A Star is Born
22 May 2012 Leave a Comment
in Welcome to the Circus Tags: acting, actress, crying, Doctor, emergency room, hospital, hurt, knee, phony, screaming, snowed, trampoline, x rays
Dear Sophie, you really pulled one over on us this weekend. Here we go.
8:30 p.m. – we are at your cousin Emily’s graduation party jumping on the trampoline. The trampoline is full of boys and you are jumping your heart out with your watermelon dress flapping, having a blast. Rough and tumble.
8:45 p.m. – you fall and bump into one of the boys. You fell lots of times, but this time is different. You are on your bottom screaming and you will not get up. I have to climb up and drag you off the trampoline. I tell you that you can not cry and be on the trampoline. I start to walk away and you scream even more. I ask you ad mist the screaming if you still want to jump. You tearfully nod your head, and I tell you that if you want to jump then you have to stop crying because you can not cry and jump on the trampoline. It is impossible to have fun and cry at the same time. Moms know everything.
8:47 p.m.- we go back to the trampoline as you stifle your whimpering. I set you back on the trampoline and you immediately fall on your butt and cry even harder. Frustrated, I pick you back up and take you over to where your Dad is sitting. You calm down and stay sitting on my lap.
8:51 p.m.- the family dog comes over and you want to get down and pet the dog. As soon as your feet touch the ground, you are back on your bottom and crying. I keep trying to get you to stand and you will not walk on your own or even stand. I am starting to get worried.
8:53 p.m.- your Dad and I ask you what is wrong and, amazingly, you tell us that your knee hurts and you clutch the backside of your knee. You will not stop whimpering . We take you inside and see if we can see anything wrong with the knee. More not standing or walking.
8:55 p.m.- we decide to go home. We are not sure if you are really hurt or if you are just tired. We really question you being tired because you had almost an four hour nap before we went to the Saturday nights festivities. On the way home you are quiet. We decide to stop talking about the knee in question to see if you are faking and if you will be able to miraculously walk when we arrive home.
9:01 p.m.-we walk into the door and you are silent. I get you some milk and lay it on the couch while Dad takes off your shoes. He puts you down in the living room and tells you to go get your milk while he goes and gets jammies. You attempt to walk one step and stop dead in your tracks, crying. Hard. We keep asking you what is wrong and you keep saying the same thing. You are also very consistent with the area that hurts. We try several times to trick you and you never falter.
9:03 p.m.- no way we can ignore your cries. It might be nothing but it also might be SOMETHING. We have to go just to make sure everything is okay. We pack up and go back in the truck to make our way to the emergency room.
9:39 p.m.- we enter the emergency room and check in. The waiting room is full and there are some interesting characters sleeping in the chairs. At this point, I am glad that you are unwilling to leave my arms.
9:45 p.m.- a nurse calls our names and we go into a little room. I am thankful. Maybe we can make this a quick emergency room visit. What an ironic thought. Emergency visits are never quick. The nurse asks what is wrong with our little cutie. I go into a 20 minute diatribe. Still no walking. The nurse spends time taking your blood pressure and your temperature. Looks pretty darn normal. After ten minutes she dismisses us back to the waiting room. Back to the interesting, toothless characters.
10:00 p.m.- we are called again to go into a room to get x rays and see the doctor. This is moving pretty fast! I have big plans for tomorrow. Need to get home. But first, we’d really like to know if your leg is going to fall off at the knee. We are finally in a room. Away from other emergency room dwellers. We try to find things to keep you busy.
10:20 p.m.- the nurses come in and ask more questions. Still no walking, but no crying. She asks you what hurts and where, but you won’t speak to her. First clue.
10:45 p.m.- x ray. You are a trooper.
11:30 p.m.- waiting, waiting, waiting. You are getting tired. Haven’t seen anyone for awhile. I am throwing my plans away for tomorrow. I suggest taking Sophie out to get some snacks to distract her for awhile. Dad tells me when you get back that you wanted to get down and walk. You would walk for three steps, the grab the back of your knee and cry to be picked up. Second clue.
12:00 a.m.- we have to try to get you to sleep. We put you in your jammies and lay down. Given all the activity and light, you are a tough sell on sleep.
12:15 a.m.- you are finally asleep and I slip out to ask a nurse if we were forgotten. She assures me that there is only one doctor and although Sophie’s knee is very important, the lady in the room next to us with shortness of breath trumps all. We are totally out of our league.
1:30 a.m.- the doctor finally comes in and apologizes for our wait. I apologize for being impatient and asking the nurse how long. I mean, the lady in the next room can’t breathe. I apologize for being a worrying mother and taking up the doctors time for a two year old knee problem. Third clue.
1:31a.m.- the doctor tells me that the x rays look good. That you have the best looking bones she has ever seen. No, she did not really say that. But she can not see anything wrong with your knee. She comforts us saying that if your knee hurt in the front, it would be more problematic because that is where the bones are. Since you are grabbing the back of your knee, it is probably a sprain. She tries to wake you up to see if she can check out this hurt knee. She rubs your tummy and tries to wake you up. You wake up groggily.
1:33a.m.- she asks you some questions. Then she asks you about your ball. Can you go get it from the corner and throw it to her? I watch with nervousness of the coming crying and pain. Eager to please, you roll over on the bed and slide down. You saunter.all.the.way.across.the.room. No crying. No pain. No limping. NO recollection of the knee injury, pain, or even that you are the proud owner of two knees.
1:34 a.m.- we should have seen this coming. I assure the doctor (who has WAY better things to do) that we were not making it up. We are not hypochondriacs and in fact, hate being at the doctor/hospital. And no, we did not come to get pain meds for a two year old either. Just in case she was thinking that. We don’t sit around and contemplate the disappearance of the knee injury. Instead, hurriedly, we pack our many things. Our diaper bag seems to have thrown up its contents in the 3 or so hours we were there. We don’t want to take anymore of her time. We apologize again. She tells us that if you are complaining tomorrow to call her. Shawn and I both look at each other, knowing that we will not call. There will not be any complaining tomorrow.
Mom and Dad just got snowed. Bravo, little lady. Take a bow, because that was an Oscar worthy performance. I am already pricing acting classes.
