-scoop motion.

This is a pretty literal-minded child and this is the first time I've seen her imagine like that without any props. I felt like I did when she got her teeth. Over the moon elated and surprised by my own delight.

Climb every mountain? Nah, just this one.

2009-02-23T13:05:00.004-06:00

Today's revelation is a little weightier (for me) than yesterday's; I'm still trying to figure out what to do with it. Here's some simplified exposition:

The hubby wants to change professions - from record store manager with an eye on starting his own store to landscape architect - a move that I fully support. The change will land us in the poor house for the foreseeable future since it will likely involve unpaid internships and lots of additional schooling, but it really suits his dreams and his temperament.

But! I more or less ixnayed his plans to go to school this fall because his first (and almost only) pick was a college that is an hour away from his parents. Even though the school's program is relatively cheap and nearly perfectly suited for his goals. I felt certain if we lived that close to the in-laws, our marriage would be in jeopardy. It was a touchy touchy subject to broach with him, one that kicked off many a horrible fight.

My revelation is this: my problem isn't with my in-laws. It's with Anonyhub and the way he relates to them. The way he sees them. I could happily live next door to them if Anonyhub weren't so fixated on them. Okay next door is a stretch, but it's damn near true. He doesn't realize how emotionally dependent on them he is. When we are away from them, this rarely comes up...it makes me think it's a non-issue. When we are around them, I am reminded of how much I hate how Anonyhub relates to them. How he goes on and on and on about them.

The friends I've talked to about this will say..."what do you mean this is a new revelation? You said the very same thing to me 3 months ago; 8 months ago; 2 years ago!" Yes, but I thought it was a peripheral problem. One we could keep avoiding. Not a deal breaker. Now that it's the big old mountain standing smack dab between us and our next destination, I'm thinking it might be time to tackle this.

So I think I need to bring this up to him. Sit him down, look him in the eye, and admit it. This is a big deal to me. What can we do about it?

Anonybabe and Big Bird and Mama and Anonybabe and Sid and Super Why**

2009-02-22T16:51:00.004-06:00

My revelation-of-the-day (My fortune cookie revelations. Just as easily consumed, just as easily forgotten):

I'm taking myself waaaaay too seriously with this parenting business. I feel responsible for my child's education, physical, mental, and spiritual well-being. Although I won't be providing her with her personality, I'm going to be providing her with her starter self-image. I gave her her mother flippin' name.

These are just some of the reasons I walked around with a look of abject terror on my face for the first year of her existence.

It is all a heavy burden. But to quote my grandmother, who, when 21 year-old me told her I didn't think I would have kids for the above reasons: "You aren't supposed to know that ahead of time! You're supposed to figure it out after it's too late!" I laughed. She didn't. She wasn't kidding.

There's something to be said for taking a la-de-da attitude with parenting. Whistle while you work. Thrill with the sheer adrenaline of it, like that tightwalk roper guy who walked between the twin towers. Don't look at yourself splattered on the sidewalk, look at yourself thousands of feet in the air, defying gravity.

**I told Anonybabe I was writing a story about her and asked her what I should title it. :-)

The wind in his Mangina

2009-02-18T17:24:00.002-06:00

Truly beautiful post about loving your kids the way they are:

http://windinyourvagina.blogspot.com/2009/01/parenting.html

Rise, Sir Mom!

2009-02-18T11:17:00.003-06:00

This morning I had a moment of clarity, in which I felt my mom status through and through.

We were all up with the sun (a rarity) since Anonybabe woke early and giggled and cuddled and requested that "Mama...Daddy...Anonybabe...Eat!"

I stripped so I could take a shower while Anonyhub fixed breakfast. I wanted to clean and reinsert my diva cup first and sat down on the toilet to do so. Anonybabe toddled over and announced "Anonybabe...weed...Ernie...Bert!" and decided my knee was as good a place as any to set her book.

I was on the john, naked and knuckle deep in my own bloody twat, trying not to elbow my daughter in the face or upset her Sesame Street book into the toilet when it hit me:

I am so a mom.

