Panda

We had a great couple over for dinner this past weekend. After dessert, they showed us pictures of their recent Caribbean trip on the laptop (Barbados has been added to the ever-growing list of places I must see before I die). This somehow segued into looking at ridiculous You Tube videos. We laughed so hard at this Panda Cheese commercial from Egypt:

 http://youtu.be/X21mJh6j9i4

Hysterical, right? It wasn't just being under the influence of Prosecco that made this video a hoot. It's the subtle, demure manner in which the Panda hurls objects and maintains an adorable and almost innocent expression throughout the fit of rage. 

As the laughs subsided, I burst out "I live with that Panda!" The three of them stared blankly at me.

It's true. LO resembles the Panda. Yes she has big dark eyes and is so huggable. Unfortunately, I'm not referring to physical similarities. LO acts just like this naughty Panda. And also looks so dang cute while wreaking her mischief. 

LO is what I like to call a chronic FLINGER. She flings things all day long. And when the bowl of Cheerios splatters against the wall, she faces me with the most calm, unrepentant look. There is no sign of rage; no explanation for the act of destruction. She did it and that's that. 


I first realized that Panda and LO were kindred spirits when Panda nudges the TV over so nonchalantly. Although LO has never attempted this particular move, she has tipped over kitchen chairs, her own shopping cart full of "groceries" and her painting easel; all with an air of composure. 


Most of the time, LO's flinging is a reaction to my action or words: "LO, no more raisins." Yet she never gives me a warning. Not a screech or angry grunt. Nothing. Just the confident launch of her sippy cup.
At least the victims of Panda had Buddy Holly's song as their cue to duck and cover.

Maybe I should take the advice of the advertiser and Never say NO to LO!

Boob

I've learned that having a toddler inevitably means having mortifying moments.  LO barely learned to articulate her thoughts and already manages to make me duck and hide at times. And laugh my arse off at other times.

She has taken a liking to the following words and phrases:

"No Way" - Self explanatory...her bratty response to me when she isn't feeling cooperative.

"C ya, be ya" - As in "See ya, wouldn't want to be ya." If you're asking yourself why she would be using this super-dated, super-lame adieu it's because her mama is super-dated and super-lame.

"Ohhh, Thank Eee" - Her enthusiastic response to "Do you want to watch Dora?" or "Do you want a cookie?" With a full-on bumpkin accent.

"Teach Dougie" - Referring to the song "Teach me how to Dougie" and she busts out with the corresponding dance.

"Push out Poo Poo" -  She sits on her seat and repeats what I have been coaching her during potty training. I would have chosen my words more carefully if I would have known she'd repeat my instructions every time she has a bowel movement. I hope she outgrows this one fast. I'm waiting for her to say this in a public bathroom.

"Sowwy" - She does not always use this in the normal apologetic way. She may say sorry when she falls, for instance. Maybe she's apologizing to her own body for the pain she has inflicted upon it? I don't know.

"Boob" - She's obsessed with naming body parts. This word is at the top of the list now. She caught me off guard when I was exiting the shower and she stared perplexed. I should have said "this is called a chest." Instead I said "this is a boob." She walked off. Later as P was changing her, she points to her chest and says "boob." Great. She now identifies this body part everywhere (only places where bare chests are acceptable of course): at the pool when men have on swim trunks and no shirt; at Abercrombie where the shirtless male model stands. If she sees a nipple, she'll point and scream "boob." Sorry for the embarrassment at the pool, fellow neighbor. My daughter was not calling you out for having "man boobs" (although you did). She was just practicing her expanding vocabulary.

She's such a tiny tot; I thought I had a few more years before I had to watch what I say but I was mistaken. She imitates EVERYTHING I say and do.

I really only have myself (and P) to blame for these embarrassing encounters. She does not go to school yet nor does she spend any extended (or short, for that matter) amount of time without one of her parents. There are no outside influences to point the finger at. We are responsible for everything that LO learns right now. How frightening.

We better step up our game and teach her perfect and polite diction. Or we could just sign her up for a toddler class and blame the teacher and kids.

Mo money Mo problems

I don't know anything about these problems Biggie Smalls raps about. This was made perfectly clear recently when P took pictures of all of our valuables for insurance purposes. I followed him around the apartment like a curious cat (Lizzie, our cat, would follow P everywhere when she was a kitten...now I see the allure). This should be fun. Let's see all that we have acquired in our 7 years together!

He snapped the requisite technology; two TVs, a desktop, a laptop, a stereo (do we even call them that anymore?) and an IPOD the size of a brick we bought as newlyweds (I hope our policy is replacement value because this one isn't worth 5 bucks). A nice camera we purchased for our Babymoon in Maui (just a cheesy name for your last chance to live it up before the ball, I mean, baby drops). What else do we have? The jewelry, of course. As I arranged the items on the kitchen table (a couple of nice watches we have bought for each other, our wedding rings and some lovely pieces P has gifted me), I saw it. This all fits in one shot. That's it. No need for more pictures. All of our family jewels (no double entendre intended) fit neatly on one placemat.

Shouldn't we have MORE? I know that sounds greedy and awful but that is how I felt after our inventory session. When you see, piece by piece, the items in your life that are insurable it can be shocking.