Love Always,
Mom
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I DON’T- Ode to Grandpa and Grandma Lowe
12 May 2012 Leave a Comment
in Love Letters Tags: blessed, challenge, emotional, eulogy, family, genes, grandma, grandpa, hard work, loss, love, lucky, success
Dearest Sophie,
maybe I am somewhat nostalgic, but lately I have been thinking more and more about family. Not only about our family but those who came before. There are many wonderful people in our family you will never get to meet. There are many wonderful people that shaped the life you have now. I recently wrote about an older gentleman I met in Kroger , our exchange that brought me to tears, and how he reminded me of my wonderful grandfather, your great grandfather who passed away when you were only 8 months old. I am still sore about the fact that you will not get to know him later in life. Sore that the joy you brought to him when you were on his lap was short lived for the both of you.
Earlier this week I was in a conversation with my Superintendent, and we got on the topic of the speech your Uncle Ryan gave at Grandpa’s funeral. I loved the message and it blew me away. I was telling her about the challenge that my brother posed to our family to keep being successful and hardworking. I asked for a copy after the funeral knowing that I would want to save it. You learned a little bit about Grandpa and Grandma from the earlier post. Hopefully, this post will let you in on some more history from Mom’s side. Dad may disagree, but I believe it is the side you take after most. After reading this I hope you will consider it a challenge as you get older to say, “I Don’t.”
I DON’T
By: Ryan Lowe
Good Morning. Aunt Jane asked me if I wanted to say a few words. I felt honored to be given the chance to speak about one of the greatest men I’ve ever known. I kept thinking of what I would like to say. It was tough because as you all know I am one of the lucky ones who lived close to Grandpa and Grandma Lowe. It was also tough because I have thousands of stories and fond memories.
For instance, one time Brent and I sat Grandpa down at the base of the old chicken shed with a pair of binoculars. We backed up to the garage and told him to focus on us. We pulled out a shovel and a pitch fork and ran at Grandpa as fast as we could go. The closer we got to Grandpa, the closer he got to the shed. We jabbed the pitch fork and shovel into the ground. By that time Grandpa was about to crawl out of his skin. We stopped well short of Grandpa, but to him, looking through the binoculars, it looked like we were going to kill him. Brent and I didn’t know how Grandpa would react; we didn’t know if he would be mad. As he pulled down the binoculars, he had a smile on his face. The smile turned into a laugh and he said, “Boys that was a good one. None of my kids ever tried anything like that before.” I thought we had really done something, because his kids had tried everything that could be done on that farm. Then we tried it on Dad, and he also thought it was funny. Then we made a mistake. We tried it on Grandma. She screamed and she didn’t think it was very funny at all. I have thousands of stories like this one. Stories of Grandpa taking us fishing or playing with us in the yard, but there is one story that keeps coming to mind. At first I didn’t like this story. I felt that it was too simple and just too short, but the more I thought about it, the more I liked it. I liked it because it pertains to all of us and it shows us just how proud we all made Grandpa Lowe.
It doesn’t matter if you were one of the original seven, a grandchild, or if you married into the family. He was proud of each and every one of us. He and Grandma had their hands in raising 57 kids. They raised 7 hardworking kids who turned out to be great parents, giving them 21 grandchildren. Those grandchildren gave them 29 great-grandchildren. And that number is still counting today. No, that doesn’t mean that Emily and I are expecting again, Courtney is the reason that number is still counting. If you think about it Grandpa and Grandma had their hand in raising engineers, test pilots, lawyers, job foremen, house wives, educators, dance instructors, computer programmers, police officers, and many other noteworthy professions. They raised homecoming kings and queens, prom kings and queens, 4-H members and leaders, FFA members, kids with artistic and singing abilities, chorus members, and band members. They raised volleyball players, basketball players, baseball players, track members, cheerleaders, and one of Grandpa’s favorites, some of the toughest football players you would ever see. He was proud of everything we did and all of our accomplishments, no matter how big or small. Bryce was right. It didn’t matter what game Grandpa came to watch, his response was always the same. He never had a negative word to say about the coaches or the referees. He said, “Good game and I enjoyed watching you make all those tackles”, or “watching you catch that pass”, or “hit the ball.”
The setting for the story I am about to tell you took place a couple of years ago as we were sitting around Grandpa’s kitchen table. Like I said earlier, it is a short simple story that ends in two words. You see, I used to go to Grandpa’s and have coffee with Grandpa and Dad quite often. Actually, they would have coffee and Grandpa would always ask me when I was going to start drinking it. Grandpa, today is the day I start drinking coffee and every time I do I will remember this story and you. Grandpa, Dad and I were sitting at his table along with another family member. The conversation was about a good solid Pike County family. They were talking about how this family was a good family but they had a member who had been an outlaw and been in jail several times. One of us said, “Well every family has one. Every family has their outlaw.” Before any of us could say another word, Grandpa quietly said “I don’t”. We all turned to look at Grandpa and he had a grin from ear to ear. He said again “I don’t. Every one of my kids and grandkids are hard working successful people. There is not an outlaw in the bunch”. The conversation continued and Grandpa sat there with a big smile on his face. I will never forget it. Every time you drink a cup of coffee or you are around another Lowe who is having coffee, whisper to them, “I don’t.” People may think we are crazy, but I don’t care. We will know what it means to us and we will know what it meant to him. He didn’t and as of right now he still doesn’t, and we should keep it that way. I challenge all of you to continue to make this man smile, make him proud.
I was watching TV last night and I came across a show called The Boys of Fall. This show is about football and as I watched I thought, Grandpa would really enjoy this show. During this show Tony Dungy, a successful NFL football coach, said success is not common therefore common people are not successful. Lowe success story, after Lowe success story, after Lowe success story proves to us that Grandpa Lowe’s family is far, far, far, from common.