Fruits and Veggies losing their mojo

2009-02-17T15:20:00.002-06:00

Grand.

http://www.kottke.org/09/02/fruits-and-vegetables-getting-less-healthy

Tears and cheers

2009-02-14T09:28:00.002-06:00

"Anonybabe sad. Mama make Anonybabe sad."
- Anonybabe, last night, to Anonyhub.

A statement like this should not have made me so happy, especially when it was tearfully confessed/tattled to my husband, especially especially when it was prompted because I played the heavy for Anonyhub and took something away from Anonybabe at his behest.

But hearing Anonybabe say that while wiping tears away from her cheeks made me grin ear to ear. At the very least, that's one less shrieking tantrum we have to endure. And I get the feeling it's way more.

Dude, my daughter is capable of labeling herself and her feelings.

Wow, wow, wowwy-wow.

Good source of riboflavin

2009-02-12T15:19:00.001-06:00

God bless Robert Dinero. Elmo, since you obviously have connections, we'll let you live to see another day, despite the bullshit you pull at the end of this clip. You are, as ever, treading on thin ice, my red, furry, and annoying friend:

Bittersweet

2009-02-11T10:16:00.003-06:00

All accounts to the contrary, I do love my husband.

We had a particularly good time the other night at a friend's house. A couple of us decided at some previous get-together that it would be fun to try to make furniture out of cardboard. So four of us gathered boxes, box cutters, "Liquid Nails" adhesive, and ourselves and met. I came up with a half-assed cumbersome design for a chair. Anonyhub came up with a design that was not only functional but damn good looking. Watching him sketch it out made me feel all lovey. I love that mah boo has an eye for the aesthetically pleasing. We were all drinking beer and quipping while we sat on the floor and sliced up boxes and not once, but twice (!) I made Anonyhub laugh out loud.

We have a trip to Hawaii scheduled for March (my brother's getting married there) and Anonyhub and I are going to go it alone. Being away from Anonybabe for 5 days is going to be incredibly hard, but I think being alone with Anonyhub for 5 days is going to be such a boon to our relationship that everybody wins.

(Note: not our chair design above; I'll post a picture if/when we actually finish it).

Practice makes perfect

2009-02-10T11:50:00.001-06:00

Even before we decided to move her bed, Anonybabe was playing at sleep time a lot. For the past couple of weeks she'll take great care in, say, making discarded wrapping paper into a pretend bed, announcing "Anonybabe go teep", and then giggling her fool head off while we lay her and her dolls down on it and cover them one by one with a make-shift "bay-kets".

The separation of snore and late

2009-02-10T11:40:00.005-06:00

Anonybabe crying about bedtime is nothing new. She hates it. "No!" she cries. "No turn out wight! No bed! No ho ho hoooooo!"

I know this is typical bedtime behavior, but it makes me think, fuck it. Why not let her sleep when she gets sleepy and wake when she feels...wakey?

Within reason - we all have to live together.

But when she's older? I'm going to be raising my hand in a good night greeting as I pass her watching tv at 2 am.

Bad mommy.

Could not, would not, in a bed

2009-02-10T09:28:00.003-06:00

Anonyhub and I haven't had sex in a while. If I had to venture a guess, I'd say it's been 6 weeks or so (?!?)

And yet, when Anonyhub tried to put the moves on me last night, I just couldn't. Didn't want to at all. Sigh.

Sex drive, come home!

Not So Secret

2009-02-10T09:04:00.002-06:00

I am wearing an eco-friendly, non-toxic deodorant today. When I put it on, it smelled like Fruit Loops.

Now I smell like funk and Fruit Loops.

Yummy.

I vant to cheel

2009-02-02T11:02:00.003-06:00

The first night Anonybabe slept in her separate bed, I had a nightmare that the world had been overrun by vampires. In it our family decided to take a big chance by attending a rather large party. That sort of thing wasn't done so much any more, not because you were afraid of vampires secretly infiltrating your ranks, but because they were on the look out for places that exuded light and sound -- good hunting grounds.