Why had I never realized this before? Is it because I'm a glass half-full type of person so I have never dwelled on what I don't have? Or is it because, thanks to a very practical mother, I have always understood that life is about priorities. We prioritize experiences over belongings. I would rather spend on a nice dinner with friends than a dress, any day. I guess I have had my share of dinners because I don't own many dresses. I have also prioritized financial security above shopping. P and I socked away a nice percentage of our paychecks to an emergency fund. Turns out we have needed it. Finances are a very personal thing and what works for one person may not for another. I am not trying to get all Suze Orman on you and shell out financial advice. I'm only interested in finding out why a $25,000 renter's policy is more than enough for us.

The photo shoot also made me think about the expectations I used to have for an adult when I was a kid. And whether I was living up to them being that I am, in fact, an adult now. I suppose I thought that nearing thirty years old, I would be a bit more, let's say, sophisticated. I would be an owner of a nice string of pearls and something Chanel other than sunglasses. A nice tweed suit perhaps? Although I worked in costumes for five years I didn't get swept up in that lifestyle. I only made a few big splurges on designer handbags as rewards for surviving some grueling film projects. Now I cannot even fathom spending that kind of money on a purse. That money could make a nice contribution to LO's college fund. Such thoughts confirm to me that I will most likely never own another Chloe bag. So I'll take extra good care of it. Should I photograph it too?

Anyhow, as I struggled with my disappointment, a positive realization came to me. Seeing my sparsely accessorized placemat was liberating (here's the glass half-full trait at work). We are not tied to much - just to each other. Life seemed more clear and simple. Money is irrelevant. I was in the middle of an 'AHA' moment!

What matters is really experiencing all that life has to offer....love, sunsets, nibbling on your baby's toes, sipping wine with friends, seeing new places. Wait, I already have a problem with this epiphany. I can't renounce money all together. I do need money to experience life the way I like. I want wine and travel and in practical terms, LO needs diapers and plenty of food. Money should be respected (if you have too little, life can be a bitch) but not adored. Maybe P and I were on the right track to begin with. We spend on what we need and what brings us joy. And try not to get swept up in the rat race (this is not always easy which is why I don't even step into a Sephora; I always come out of there with another lipstick I don't need).

So when I get overwhelmed by the material world, I'll think of my placemat. It will remind me that I have it all and not much at the same time. Just how I like it.

The pearls will have to wait for now. Where would I rock them anyhow... the playground?

Wimp

My baby will never, ever be this little again. In the midst of all the craziness, good and bad, I remind myself of this profound fact. Each day she grows and grows. So when she shadows me and demands every morsel of attention, this realization gives me patience. So what if the house needs to be vacuumed (Cheerios jab the soles of my feet) or my eyebrows look like an overgrown forest. Let's go play kitchen!

Making time for myself has been a constant challenge since LO's birth. As she gets older though, it has become more of a priority to make Mama a priority. With P's support, I'm spending more time alone doing things that I enjoy. Hence, the creation of this blog. I have read 3 books in the last month (that's more than I have in the last 2 years) and taken a cooking class. Also, I am officially a regular movie-goer again!

I still have an addiction to Bravo TV, but it does not account for all my "ME" time anymore. I'm taking steps to become a real, whole person again. Not just a mom and a "Real Housewives of (insert any city because I watch them all)" junkie.

These are tiny steps but this is the technique of my choosing. I am not ready to make drastic changes. I enjoy waking up with LO and putting her to sleep and not missing much in between. It is what works for this mama right now.

Just as I am basking in the triumph of my personal challenge, LO decides it's time for her to become more of a challenge. We were coasting along when suddenly and abruptly the Terrible Not-Quite Twos torpedoed us. Help. Mayday!

I read the books and articles on child rearing. But some days I just feel like I've been kicked in the rear. No matter how much knowledge I attempt to arm myself with, there are days like today where it's all a bunch of hoo-ey! The expert advice fails.

At Target, a mother with a dribbly, sweet baby in the Bjorn, looked over sympathetically as LO hurled Elmo across the aisle. She sees what awaits her and doesn't seem terrified in the least. I know I used to be when I would see toddlers. I would think "Oh no, not yet, please God, not EVER." Yet here I am with a crazy one on my hands.

As calmly as a frazzled and embarrassed person can, I ask LO to please stop torturing Elmo and put him back with the rest of his posse.

"NO!" she retorts.

"Please, LO," I ask firmly but nicely (just as the book says).

"NO MAMA," she screams as she sprints off.

Now what, Dr. Child Expert??? I want a full refund.

How and when did this happen? I was the proud mom of a sweet baby like the one in the Bjorn. I would get "ohhs' and "ahhs" from strangers. Now I get cold, judging stares as I chase down my toddler. I must be doing something terribly wrong.

And then I remember we are talking about a 21 month-old. She is quite new to this gig called life. A mere 9 months ago she started walking. I can't remember ANYTHING noteworthy I have accomplished in the last 9 months. In that time period, LO has mastered running, learned a new language and picked up numerous hobbies. For the little time she has had on this earth, she has learned a lot. It's just too bad listening to her mother does not seem to be high on the priority list, and judging by most teenagers, it won't be any time soon.

So my not-so-expert advice to myself is to cut her some slack. And myself while I'm at it.

Au revoir
 (LO has inspired me to learn French)

P.S. Target Mom is not a mother of one child, but of four cute girls. She swore that it only gets easier the more you have. She said the first and second are "rough" but by the third and fourth, it's a breeze. "They practically take care of each other." I'll take your word for it.
But thanks, Target Mom, for making me feel better about being crazed with only one when you could have just called me a WIMP!  (Although you probably thought it. I would have if I were you.)