I have one last thought for you today. I picture Grandpa and Grandma in heaven talking to their friends. The conversation will eventually lead to the same conservation that we had around their table. Grandpa will once again say “I don’t”. Now, Grandpa wasn’t a guy to brag, but I think he will say to his buddies, “Just look down there. Look in the St. Louis area. Look at all my kids and grandkids. Look at how well they are doing. Look down there in the Springfield/Virden area. Look at all those kids and grandkids, just doing wonderful. Look over towards the Jerseyville area. Look at how well all of them are doing. Look at my great grandsons playing football. Look down there at all of my children and grandchildren in the Pittsfield/Pleasant Hill area making me proud. Look everywhere, look everywhere, because everywhere you look you will find nothing but good, hardworking, successful Lowes.”
Grandpa, on behalf of all of the Lowes; we thank you for making us the people we are today. Thank you for starting the greatest family a person could ever have and a family name we can all be proud of. Thanks for being an awesome Grandpa, a great Dad, a good neighbor, a good friend, and a wonderful husband to our Grandmother. We love you and we will greatly miss you.
So there it is. When I first heard this speech, I was a mess. An emotional puddle of tears because the words written above captured the essence of a great man. Not often do the words of an eulogy give absolute justice to a life well lived, but that day, no more perfect words could have been spoken. Now, more removed from the loss , I am emotional because of my luck of being in this family and because I want those same values for you. What expectations do I hope to set for you? What kind of family do your Father and I want to set forth? I hope this gives you a little more insight to some of your background and genes. Some day, much further down the road, I hope you read this and keep working hard and keep striving to be successful. Make your Great Grandpa proud. Mother’s Day is tomorrow and I want you to know that you make me so proud already. I am proud to be your Momma. I look forward to seeing what you will do in life and all the success you are sure to find. Do I have any doubt? I’ don’t. 
Love Always,
Mom
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My Sophie, My Muse
07 May 2012 Leave a Comment
in Love Letters Tags: 2, birthday, bounce house, celebrate, donate, Ella, family, friends, generous, help, hungry caterpillar, jump, lucky, muse, tragedy
Dearest Sophie,
you have successfully made it to your 2nd birthday. With all your teeth, no major rips, tears, or broken bones. Your Dad and I are over joyed that your life has been relatively calm, normal, and somewhat boring. We thank our lucky stars every night for that and are hoping for each and every normal day we can get. However, there are plenty of families who have been through hell and back because of a tragedy. I can hardly imagine going through a horrible accident or a terminal illness and surviving the heartache that must go along with it. There are all kinds of news stories that can make me tear up over the evening news, but recently instead of crying and giving it up to God during prayer, I got an idea. And I used your 2nd birthday as a means to my end. Sorry.
In January, I got a chilling phone call from my friend Maggie. Maggie and I had both worked at my last school and become good friends. Maggie and I rarely have enough time to actually hold a conversation, as we are both busy, working moms. We text message instead. So when I saw her name come up on caller ID in the middle of the day when we both should be working, my nerves were already prickling. Maggie’s voice was not cheery. It was punctuated and serious. “I am not sure if you know yet, but Kaysi’s niece, Ella, was in burned badly in fire this morning.” Kaysi and I also worked together at my last school and being that us three were the young and stupid people in our building, we had a lot of fun together. Kaysi has since moved back to her hometown and we see each other a couple of times a year. Although I did not get enough time working with Kaysi or Maggie, we seem to speak our own language and pick up right where we left off. I questioned Maggie for more information. “Is she okay?” Silence. “She is being airlifted. She may not make it.” We left the conversation with out formalities, the seriousness of the situation weighing down my tongue.
Brick in my throat. Ella. Ella. Ella. What if. What if. What if. Sophie. Sophie. Sophie. I could not focus. I did not know her. I did not know her parents. I met her Grandpa Steve( Kaysi’s Dad) a couple of times. Read his editorial a lot. Mom and the Mayor would save copies of his moving and emotional editorials about Kaysi for me to keep. The Mayor and his wife met the dynamic Kaysi ONCE at a backyard birthday party for myself. My mom talks about Steve, Kaysi, and his writing like they all know each other well. What does that tell you about the kind of person Kaysi is? Once you meet her, you are family.
So I called my mom, called my husband, and prayed. I could not stop thinking about what if it had been us. What if it had been you? I could not bear it. My heart literally feels like it will stop at the thought of you in any kind of severe pain. I was getting regular updates from Kaysi on Facebook and occasionally in the news, there would be an inspirational story about Ella and how hard she was fighting. And fight she did. She gradually got better and it looked as though she was out of the woods (if being out of the woods means lots of physical therapy, multiple surgeries, skin grafting, etc). I really wanted to donate some of your clothes to Ella when she got home from the hospital. Kaysi told me that they had been donated everything they needed. Financial help was their biggest need. I made a mental note to write a check, send a gift card, etc.
In early April, Ella got to come home after a long battle. I still had not sent anything but had great intentions when things slowed down for me. There was a huge article in the paper, a video online, and accompanying pictures. There was one picture that had me bawling like a baby. Ella was on the floor and there were two therapists who were trying to help her by stretching her. Her scar tissue has left her limbs bent and she has to have therapy to get her to straighten them out so that normal movements can be achieved. She is crying out in pain with her mouth wide open. Even now, as I type this, I am ugly crying thinking about a toddler that must endure this type of pain and not be able to do anything about it or even understand it. It is just not fair. Oh what her Momma and Dad must be going through as they watch their daughter in daily pain. Oh.it.is.too.much.
After looking at this, I flip back over to my other activity, 2nd birthday party planning. The plan was to do the Very Hungry Caterpillar and your Dad and I are discussing the guest list. For your 1st birthday party I went against my original wishes and had a big blow out. Dad said I had to because it was your 1st! We invited everyone. I wanted to celebrate you and feed people. I didn’t want anyone to bring a gift. As a one year old, you had enough stuff to fill our entire garage. No one listened and they brought gifts anyway. And probably everyone thought I was a mean mommy for depriving you. This time, the plan was to keep it to immediate family and some friends. Again, no gifts. But how to invite people and then nicely tell them to just bring themselves?? Then it hit me. Give people a chance to donate to a good cause, celebrate with you, not have to plan a meal, and keep us one step away from being hoarders.
