Back to reality

I have been out of school for four weeks. It has been so nice to not feel as pressured. But as for now, it's head in the books, fingers on the keyboard. Yuck.

When my finance instructor posted a message on the message board, you can just imagine my surprise when it was signed by the man with the red pen. That's right. Mr. You Disappointed Me, Ms. Moudy.

I am going to keep my head up, and put forth a good effort.

Well, I am going to try.

Sass

Hello. Welcome to Sassiness.

Little has developed such a little, um..., personality here lately. We never know what she is going to say next.

So this weekend, I am washing dishes. Husband is hunting. Little Foot has a complete meltdown, because I cannot come play in her room at that very millisecond.

My suggestion is that she bring a toy and play in the floor of the kitchen while I finish the dishes. Now it took some convincing, but she kindly obliged.

As she is walking out of the kitchen, she turns to me and says, "Mommy, my get a toy. I be wight back. You stay wight there."

I say, "Okay, Baby. I will stay right here. Go get your cash register."

She turns to run to her room. Before I can get back to scrubbing the caked on stickiness off of Little's sippy cups, I hear her say, "You hear me?"

And I turn, and she is asking me if I hear her. To make sure I am "hearing her", I ask, "What did you say?"

Little says, "You stay wight there. You hear me?"

Oh, Goodness. Now, this isn't all of it.

Last night, as I am getting home from work, she meets me at the door. She has my new lunch bag that I got for Christmas, might I add that I have not even been able to utilize the lunch bag. (Told you Grandma and Aunt Jenny.) The lunch bag is full of refrigerator magnets, keys, and other stuff, I suppose, seeing how I can not touch it.

Little says, "Me bag."

I reply, "I see. I like your bag."

She says, "Mommy, 'mon. Play. MereMere's room."

I tell her okay, and take her hand as she is pulling me along to her room.

She begins to play with Play Dough, so I begin to play with her cash register.

In the next instant, she yanks the cash register away from me.

Little says, "Enough," and then, she puts the cash register in her toy box.

With the second birthday fast approaching, I must make a mental note:

" 'Mon. Play. MereMere's room." translates to "Sit there. Be quiet. Don't touch anything."

More pictures

We went to Canton to see the lights, and Little Foot was so excited she got to pet a horse. The carriage ride was a lot of fun, and Little Foot could only focus on the horse. Thanks Big Daddy and Baboo.




Little's very first tricycle. Unfortunately, she has quite a temper and throws a tantrum when she is unable to just hop on it and ride it. Imagine this scenario, Little gets on her tricycle in her bedroom. She attempts to peddle. To no avail, she begins to push herself forward using her legs. This is appeasing until the wide back wheels hang on the doorway. She screams and gets off the tricycle. Upon dismount, she hits her head on the door knob. Most kids probably would cry. Not Little. She turns right around and kicks the METAL tricycle BAREFOOTED. (Start praying now.)




The terror. There are other people riding the fire truck. I decided to post this picture just to prove that I am around. What part about having kids is it that makes Mommy take every picture?

Pictures

My camera broke Christmas morning. Devastating. However, I was able to snap a photo or two. I will post them later, but here is a little taste of our holiday.








And, yes, I hunt.

Defeated

If you follow my blog, you should be aware that I have been preparing Little Foot for Santa taking her pappy and giving it to a "wittle" baby that needs it. If not, see previous post.

This has gone on for weeks. Initially, she was very much opposed to the idea. As time went on, she opened up to the idea. We were, and I stress were, at the point to were she was excited for a little baby to receive her pacifier.

Again, were.

Last night, I decided that waiting was just prolonging the inevitable. We, more like I, laid her down without her pappy.

The tantrum began.

She cried for her daddy.

She hit mommy.

She, well, um.....she got sick. Twice.

So nearly an hour later, I was beat down physically and emotionally. I decided to give her pappy. But at this point, she was so devastated at the situation that pappy did not help.

She wanted her daddy. Only her daddy. And with her eyes, she pretty much told me to keep my pappy-stealing hands off of her.

So, I am warning everyone. I do not want to hear one word. I mean not one whisper of a word.

Little will be two in January. She will turn two with her pappy.

When she goes to kindergarten, when she drives for the first time, when she graduates, when she marries, when she has her first child, pappy will be there.






Not one word.

Room

Our nightly ritual with Little Foot is as follows:

Bath

Dry hair

Brush teeth

Lotion up

Put on PJs and socks

Prayers

Good night kiss

Since we have started blow drying Little's hair, we have also been brushing her teeth while we are still in the bathroom. We retreat to her bedroom to lotion and get into jammies.

I try to take advantage of this time. Even though we should not rile her up, sometimes we play as we dress. I smell her "stinky feet," which she thinks is hilarious. Sometimes we listen to musical water globes. Other times we just talk. This is my favorite.

Here was last night's conversation:

Me: "Do you know who has a birthday on Christmas?"

Little: "San-na."

I suddenly realized that I had left no room in the inn. I had not taken the time in all the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season to really explain what Christmas was all about. What I had done was try to prepare her for the concept that Santa will be bringing toys. However, for him to bring toys, she must leave her pappy for him to take to a little baby that needs it.

So I did what any good parent would do.

Me: "No. Christmas is Jesus birthday."

Little: "Je-sus."

Me: "That's right. Jesus slept in a manger. And cows came."

Little: "Cows!"

Me: "Cows. And Shepherds. And sheep."

Little: "Sheep!"

Me: "And wise men. And there was a big star."

Little: "Star!"


I prepared a place. I opened the inn doors. I made room for Jesus.

Just breathe

I honestly feel like I can breathe again. This semester is finally over. Did I fare as well as I would have liked? No. Am I over it? Yes.

Somewhere between the bleeding book report and the "Ms. Moudy, you have disappointed me," my give a flip ran out. Sitting on empty. As my mother would say, the carburetor was drained.

(Brief side note....Shortly after my mother married my step-father, he bought a brand new riding lawn mower. Since it was the first lawn mower we had owned, I thought it would be so exciting to cut the grass. It was, but then the lawn mower ran out of gas. My step-father being gone, my mother came to fill it back up, but when I tried to crank it, it went to smoking and a sputtering until it died. Then, she starts fussing at me because I had "drained the carburetor" by running the mower out of gas. Oh, really? You're right. It had nothing to do with her putting diesel fuel in the mower. I'll probably bring this up at Christmas, too. Love this story.)

Anyway, I am just so glad that I have a few weeks off to just breathe. To not have homework. To not have to read anything. To not have to write anything (well, other than the blog).

Speaking of blogging, you know I got 50 free Christmas cards from Shutterfly. Probably won't get to use them. Little won't cooperate. Husband's fuse is entirely to short to attempt something as challenging as a Christmas card picture.

I don't get it. Husband can sit in a deer stand in below-freezing temperatures and wait patiently on a deer. But we attempt three pictures, and he is sweating, fuming, and ready to hulk out of his shirt. Just breathe, honey.

Second attempt at Christmas pictures will be in the deer stand.