At one point, the doorbell rang and a brave volunteer went to answer it. A group of us crouched in the sewing room, peeking out a tinted picture window through a large overgrown courtyard at the front door. We breathed a collective sigh of relief when nothing untoward happened and turned to watch a mom taking her four-year old daughter outside to punish her. Mom had daughter bend over and face the window we were all peeking out of so she could give her a spanking. I had a terrible sense of foreboding as we watched the blue-eyed girl cry at the first smack from her mother, then the tall grass beside them rustled and the girl screamed in pain and horror as some unseen vampire animal bit her on the back of her neck.

I woke up. Felt horrible. Checked Anonybabe, and tried to go back to sleep.

I've had one more nightmare where I'm being chased (this time by some organized crime lord) and countless forgettable dreams. I'm up and down during the night, checking Anonybabe's breathing, wondering if I'll ever be able to stop fixating on her, stop worrying about her. Wondering if I want to.

Bed

2009-02-02T09:51:00.011-06:00

Until two days ago, Anonybabe's toddler bed (a full-on crib on three sides with a half-guard rail on the other) was pushed up against mine and Anonyhub's. She'd fall asleep next to me, nursing and climbing and and rolling and fussing, until she finally crawled to her bed in an exhausted heap to sleep for the night. Anonyhub and I have talked about pushing her bed away from ours for months and months. Anonyhub has been ready to make our bed more of marriage bed and I thought we should do whatever seemed to bring the most contentment all around. But I kept finding reasons - some practical, some emotional - to forgo even trying to push the bed away. She needed to be able to climb in and out by herself, say, or the extended family bed thing isn't absolutely positively broke so why fix it? She was used to crawling from one bed to another in the middle of the night, wouldn't she just crawl over the edge from force of habit?

I also had a huge Greek chorus of imaginary co-sleeping advocates buzzing in my inner ear that co-sleeping is natural, separate beds are not, fears that it'll be harder to sleep because I wouldn't be able to reassure myself with a touch that she was breathing, all right. Fears that we'd lose an important connection too soon, that she'd be lonely, feel abandoned. Every couple of months we'd revisit the topic and it would ultimately end in a huffy "well, I'm not ready yet!" from me.

This past time, something I'd read and recognized about the joy of independence in children gave me pause. I think that as well the job of comforter and nurturer, it's also my job to introduce Anonybabe to a certain amount of risk and independence. Make sure she has every opportunity to develop a taste for it if that's what she so desires. And that as she gets older - at least for a while - my role as comforter will keep diminishing while my role as midwife to her independent being will keep growing.

So I sighed and acknowledged that nobody knows what's going to work for my family, including me, until I try it. If pushing the bed away went horribly, I figured, we could put it back. (I know, I know, we were just pushing the bed 2 feet away, not to China, but this was a huge symbolic leap for me.)

So we cleared away the toys from the East wall and swung the bed in an arc out and against it. Anonybabe thought this was great fun and instantly delighted in climbing up, and (once we'd spotted her a couple of times so she knew where the floor was) down. She was proud and delighted with her bed, loved it when Anonyhub sat by it and read stories to her. She leaned back on her Miss Piggy pillow, positioned her stuffed cat Francis beside her, gave contented sighs and when Anonyhub would finish a book, ask "weed moh?"

She was, however, quick to cry when we turned the light out "No..turn off...wight!" in her signature stilted cadence, and I was quick to offer her the option of lying in bed with us. Which is where she ended up falling asleep, and then we transfered her to her bed. After we'd moved her, Anonyhub gave my ass and tits a playful squeeze and said "now I can do that in my own bed without feeling weird!" rolled over, and promptly went to sleep. We haven't even cuddled since.

The next morning, Anonybabe woke up, rubbed her eyes, and announced "Annonybabe teep Anonybabe's bed!" and seemed pleased.

Ummmm...success?

I think I need a pick-me-up

2009-01-28T11:29:00.002-06:00

They aren't puppies and rainbows, but these two videos put a little bit of a warm glow in my heart:

Filipino prisoners recreate Thriller:

Having mum & dad over for tea:

For more foul-mouthed hilarity go to dlisted.com

Who are you?