I contacted Kaysi with my idea and away we went. Soon the party and excitement got away from me. We invited everyone because I wanted again to celebrate you and also to be able to help a family in need. We rented a bounce house. My wonderful Mother-In-Law helped us with the food and an awesome caterpillar cupcake centerpiece. My Mom and Dad brought food and let us borrow whatever we needed. It was a great party and I think people had a great time, even if it was a little warm. Later that night, I set about putting everything away. I came across the donation box and decided to count. I did not know what to expect since party numbers were lower than I predicted because of the heat. I decided that I would match whatever was the biggest donation. I thought that would cover the interest I was charging myself for not writing a check earlier. As I counted and tallied, I was blown away. After our check, we came up with an even $500. A smooth even number that seemed too perfect to predict. I plan on contacting Steve to see what we can do to deliver the money, connect our families, and capture the memories in a respectful way.
I am proud of your family and close friends for helping a family in need. I am proud that you graciously gave up gifts in the name of another little girl. Like you had ANY choice. 
By the way, you did not want for anything. Grandma and Grandpa brought a wagon. You also got a book, a dress, a slip n slide, and your very own tablet. You loved the bounce house and when they came to take it down at 8, you begged Dad to jump, jump, jump. Plus, we don’t celebrate your birth on one day. We do it all month long. The birthday fairy left balloons on your floor, dinners out, cupcakes, three different Happy Birthday song performances, and on Sunday, we are going to your 1st Cardinal game. We have something special planned for that too. Stay tuned.
On your 2nd birthday, we are over the moon for you. We are SO happy to be your parents. We are SO blessed with everything that we have. We must always remember that. When things are not going our way, we must be careful that we are not having a pity party. For there are always people who are fighting a far tougher battle. Thank you for teaching me compassion in life. Thank you for helping me see the fragility of life. Thank you for reminding me of all things most important in this world. Thank you for being my muse.
Love Always,
Mom
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Bad Cop Gives a “Spanking”
01 May 2012 6 Comments
in Welcome to the Circus Tags: back talking, bad cop, discipline, good cop, military pre school, no, sass, Spanking, terrible two's, time out, toddler
Dearest Sophie,
last week we saw you begin what Dad and I would like to call “the terrible twos”. About six months ago we contemplated the terrible two’s when you went through a new stage where you liked to tell us “No!” But this is a whole new level. There is no mistaking that the time is upon us. Recently, other parents told us that during this year we would think of sending you to a military pre school weekly. This week, you really tested us. No thoughts of a military pre school but you have us thinking about discipline.
Last week we were eating dinner and you kept up a pretty colorful dialogue with us. Not only are you talking back and sassing us, the voice that you use is really something to hear. It is like you are a fire breathing dragon. You set your jaw, make your voice go low and throaty and sling your best insults at us with the best growl you have. It is a cross between a 50 year old smoker and a monster.
Mommy: Sophie sit down. Please eat your broccoli.
Sophie: NOOOOOO! I no like it! YOU eat broccoli. (In fire breather voice).
Mommy: Sophie. Shh. Sit down you are going to tip your chair over.
Sophie: NOOOOO! Mommy, you SIT DOWN.
Dad: Sophie. Talk nice. Please sit down.
Sophie: (Temporarily distracted with mouth open and threatening to drop the wad of chewed broccoli on the table)…. I no like it.
Mom: (Getting really pissed now) Sophie stop! DO.NOT.SPIT.IT.OUT. Shut your mouth and chew.
Sophie: (Puts on pouty face and gets Dad to fall for it thus lightening the mood)
Dad: Come on now, Sophie. Sit in your chair and eat for me please. Here, want to try Dad’s burger?
Sophie: NOOOOOO! YOU SIT IN CHAIR. DAAAD!!!!!
Mom: Okay. That is it. Time for a time out. You are going to be in time out for two minutes until you can stop yelling and talk NICE.
Sophie: NO MOM! You in TIMEOUT!
Mom: (Sits you in chair) Sit there and do not move until I tell you you can get up.
I move back to the dining room table and continue to eat my dinner, while you whimper in the chair. I know that the title of this is a story where you got a spanking not a measly time out. My dear, obviously the time out chair was not enough for you.
Mom: Sophie, I told you to be quiet because you are in timeout. Sshshsh.
Sophie: NO! I get up !!! NO TIME OUTTTTT!!!
Dad: (Says to me quietly) I am going to spank her if she continues this. I will be the bad cop.
I am silently relieved. I am ALWAYS the bad cop. So you continue to spout off, tell us no, and try to get out of the chair. My relief is gone. Dad said he was going to take care of it but he continues to sit glued to his chair as you continue to misbehave. My ears are steaming. It has gone on too long. What is he waiting for????? You are gaining steam. I think you can tell that there may not be consequences. We started the 2 minute time out session over 4 times. It was excruciating. I keep willing him to be the bad cop so I do not have to do it. After telling you to sit in the chair 3 times, you started to push your luck by pulling the very athletic move shown below.
Finally, you say the magic word that throws even tempered Dad over the edge.
Dad: Be quiet Sophie and you can get up. Time out is almost over.
Sophie: NOOOO DAD! YOU BE QUIET!!!
Dad puts down his fork slowly and pushes back his chair. He walks slowly over to you in the chair. You have no idea what is coming. I can tell he is trying to be calm. He picks you up off the chair and puts his foot on the ottoman.
Dad: Sophie we do not talk like that. You can not tell Dad no. You are going to get a spanking.
Sophie: (Finally silent and looks up at Dad with her bottom lip stuck out).
Dad puts you across his knee and pulls your pants down a bit. I turn around unable to see my baby get her first official spanking. The last look I get of you before I turn around is one of you completely nonplussed. As though you being over Dad’s knee is no big deal. I can’t look. That sweet little face is about to get a rude awakening.
