A New Growth Chart

It is that time of year again - annual check-ups and vaccinations for the kids. We had an appointment scheduled for Tuesday. Since I felt no need to make things hard on myself, I waited until Monday night to notify Diva of our upcoming plans. We talked about going to the doctor so we could see what a big girl she was and how much she had grown. No, I made no mention of the shots ... I am a wimp and make no apologies for it.

I went to work that night and didn't give it much more thought, aside from how tired I was going to be. But, the wheels had apparently been spinning in Diva's head all night. When I got home early Tuesday morning, we had the following conversation:

Me: We need to hurry up and get ready so we can go to the doctor.
Diva: When I get to the doctor and take my panties off ...
Me (interupting): What? You don't have to take your panties off at the doctor. Why would you think that?
Daddy: No, just let her finish. This is good!
Me: Why do you need to take your panties off at the doctor?
Diva: So I can sit on the booty measuring 'sheen and we can see how big my booty is. 'Cause it keeps getting bigger and bigger and bigger.
Daddy: What exactly did you tell her they do at the doctor's office?
Me: Well, not that!!!

As expected, while several measurements were taken at the doctor's office, there was no measuring of booties. They are still more concerned with height and weight, not the size of one's booty.

I See London, I See France ...

It case it isn't clear from previous posts, I have a two-year-old. As a child of this age, he is prone to doing certain things that are expected of him. They usually involve a crowded public place, a high decibel level and are often directly related to the time frame between said event and naptime. I have become quite good at scooping him up and exiting a crowded (and suddenly silent) restaurant in under five seconds. I will even confess to cranking up the radio to drown out a hysterical scream when things don't go his way. It honestly takes a fair bit to leave me speechless when it comes to my Little Man. Today was a fair bit.

We started the day with our usual Friday routine ... gym classes for both kids. Little Man was unusually cooperative for his. Next it was Diva's turn. Since Little Man has difficulty sitting around for Diva's entire class, we ran errands for half of it. After we returned, his teacher was getting ready to leave. He watched her walk out, waved to her and saw the car drive away. At that point, reality struck. He was still standing in the gym. He turned to me and screamed. This much I was expecting ... the next one threw me for a loop. I explained that we had to wait for Diva. He screamed again ... and then pulled off his pants!!

Really?!?
Is that how we settle a disagreement around here.
He who drops his drawers first wins.
Where does one go from there? How do you continue to argue or reason with him at this point.

So, I did the only thing I could in this situation. I calmly scooped up my son (and his pants) and headed for the door!!!

Don't Drink the Water

We had house guests over the weekend. Miss C is roughly Diva's age and her mother and I swear they could be twins ... strong-willed and opinionated to say the least. Both girls are potty-trained and have been for some time. However, while Miss C wears "big girl panties" to bed, Diva still relies on a pull-up. Diva has always been quite content in her pull-ups, until she realized Miss C would not be wearing one. Although I insisted that she could not sleep in panties, I didn't hold out much hope of being obeyed ... this is Diva we are dealing with!!! After bathtime, I began to get all four kids ready for bed. Feeling certain the pull-up would be replaced with panties at some point in the night, I reminded Diva she needed to potty.

Our conversation went something like this:
Me: "Diva, you need to pee-pee before you go to bed."
Diva: "No Mommy, I already did!"
Me: "That was before your bath. You need to go again."
Diva: "I already did in the bathtub!"

Okay, so most kids pee in the tub at some point. In fact her brother has adopted this practice as his favorite new hobby. No big deal, right? But, as mentioned earlier, we had company this weekend. There were three other kids in that bathtub with her!!!

I will take this opportunity to say something I never thought I would. To Miss C's mom, I am so sorry my kid peed on your kid.

I can hear it years from now: "Yeah, I've known Diva since ..."

Beauty Isn't Easy

This week was to be quite busy around our house ... two birthday parties in two days. Halfway through the week, I had the sudden realization that I would be in sandels (or more likely barefoot) in pictures. Not a big deal - until I looked down at me feet. A pedicure had to be added to the "To Do" list. Having pawned Little Man off on Daddy, Diva and I set out on our spa adventure. We have a standing deal for such outings: If she behaves, she gets to pick the color. So far it has worked out well for me, but she does keep eyeing the neon orange.

When we arrived, there was no one waiting so we headed straight for the massage chair. Diva is fascinated with it, although she refuses to sit back against it. She was on her best behavior, the color she picked was a tolerable pink and we had a good time discussing her impending party. Time passed quickly and soon it was time to get up from the chair. Per our usual routine, I lifted her down and then followed. As she began to walk away, she did what only a kid can get away with. She reached back and picked her pants/panties out from where they had crept. Because there were several other people in the store at this point, I quietly asked that she not touch her booty.