2009-01-27T17:50:00.002-06:00

Anonybabe has always been incredibly deliberate, slow to roll over, crawl, walk, sing. She waits until she can do things well before unveiling them. She talks with a pause between her words, thinking about and choosing each one carefully, and starting her sentences over if she can't get the words out right.

She was born looking like she was trying to solve a hostage crisis, with a furrowed brow and stricken eyes, and the look lasted for weeks. These days she laughs, sure, but she never, ever approaches anything with reckless abandon.

When we go to play group at the YMCA, and I watch other kids who run hell-for-leather with a damn-the-torpedoes guffaw, I sit and watch and soak it in. It's visual therapy to see kids being impetuous.

"Joyous." "Raucous." I don't think these are words that will ever describe Anonybabe.

She is such a beautiful puzzle to me.

YOU know

2009-01-21T18:15:00.000-06:00

I decided to throw out a parenting book the other day. Right in the middle of reading it. Montessori, for 0-3 year olds.

Now, I don't think there's anything wrong with Montessori schooling. From the little I know about it I still think it's pretty great, with its emphasis on community and history and self-actualization. Some of this particular author's theory smacked of bs, but that's another matter, for another blog entry.

Here's what I want to say: I just...I started to feel bad as I was reading the book. Bad and scared. Scared that I'd been screwing Anonybabe out of a happy childhood because I hadn't been following the Montessori method. Bad that I'd been carrying her around so much. On the plus side, the Montessori book brought up some important questions. Didn't I want to foster Anonybabe's independence (yes!) and what was I doing towards that end? (not much!). But overall I was feeling guilty and sad.

Finally, I decided the book had to go. There's a world of hurt and a world of good out there. I choose to focus on the good. Rather, I refuse to make decisions based on guilt and fear when I could be making them based on hope and love, creativity and joy. I refuse to spend time sorting out why the Montessori book makes me feel bad - I've wasted enough time on navel-gazing in my short life. I'd rather spend my time following a thread of inspiration, to see where it leads.

I felt unsure and upended for a couple of days after tossing the book: gasp! I can't just stop a book in the middle because the ideas make me feel bad...and then I'd think...actually, yes, yes I can. Part of me thinks this is dangerous and wrong and part of me thinks I've been crazy not to do this all along.

Living by my own lights. It's kind of a switch for me, and a scary one, too.

Starry (cross) Eyed

2009-01-21T18:01:00.006-06:00

A friend chatted with me last week while watching his toddler daughter sleep on the kitchen floor, her blanket gripped in her hands, and her hair spread on the linoleum. She'd woken up and gotten out of bed to go be where he was while he worked at his computer. He looked at her while he typed. "Sometimes I think about how arbitrary we are. One small change in the particulars of my daughter's conception and she wouldn't be here. I'd be living with a completely different person, or no person at all." I told him I'd thought the same thing and that - to my surprise - it made me think we were each supposed to be here. Like the stars aligned so Anonybabe could come into my life.

He elaughed. "Ha ha. My reaction is pessimism and yours is optimism." We had to cut our chat short soon after and I've had a protest to his label for me - "optimist" - simmering ever since.

It doesn't feel like I'm being optimistic when I choose to believe we were all meant to be. Or maybe it's just that optimism feels different than I always imagined. My "optimism" has a healthy dark streak. An acceptance of my own fear and ignorance. I don't know why we're here. I don't know that we have a purpose. For the most part I think "purpose" has such a broad meaning that it becomes meaningless when you narrow it down to individuals.

But there's a part of me that sees how it could be, and I let myself cling to the belief. Because it's better to believe than not. My optimism is strictly utilitarian. This is what my psyche needs to be content, to function. So I give it what it needs. Why not?

Let Her Be

2009-01-16T15:01:00.002-06:00

Anonybabe and I were sitting in the front seat of our car today, goofing around after a class at the Y, waiting for our windows to defrost before heading home. We were playing a game where she would name something and I would sing about it in a goofy voice.

Anonybabe was sitting in my lap, facing me, and she said "Weh!"

"Red?" I asked, and she nodded her head.

"Weh A!"

"Red Aaaaa, Red Aaaaaaa!" I sang.

"Weh See!"