Then something odd happens. I hear him connect with your bottom. But it does not sound like a regular spanking. Then there is no crying. What is going on? Silence and then more quiet taps. I wheel around, interested in what is going on. I find your Dad, spanking you (as if you could really call it that) with the force he might use to drop a book on the table. He is hand is all limp and is not giving a proper spanking. But how can I judge? I have never given one either. But I can see from your reaction this is not the way to do it. There is absolute puzzlement on your face. You have no idea what is going on. I do not think it hurt at all. Four, very light swats, were not what I had in mind when Dad said “bad cop” After it is over, the stern words that Dad says to you sends you into a tailspin of tears. Only then are you aware that you were in trouble. He sits down with you on the time out chair and tries to explain why you are in trouble. We make an agreement that you need to “talk nice” to us or you will have time outs or more spankings.
Your first official spanking, as light as it might have been, seems to have done the trick for now. The attitude, for the most part, has subsided. Maybe “limp hand” Dad knows what he is doing.
Love Always,
Mom
No comments on how spankings will ruin my child and make her homeless , go to jail, and hate us later in life. I was disciplined in this fashion when I deserved it (which was often) and I am most certainly not homeless, in jail, or hate my parents.
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Being Awesome & Awful
12 Apr 2012 2 Comments
in Welcome to the Circus Tags: blog, good, hilarious, idiot, insensitive, nominating, not perfect, stupid, Versatile blogger award, worry
Dearest Sophie,
This is another post where I talk about myself more than I talk about you. Sorry kid. You need to know I am not perfect. If I don’t write my faults here, I am not sure how you would find out.
But first let’s get to the awesome! I was checking my blog (which time does not permit often) and found that I was nominated for an award from a fellow blogger. TinyStepsBigJourney nominated me for a “Versatile Blogger” award. Holy freaking cow. Someone else beside my family is reading this blog! And that person is not reading just because they have to! I am a star. You know in that independent, grassroots blogger award kind of way. Either way, it is obvious that it does not take much to put a feather in my cap.
Anyway , big thanks to TinyStepsBigJourney for nominating me! Her blog is a must see. Love the pic of her kid in a tattoo shop about ready to get inked. Hilarious. At least it was to me. But I have a weird sense of humor. We will get to that in a little bit. But first the rules say that I must list seven things about myself and then pass the Versatile Blogger award on. So here it is.
1. My sense of humor is weird and, frankly, sucks.
2. I love geeky things like the smell of pencils and erasers.
3. My favorite thing to do is eat and read- at the same time.
4. I thought I could do anything and then I had a kid. I thought stress was below me and then I changed jobs.
5. I am addicted to Q-Tips. No joke.
6. When I am at work, I act like an old lady with a turtle neck on. No fun. When I am not at work, I am actually a lot of fun. I think.
7. I like to run. For the challenge and the control it gives me.
Okay, some of my blogger friends I read and would like to nominate. I really shouldn’t say blogger friends because only two of them know I exist. The rules say to nominate 15. I wish I had 15 to nominate but the truth is I do not have enough time to read and follow all the great blogs, so I am doing what I can. Hey, my blog, my rules.
Dr.StrangeCollege- cute little blog about college admissions. Doesn’t hurt that I happen to love the writer and subject of this blog, Pete.
IowaGirlEats – way famous. She probably has lots of bonafide awards, but love her recipes and pictures.
Fifty5cents- good writing, super cute dog!
LetterstoLittles- super adorable pics and of course, I am biased to letters to kids!
TheLittleMumma- hers is my favorite in the humor category, unless you count mine.
That was the awesome part of the day. Let’s get to the awful. When you were 9 months old we were all in Wal-Mart picking up some essentials after getting vaccinations. You were pretty cranky from just getting poked in the leg. So Dad did what he did best, steered you toward the toy aisle to buy you another useless piece of crap you didn’t need. From the dusty bottom shelf you picked up very life like, bald baby that was the exact same size as you. Being the dorks we are, we gave the baby an exotic name. Thus, you have a bald, life sized baby named Zsa Zsa. You sleep with her and like to drag her around. It is your only baby doll and you struggle to carry her. It even wears your old clothes and a diaper. In the morning, you usually bring Zsa Zsa down stairs and try to bring her in the car with you. Most days, I sneakily distract you and we leave her behind. On days that I can’t distract you, we throw her in the car. Then it is a tearful exchange when we have to leave Zsa Zsa in the car. Daycare does not want you to bring your own toys for fear of it getting broken or because it might start a fight with the other kids. So we leave Zsa Zsa in the car. Because of my love for all things neat, I put Zsa Zsa in her rightful position to wait for you, in the car seat. Can you see where this is going?
Later that afternoon, your Dad and I saw the baby doll through the tinted window and realized that it looked like a real baby. I commented that I had better stop doing that or someone was going to bust out my window thinking that I had left my baby in the car. He agreed, smirked and we went on about our business. Then this week, I did it again! It was purely out of habit. I didn’t even think about it. My high school baby sitter saw my car at work with her mom and sent me a text message with a picture. Her tone was light hearted about how they looked and circled round for a couple of times before they figured out I had not in fact left you in a hot car. I laughed it off and told your Dad. I had to laugh because I was probably embarrassed that I actually made someone worry. He didn’t laugh and his tone was not lighthearted. In fact, he sounded like Hank Hill from one of our favorite shows, King of the Hill. “Dang it S! Stop leaving Zsa Zsa in the car seat. It is not something to laugh about. You are an insensitive b*tch if you are going to let people to worry about a baby being in the car.”
Yup, I said b*tch in a blog to my daughter. But I have decided that this blog needs to be about the good AND the ugly. No, I don’t want people to worry. In fact, I have had horrible nightmares about this happening to me. I shudder thinking about it. My insensitivity? Well, that was pretty accurate. I didn’t think about anything. All I cared about was whether my car looked clean. I didn’t think about how easy it would be to toss the doll back in the house. The first time was a total fluke. The second time, I didn’t even recall three days before when I had said I shouldn’t do that anymore. I did it without thinking while in a fog of my life, my world of you, work, Dad, and making our home work. I suck. Seriously. Dad’s words hurt, but they were probably true.
So if any body saw the doll in the car and called DCFS on me, I deserve it. Someone please save Zsa Zsa from our family.