My baby girl turned around, sighed loudly and said:
"Mommy, I not touching my booty. My booty ate my panties!!!"

I had on flip flops ... there was no need to hang around for nails to dry. Although, I'm not sure I would have stayed any longer regardless of the footware!!!

Bumps and Bruises ... Oh My!!!

Accident-prone ... it's really just a nice way of saying clumsy. My kids are clumsy, plain and simple. More than one person commented on my name choice for "Diva" - it just didn't seem to suit a child of mine. You see ... I am not exactly the most graceful person. So, why would I expect anything less from my kids?
In our four short years as parents the injuries have been frequent. There have been the normal cuts and bruises, a chipped tooth with a lesson learned about dancing on the table, a black eye/nose combo that put an end to coffee tables in our house, numerous busted lips treated with popsicles ... and on and on. I have no doubt that we will get our money's worth on that accident insurance policy. We also learned a few things with Diva - Little Man had dental insurance before he had teeth. When asked at a well-child visit about Diva's bruises, I gave a honest answer. "I have no idea where they came from, but I don't remember these either," showing my own bruised legs. You see ... it runs in the family.
However, today I have to wonder when Family Services will be paying a visit? I have two children with goose eggs on their foreheads at the same time. I mean, really, what are the odds that happens to someone? She fell out of bed, landing on her head. Hysterical screams at 5am and her very sleepy mother scooped her up, but didn't notice the bruise until daylight!! As of today, it was fading nicely into a light yellow-brown. Ever the competitor, Little Man had to out do her. I have no idea how it happened (although I have a vague idea it involved climbing) ... I heard the screams after the fact. At least I noticed his, right? Hard to miss ... center of the forehead and purple/blue within a minute. I think he wins.

Scissor Skills

During Diva's first year of MDO, her scissor skills (or lack thereof) were a sticking point between Mommy and the teacher. As the mother of a three-year-old, I was quite happy that she didn't know how to hold scissors ... much less, actually use them. However, Ms. D seemed to see this as a problem. She even sent "homework" to further Diva's use of scissors. After feeling that my child had failed as a three-year-old, I gave up and began encouraging supervised use of scissor. Although it took awhile ... it finally came back to bite me.

Diva was practicing at the kitchen table. A friend recently suggested that I let her cut out coupons as practice, which seemed like a great idea. She was "helping" me and doing quite well. Little Man, in a moment of poor timing, was in desperate need of clean pants. I was only gone for a minute ... long enough to grab a diaper and some wipes. When I returned, I noticed Diva's green ball was missing some of its spikes ... and there was a neat pile of spikes laying in the chair.

Me: Diva, did you cut your ball with the scissors?
Diva: Yeah
Me: Are you supposed to do that?
Diva: No *starting to pout*
Me: "Scissors Are For Cutting Paper" lecture

I thought we were making real progress here. She repeated back the proper use of scissors and then stated that she didn't want to play with me anymore. Apparently, I am mean. I chose to ignore that statement and turned to walk away. It was then that I discovered the true extent of the problem ...

Diva held up her hand and asked "Mommy, what about this?"

In her hand was one perfect blonde curl ...

Her MDO teacher, Ms. D, would be happy to know that she held the scissors correctly and used the open-slide-close method when SHE CUT HER HAIR!!!!

A Little Pink Never Hurt

In honor of summer, Diva selected two bottles of nail polish during our last trip to Wal-Mart. That evening we painted her toenails using the "sprankles." Little Man watched intently and then climbed up beside me ... "Toes Momma, toes." What's the harm, right? ... he's not even two and just wanted to be like his big sister. I obliged and painted his right big toe. He proudly showed it to Daddy, who was slightly less proud. The pride diminished further when he learned little man wore flipflops the next day and said "Toes, toes" to anyone that would listen.
Last night, I bribed Diva - pink "fingerails" in exchange for letting me cut her nails. While Daddy was busy getting ready for work, deja vu struck. This time I tried to ignore Little Man's request. Diva was quick to serve as her brother's translator, in case I just couldn't understand him.

Our Conversation:
Little Man: "Momma toes, toes Momma."
Diva: "Momma, Little Man wants you to paint his too."
Me: "I know, but I don't think Daddy would like that."
Diva: "But Momma, Daddy is going to work. He won't see the pink."

I guess there is no denying that's my girl ...
sometimes it really is better to ask forgiveness instead of permission!!!

And no, Little Man does not have pink toenails ...
but he does still have the sparkly big toe.