"Red Ceeee, Red Ceeeee!" I could see her looking over my shoulder at the Y building.

"Weh Em!"

"Red M, Red M!" This time I knew what was coming, but didn't quite believe it.

"Weh Why!"

No motherflippin' way. My baby can read the letters on the side of the YMCA?!? That's great, right? And a little, um, crazy.

Flip It and Reverse It

2009-01-15T15:56:00.003-06:00

Life with Anonybabe has been challenging lately. I went home last night with my loins girded, ready to put in the hard work to enjoy her.

She was an angel last night! She happily kissed and hugged me when I got home, sat in her high chair while we ate, sat at the table and played with play dough with me, helped me load and unload laundry, and then played contentedly around the house while Anonyhub and I did chores, sang songs, and enjoyed each other's company.

It was toothbrushing time that blew my away, though. I got out a Bert finger puppet, ready to try to coerce Anonybabe to let me brush her teeth before she dissolved into her usual shouts and tears. She willingly opened her mouth to let Bert brush her molars, then stopped him and said, "Mama bus tee toooo?". So I took the toothbrush and brushed her top molars! Then she calmly took the toothbrush and scrubbed at her front teeth, handed it back to me and tried to open the bathroom door to get out. When she couldn't she turned to me. "Mama hep Anonybabe?" she asked politely, and when I opened the door for her she turned back to look at me and said "tank you, mama."

?!?!?!? You'd see tears of joy if I weren't so disoriented.

The Poop and the Fury

2009-01-14T15:28:00.000-06:00

Sunday night I learned I'm the only person in the world Anonybabe gives a hard time to about diaper changes.

A friend and her daughter kept Anonybabe and she mentioned A had taken a dump. I took this opportunity to give my little song and dance about how Anonybabe'll be in diapers until she's six because she would happily play in one for hours. Anonyhub concurred until I went on.

"Yeah", I said, "she cries and howls every time I put her on the changing table." Surprised looks from Anonyhub and my friend.

"Really?" said my friend, "because I asked her if she had pooped in the diaper and she said 'yeah' and when I asked if we could change it she held up her arms for me to pick her up."

"Yeah, she doesn't give me a hard time," Anonyhub said, "she just doesn't mind staying dirty.

I looked, shocked, from one to the other. Anonybabe cries and whines every freaking time I take her to the changing table. Has done this consistently for months. My friend - who has a 12 year old daughter - recognized the look on my face and patted my knee.

"Oh honey," she said, "It's only for you. Get used to it. "

Last night I told Anonyhub about the recent spat of biting and fussing while he was at work. "Wow," he said. "She's just so mean to you. She doesn't do any of that with me. But she really loves you. Like, she really loves you. It's like you get the extremes - the best and the worst of her love - and I'm somewhere in the middle."

I'm flattered that I'm the object of her strongest emotions, I guess. But I don't like being the whipping boy for her frustrations. I think it means she feels safe with me, that she can vent her worst. When I step back and look at it I feel like this is supposed to happen, like this is the fire in which our relationship is going to be forged. Lordy. When I said I wanted a fireball, I guess I didn't expect to be taking the brunt of her fire. I don't know what the hell I expected, though. I'm her mother. That's my job. Not to lay down and take it, per se, but to endure it. Help her learn how to direct all her joy and fury. To be there with her and help her when I can. And apologize to her when I can't. Because there are times when I just can't. I'm human.

Bad Mommy: The Aargh Edition

2009-01-13T17:47:00.005-06:00

"Fond as we are of our loved ones, there comes at times during their absence an unexplained peace." - Anne Shaw, seventeenth-century poet across the pond

This was the quote on my day calender today. How fitting. I mean, I love Anonybabe and all, but yesterday in particular, I did not like her. I did not like her one bit.

It was, truly, quite the bitch. As was I. I find that I am an exceptional parent - gentle, loving, kind, gracious...as long as things aren't challenging. Like, when Anonybabe was 3 months old? I was a beatific vision of motherhood.

But aside from crying at the drop of a hat and changing her mind about what she wanted every two seconds, my child bit me repeatedly this weekend. On the arms, on the fleshy part of my boobs, and again and again on my legs as I tried to get things done around the kitchen. I think I horrified one friend when I told her about it. "That's...mean".