Love Always,
Mom
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Miss Manner’s says the “H” word
06 Apr 2012 2 Comments
in Welcome to the Circus Tags: doing the right thing, Hate, manners
Dearest Sophie,
the last couple of weeks since my last letter have been pretty routine. We have been enjoying the nice weather. Last weekend on March 31st, we went to breakfast and then out to the park to let you play. You spotted a sprinkler head that was being used to water some newly seeded grass. Your Dad let go of his uptight tendencies for a little bit and turned on the water. I peeled of your dress and away you went splashing! You were having a ball playing in the water. We marveled at the hot weather. That same day we went to your cousin’s 2nd birthday and all of you got to run around in your suits getting nice and brown.
Also this week, you went with Dad and some cousins to the river to play in the sand while I went on a long run. You all had a great time. After burying yourselves, you spent a good ten minutes throwing rocks into the river. BIG ROCKS. Then while we were shopping at a nursery today you picked up a large ornamental rock and promptly dropped it on your toe. Stupid Dad.
While we have been having fun with you in this wonderful weather, we are also having fun discovering your language. Dad is teaching you how to be sassy. He has taught you some fun things to say such as “You want a knuckle sandwich?” and “I don’t think so”. Which is hilarious when we are trying to get you to say it and less funny when we are trying to get you to do something you don’t want to do and you use it against us. Stupid Dad.
Also, you like to argue. This is my fault. It is maddening but I fall right into it. Why in the heck am I arguing with a two year old? Today in the car it took awhile for the DVD player to fire up. I asked you if it was on and you said, “It’s not on.” All the sudden, I could hear the soundtrack for “Your Baby Can Read!” It was clearly on. You said, ” Mom, its NOT on!” And we went on like 6 year old kids for awhile. “It’s NOT! “It IS!” “It’s NOT!” I could take it no longer and finally let you win. “Okay Sophie, you are right. It’s not on. You win.” You were smug from your car seat. Stupid Mom.
Unbelievably, when you are not being sassy or arguing with us, you do have impeccable manners. Hard to believe but I am not kidding. You say “thank you” , “please” , and “you are welcome” on a regular basis. Sure, I am proud of you but not that proud because I am pretty sure you did not get this from me. Seriously, you completely blow us away with some things that you know how to do because mostly, I know you did not learn it from us. I make you say “please” a lot of times before you get something you are demanding, but not always. For instance, when you are hand -on-hip attitude demanding your milk cup from the table, I will say, “Sophie, what is the magic word?” And you say, “Peas?” But on a regular day when things are busy and you are asking for something (sans attitude) I
hand over many things without asking for a please. So where does it come from? We have some manners books, but they are hardly our favorites. You may hear us talk that way. But my best bet is the baby sitter or grandparents. They are God like in your eyes.
So you talk like you are 13 and we are not always happy with what comes out of your mouth. But you are using your manners on a regular basis and mostly do what we tell you. So when we took you to see the Easter Bunny we were thrilled that you talked with him, held his hand, said hello, and then thanked him when he handed you an activity book. In fact, we were ecstatic when you did not run screaming from the room when you saw the Easter Bunny. Our experience this winter with Santa (6 times of us trying to get you to sit on his lap for cute pictures) made us skittish about another furry character. But you were having fun and we got a nice family picture of us with the Easter Bunny. Then on the way out, you were waving to the Easter Bunny. You said, “See you later Easter Bunny!” , “Thanks!”, and then “I hate you!”
Dad and I were stunned. We looked at each other with our eyes open wide in shock. Papa Steve looks at me and says, ” Did she just say, “I hate you?” But he is laughing. Laughing at the improbability of a 2 year old being able to say “I hate you” and also to be saying it to such a lovable character as the Easter Bunny. Dad and I are still shocked. Honestly, there are times when we can not understand you, but not often. I am about 90 percent sure that is what you said HATE? Really? You look at us in puzzlement. Why are we all reacting so differently? Why is Papa Steve laughing, why does Mom look like she wants to spank me, and why is Dad ignoring me?
I am 120 percent sure that did not come from me. Or us. I KNOW that “I HATE you,” has never been uttered in this house. Seriously, your Father and I have never said this to each other. I know I said it to my mom during my teenage angst state but there is no way you could know that.
Even the lady at the booth asks us if that is what she said, only she has the good taste not to repeat it. She spells it. Thank goodness, she must be a grandma. So what did I do? Nothing. Like a good parent, I ignored it. I forbid Papa Steve to say it anymore or you might commit it to memory. I don’t want to make a big deal about it and demand you never say that word again, that would only bring more attention to the H word. We move along and I have not heard it again. If it happens to become a habit, I will address it. On the other hand, if I address it, I could make it become a habit. You said it with such nonchalance, I don’t think you know the meaning. So here is to hoping that you never hear the H word. I can shield you from the ugly word right? It has to be an anomaly.
If you never hear it, you can never say it to me during your teenage angst stage. Stupid Mom.
Love Always,
Mom
P.S. I am trying more photos in my letters because as you are getting older your activities are less about words and more about what we actually did. Don’t worry, a heartfelt letter or gut busting story will still likely take up a lot of my letters.
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Culvers Catastrophe
19 Feb 2012 2 Comments
in Welcome to the Circus Tags: church, culvers, karma, liquid poop, new coat, poop, potty training, shopping, unprepared, white trash
Dear Sophie,
This story has three parts. While all will seem disconnected, they do and will fit together in the end.
Part 1. We are in the Ozarks for the weekend with your Grandparents, Uncle, Aunt, and your many cousins. We are having a great time catching up, swimming, eating out, and shopping. Oh the shopping!!!! Anyone who knows me, knows that I look at shopping as a sport . And before you think this is nuts, Grandma Ellen taught me and we are quickly trying to teach you how to be a savvy shopper too. Think it is nuts to teach you how to spend money? Well, I will argue that we, in the end, will teach you how to be a bargain and comparison shopper and will save you lots. There is always fierce competition to see who can find who can bring back the biggest haul for the least amount of money. Yesterday, I found an amazing deal on a goregous Tommy Hilfiger trench rain coat. It was originally 200 dollar coat and I paid MUCH less for it. I was thrilled. My last rain coat was looking pretty dismal and it was just the thing to put some pep in my step for Spring. Nightly we have a “show and tell” where we drag everything out and brag about our finds while the men in our lives roll their eyes and mutter about our purchases. I showed your Dad my beloved find and he was less than impressed. “Really Stef, you needed another coat? Our coat closet is full of coats. YOUR coats.” Um right, making a mental note to myself; must remember to throw out and donate trench rain coat to show that I really do not have too many coats and make room for more finds like this one! I laugh him off and tell him how great it is, well made, and the price? To die for, I tell him. In the end I can tell that he can see from my excitement how much I love the coat and secretly hope I have made him fall in love with it too.
Part 2. We have been swimming a lot. Your Dad always freaks (I know, shocker right?) about crytosporidium. He has read somewhere ( I am sure in a very reliable source) about the bacteria that live in clorinated pool water. He usually yells, “Yucky!”, everytime your mouth comes in contact with the water, which is about every 20 seconds. We are still trying to teach you to close your mouth as your head goes under water, but our success rate sucks. You are jumping off the side on your own and love for Papa to throw you in the water. Who knows how much pool water you have drunk this weekend.
Part 3. Yesterday, when I was out shopping, your Dad was at the condo while you napped. He told me later that you had pretty runny stool and then tried to tell me it was probably from all the pool water you drank. I shrugged it off. Right, I thought, it has nothing to do with her diet being altogether sucky while we are on vacation and more juice than she has EVER drunk in her life. Nope, it MUST be crytosporidium. Notice the sarcasm in my thoughts.
So today rolls around and on the schedule is church, lunch, naps, swimming, dinner with friends, and more swimming. Church was pretty uneventful, except for the 6 kids who have a hard time keeping quiet and tend to get bored. The church that we visit every year is pretty small, very humble, and each week has less than 75 attendees. Bring in our 13 and we boost attendance and the decibel level. I wish I could say they were happy to see us, but I secretly wonder if the church has a memo the weekend before President’s day that reads something like this. “Welcome to Sunday service. We just want to tak a moment to let everyone know that the crazy family in the big blue van will be back next week. Stay home if you want. No one will be able to hear the preacher any way. We will record it and send it to you later. Also, a webcast will be available on Facebook.” Probably not, but there is no doubt that at least one person there has made a comment to another about our annoyance factor.
Half way through the sermon, I smell something suspicious and I snatch you to go to the bathroom. This one is a mess, but you are easily cleaned up. I ask you why you did not tell us you had to go to the bathroom. You have no answer. Granted, this one is loose and yet, I do not connect the dots that anything is wrong. After lunch we hit up Culvers, a family favorite for something quick (a neccessity when there are 6 little mouths to feed) and lots of choice. We all order and find a place to sit, which means reconfiguring the entire dining room to make way for our football team. Everyone seems a little crabby, as we all were up a little earlier than I would have liked. We wait for our food. Your Dad comments that he smells something. I assure him you just had a dirty diaper. The odds are with your Uncles kids since there are 5 of them and 1 of you. You spill my water. Dad thinks you have been trudging through the sahara and offers you a drink of “soda”. I am not happy! I know you are not thirsty, you have downed two sippy cups of milk this morning and half of the cup of water that was just spilt. We have a brief exchange where I tell your Dad I think it is crazy to offer you soda. You are not thrilled with soda anyway and I want to keep it that way for as long as possible. “Soda is not good for her, and I do not want her drinking it if at all possible. There will probably be a time when she will be whining for it incessantly, but that time is not now, so don’t offer it to her!!!! “
Your Dad looks across the table and makes a joke. He tries to get me to smile and tells me to relax. I’m too strong willed to smile back. So your Dad says, “Well, I hope you get ketchup on your new coat.” Ha! I must be extra careful not to get anything on my coat. Soon our food has come to the table and we are all trying to fill our bellies. You will not stay in your chair. You are on the floor trying to pick up bits of ice cubes from the spilt water. Your Dad and I both try to get you to come up from the floor. I try to shovel salad in my mouth and keep dressing off my coat while trying to coax you into sitting in the chair and eating.
Your Dad says sternly, “Sophie, get in the chair.” Out of exasperation, you fall onto the padded seat of the chair putting a lot of pressure on the lower part of your belly. Quickly, you push yourself off the chair and back away, hands in the air. You look offended. Something putrid is covering the seat, your dress, and leggings. Your Dad pulls your arms up to get a better look. Soon we know what it is. Liquid poop. When you fell on your belly for show, the force squirted hot liquid waste up onto your belly, the chair, and your leggings. This is why you couldn’t tell me earlier that you needed to poop. It is not something you can control. Now, I feel dumb. I missed all the signs! I guess the crytosporidium really does exist and you really did drink too much pool water. I should have listened to your Dad, which I hate to admit. My thoughts are cut short by the offensive smell that rises up to meet us and overshadows the smell of the good things to eat at the table. I am thinking that we need to act fast before people start “booing” us. I march you off to the bathroom and instruct Dad to go get the diaper bag. My amazing family members get tons of useless paper napkins to wipe off the seat and carpet.
In the bathroom, I am trying to get you cleaned up and say a few choice curse words. You find this very funny. I have to strip you down. I contemplate running your clothes under the faucet and then making you wear them wet, since we do not have anymore clothes. Ironically, I thought we were through with carrying an extra set of clothes. Yet, about a month ago we went out to eat with friends and you had a diaper leak. If it was pee, I would have made you wear them. But it wasn’t. Luckily, I had some ‘jamas and you ended up wearing a very nice tunic with kitty cat ‘jama bottoms and boots for the rest of the evening. I was a little embarassed sine we were in a really ritzy joint, but I was more embarassed that I was not prepared.
This time, all we have is a jean jacket, that we thankfully took off when we started to eat. I am less than thrilled about taking you back out to the restuarant with you in a diaper, boots, and a jean jacket. Even you can’t make that look cool. It is also about 40 degrees outisde. I am reconstructing your white trash outfit, when your Aunt comes through the door with pink 3 to 6 month size pants. She tells you that you can have your cousins “shorts” to wear and you don’t know the difference. I am very grateful. One of my other family members throws me a paper bag to throw the soiled clothes into.