Well...no. Anonybabe wasn't trying to hurt me physically. She wasn't biting to draw blood. She would do so slowly, coquettishly, looking up at me to watch me react while she did it. She was trying to get a rise out of me. And the fact that my child was toying with my emotions like that made me crazy. It hurt my feelings and my knee-jerk reactions were childish and wrong.

I bit right back, baby. Okay, I didn't really, but I strongly considered it. And I did swat her butt, pinch her ear, push her roughly away, and tell her I didn't want to be around her. All horribly inappropriate and yet briefly satisfying. And then I would feel horrible. And then she would bite me again and make me want to tear my hair out and/or lock her in the closet for a few hours. Let the childhood scarring begin!

Grin and Bear It

2009-01-13T15:19:00.000-06:00

Lately Anonybabe throws a shit fit when it's time to brush her teeth. She wants to do it herself - great, and she even manages to get a little legitimate back and forth scrubbing on her front teeth. But it's the molars that really need brushing, and for that we have to convince her to open her mouth and hold still.

For the past week or more we've basically had to hold her down to do this accompanied by the wailing and gnashing of teeth. By the time we are forcibly brushing those back teeth, I keep it gentle but there's a part of me that enjoys the forcible part.

Good god, sometimes I hate being a parent. Being responsible for someone else's dental hygiene? Sucks! It sucks donkey balls! I swear I'm going to invent or at least market the shit out of something that lends itself to mouth cleaning: a stick to chew on, for example. A bristly stick. A pacifier/toothbrush. Something, anything but a traditional toothbrush. There has to be an easier way.

Anonyhub spent lord knows how much on a Thomas the Tank Engine toothbrush from Target recently. When you press Thomas's face, a tinny Thomas theme song plays loudly from a little speaker in Percy's face. For the next 2 minutes you know how long you are letting your child's teeth decay while you try to wrestle the toothbrush and paste into her mouth. I hate it. Why slap a lot of bells and whistles onto something that already doesn't fly? Anonybabe loves it, but not for its teeth cleaning properties. In fact, tooth brushing has gotten exponentially harder since we got the toothbrush.

Hasn't anybody out there heard of or experienced a better way?

More David Eye Candy

2009-01-13T09:51:00.003-06:00

Short shorts! Skip to 0:39 to see some skin:

Trees (huh), what are they good for?:

I have a round bottom, too, David. Poor Bob. Token white boy got no soul!:

Here's Northern Calloway and Frank Oz, as puppets. I just always liked this one:

Gimme some sugar! I am your neighbor! Ow!

It feels good when you sing a song

2009-01-12T17:13:00.006-06:00

Call me a cheeseball. You'd be absolutely right.

If you can't tell from the 1:1 ratio of personal essays: sesame street blog entries, we watch a lot of Sesame Street in the Anonymom household.

We've been watching Sesame Street Old School DVDs (which have episodes and clips from the 70's) pretty regularly for the past year. Which is how I started to get attached to David. He helped Mr. Hooper out at his store. And he was kind of cute. Kind of super cute. In the last month of so I've really gotten all crushified on him and the song he sang with Olivia below sealed the deal. You will rightly laugh at me for getting all tingly from this, but if I were Olivia and David started boogieing down to try to cheer me up, I'd have the same reaction she did. But with more puppy dog eyes.

I finally decided to google him and find out where in the world he ended up. Why wasn't he doing Elmo's Potty Time DVDs with Gordon and Maria? I was half hoping it was because he'd been living a life of ill-repute.

He died. In 1990. Of stomach cancer. I'm really, really bummed about this.

RIP Northern J. Calloway.

****(Added later). Okay, it may not have been stomach cancer. His family chose not to talk about it too much but apparently there were rumours of mental illness, drug addiction, you name it. It doesn't change the fact that losing this smiley gem of a human being was a sad loss. There's a new book out about the history of Sesame Street (yea!) that I plan on buying to get the goods. I wish I could take Maria out and get her drunk and talking. The stories that woman could tell!