On the way out, you are looking quite proud in your high top boots and shorts. I am washing my hands and am taking a quick scan of myself in the mirror. Want to make sure there is no poo on my face. Okay, no damage done, I think. Then I look down and right in the middle of my new coat, near the bottom, is one tiny little spot. I don’t have to guess. I know what it is.
Is this karma? I am not sure. But I am sure I would have preferred ketchup.
Love Always,
Mom
P.S. Picture of your white trash outfit above.
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Sophie: 2 Mommy: 1
21 Jan 2012 Leave a Comment
in Uncategorized, Welcome to the Circus Tags: defiance, eat, help, independence, potty training, self reliance, smart, terrible two's, win
Dearest Sophie,
we are in mid Janurary and I have not felt much like blogging lately. It could be because of amount of work I have piled up at school. It could be because after 10 hour days, I want little else than to lick my wounds on the leather couch and watch some junk T.V. Plus, I am way more likely to blog when something hilarious happens in our world. But I think I may be too tired to laugh hysterically. Also, hysterical laughs at our house have to be stifled way more often now days, because of the bad habits we may be endorsing. The other day, when Dad told you not to do something, he says that you answered him with, “What you gonna do?” HAAHAHAH! But that one had to be stifled. He had to leave the room and chuckle and tell me later in private in the hopes that you will not repeat it.
So you can see that you have been a ball of fun lately. You have been fun, if you would classify fun as becoming increasingly independent and stubborn. This why I am so tired, I am constantly in a mind meld with you. Things that used to be so easy need to be re-worked, re-thought. You may be going through the terrible two’s. How in the heck would I know? The only terrble two’s situation I was involved in was my own, and I am quite sure they were angelic. All I know is that you have never been so non-compliant. I have never had you do something that we just asked you not to do. I have never had you continue to do something after the threat of a spanking. I have never had you cry so hard because I took something away from you. Not only are you more defiant, you are so much more self-reliant. I can do some things for you, but I can’t call it “helping” or you get angry.
Okay, you want no help from Mommy. But you want to help ME. So at the risk of sounding like line from a Tom Cruise movie, how do I HELP you, HELP me? I have come up with this terribly imperfect game.
I have to set up situations where I can ask for your help and then maybe you will comply. If I tell you to do something, all bets are off. Asking “Can you help mommy carry your milk out to the car?, ” is way more effective than, “Okay, it’s time to go get in the car.” Directives send you running in the opposite direction with your whale spout bouncing up and down.
So how do I approach this with potty training? I see you crouching in the corner getting in the position to let loose. So, I can’t obviously tell you that we need to go sit on the pot. That would be too easy and will result in a “NO” just because you did not come up with the very idea yourself.
Me: “Sophie! Mom needs your help!”
You: Your ears perk up. “Hel pu?”
Me: I freeze. I am thinking to myself, What in the heck do I need help with? Do I tell her I need help depositing something in the toilet?
You: You crawl up in my lap and grab my face by my ears. We are nose to nose. “Mom, mom, mom! Hel pu?”
Me: “Yup! I need you help show me how to go the bathroom, okay?!” I recovered fast. You can smell weakness.
You: “Okay!” and off you run. You run into the bathroom and lift up the lid. You take the seat t off the hook and place it on the toilet.
Me: Silent. Slightly proud that this helping bit is going to help me get things done with you. I start to bend over to help you with your pants.
You: “No, no, no, mommy!” Then, “Sit! Sit! SIT!!!!” You tug at my sweatpants, lower your head, place your hands on my thighs and push me so hard, I almost fall over the toilet. “Sit! Pee in pot. Candy.” Yup, that pretty much wraps it up.
You win again!
I can not even use “helping mommy” during dinner. Believe me, I have tried, but that ship has sailed. Under no circumstances does “helping mommy” come in the form of putting something yummy and nutritious into your mouth. I have to give you food at the table and then ignore you. I avoid your eyes at the dinner table, terrified that a glint in my eyes will give me away. That, secretly, my brain is having a party when I see you lift that vegetable laden spoon into your mouth. If I ask you to eat the very vegetables that you have been shoveling into your mouth for 10 minutes or praise you for eating so well, you will immediately spit it out and say, “I don wike it.” REALLY? REALLY?
My favorite is when you are balancing precariously on one leg in the chair (since you refuse to use a booster) and I ask you to be careful, sit still, or stop tipping the chair back, you will take the huge mouthful of food, spit in your hand, lay it on your plate and say, ” HHHOT” or “Yucky”. You can tell that I a not happy. You look at me, very matter of factly, with a satisfied look on your face. I pick this up from your little angelic face. Yeah, what you got now? Uh huh, try getting me to eat the pieces of chewed up food now. I am SOOOO playing on your weakness of worrying about my food intake right now. Tell me what to do again and I am NEVER EATING AGAIN!
You win again!
So, during a mind meld session at dinner when you ended up spitting out every mouthful, I came up with this. I make a little switcheroo. You are none the wiser. I make food for you and then put it on my plate. I put the food I want to eat on your plate. Then I make noises, playing it up how good the food is I am eating. Usually by the end of the dinner, you have climbed onto the table and swiped my plate. I act like I didn’t notice and end up eating off your plate, complete with the little forks and spoons. Yesterday, I got you to eat spinach and artichoke heart dip with some pita bread. Now I am taking it a little too far just so I can put a feather in my cap. For instance, putting a piece of dessert on your plate and putting salad on mine. Hehehe, you chose the salad just because you want to defy me. You want to win by stealing my plate but I WIN because you are eating something that is GOOD FOR YOU!
I win!
Before you think that I am the meanest Mommy ever, this Mommy is not trying to be mean. I just want to know that you are not passing me in smarts just yet. I want you to get and do what you need to do without coming to a constant butting of heads. It won’t be too much longer that you will fall for the ole switcheroo. I will take what I can, when I can. You will be smarter than me and pretty soon your debating skills will rival those of an unruly teenager. To be honest, in your newly found independence and stubborness, you win many times when it is not about your safety or nutrition. But I can not let you win everytime.
And my dear, 2 out of 3 ain’t bad.
Love Always,
Mom
What say you?