Or I should say, Mootsie was a dancing machine. Last Friday was her first and LAST ballet class (at least for a while). Seems mom jumped the gun a wee bit and though she loves to dance and does arabesques of her own volition, she wasn't quite ready for an organized class. She hung tough through nearly 10 minutes of introductions and stretches before she could take no more and had to run and twirl and leap. I winced as the teacher took her firmly by the hand and danced her right out of the studio to me. Did Mootsie care? Nah, she got to rock a leotard and ballet shoes (and continues to do so actually) and after the class was over, and after she was officially expelled, she got busy with her own brand of ballet.
I'm a few days behind on Halloween, but we're still coming down off our sugar highs...For a two year old, Mootsie didn't take long to get the trick-or-treat drill down. She was yelling, "Next house!" as neighbors were dropping candy into her simple tote.
Anyone else a tad freaked out by all the recalls going on related to children -- lunch bags with lead, plastic toys with lead and now bibs? Before Mootsie, I was mostly concerned about the environmental impact plastic has on the planet. Lately, though, I've been consumed (almost to the point of hysteria) about its health implications. After reading an article in August Vogue, we ditched the sippies. Plastic toys are next. She prefers cardboard boxes and her dad's shoes anyhow.
This post is going to be all over the place. Prepare yourself.
Mootsie is going through a mega-bad mommy phase right now. She won't let dad do anything (Except push her on the swing. Apparently, I don't push high enough), so by Saturday I was more than ready for a little alone time. I went to a matinee -- by myself. I used to do this all the time when I lived in Chicago. Is that weird? I think you're supposed to feel awkward sitting solo in a theater, but not me. Love it. I used to walk around the corner to the Music Box Theater and get lost in whatever independent film was on the screen. Then I'd walk down the block and have coffee while reading a book or magazine. That, my friends, is bliss. So Saturday I went and saw Waitress.
Have you seen it? Go. Right now. I really struggled with the adjustment to motherhood, so this sweet story really struck a cord. There's scene where an exasperated mom, who is being covered in Silly String by her son, says to a very pregnant Keri Russell, "No one tells you how ridiculously hard this is." Amen. So honest, so funny, so good.
Can I just give some props to Parents Magazine? I usually eschew parenting magazines, but something made me pick up a copy of the May issue. It's been a battle to get Mootsie to brush her teeth. We've tried everything imaginable. We've appealed to her sweet tooth with every flavor of kid toothpaste under the sun. We've tried taking turns -- you brush your teeth, mommy brushes your teeth and you brush mommy's teeth and mommy brushes your teeth. No go. We tried tickling her and making a game of it. Nope. Electric Elmo toothbrush. Uh-uh. We even went for a little peer pressure. Joes brushes his teeth. Molly brushes her teeth. I, in a moment of utter frustration, resorted to telling her that if she didn't brush her teeth they would fall out of her head. Didn't care one bit. I even enlisted the pediatrician, asking her to tell Mootsie how important it was to brush her teeth. Her admonishment wasn't quite as authoritative as I hoped and fell on deaf ears. The ped did, however, turn to Jeff and me and suggest one of us hold her while the other pried her mouth open and brushed. Now why didn't we think of that? Ahem. That didn't work about six months ago. Maybe if we had a straight jacket and a pry bar. I actually laughed when I read in Parents that having a child watch in the mirror would make him or her more agreeable to the whole process, but I figured what the heck. Do you know it worked? Like a charm. So crazy that something so simple could end months of struggle.
Um lets see. What else? Oh training for the Chicago Marathon started today. My brother and I are training for it -- he in Costa Rica and me in Indy. Yoo-hoo, Mike. Are you reading this? Get out there and tackle those hills says she from the flat, flat, flat Crossroads of America.
Expect a flurry of posts over the next few days followed by a lull. That just seems like the way it's gonna be. Post like mad and then nothing. That's kind of the way I work.
It's a big, BIG weekend in Indy.
I can honestly say that before I moved to Indy, I didn't know the difference between IRL, NASCAR and Formula One, nor did I care frankly. But the saying goes, "When in Rome." I'm now fully versed in the finer points of Indy Car and believe I may just have the next Danica Patrick on my hands.
Have a great weekend.
Cripes...I may have to rename this blog SoBro Ear Infection. Mootsie's on her third in so many months. No Good. In happier news, popsicles are in season right now, don't ya know?
Mootsie can't seem to get enough (which is why I'm now making my own and sneaking in juices with things like spinach and carrots), and I've found a good way to reuse all the sticks.
Crazy how a little ol' ear infection can cause so much darn trouble. Mootsie wasn't sleeping again and when Mootsie doesn't sleep, she's not happy. And when Mootsie's not happy, ain't nobody happy. There were many, many requests for "wock?" and "boook?" Endless rocking and reading and then crying. Oh the crying. So off to the doctor we went. She's just finished a second round of antibiotics, and hopefully that will do the trick. She's back to her usual self, which looks a lot like this...
I have loads of stuff to share about the bungalow -- a new roof, new siding and we've been working hard in the yard too -- just as soon as I upload photos.
Blue: in so many ways today. My mother used to say "When you're a mother, you'll understand" to just about everything. She cried when she left me at college. I always thought her tears were because she would miss me; Yesterday, I realized it was much, much more than that.
We've recently added a pillow and blanket to Mootsie's crib. A big girl bed isn't too far off. I see it as the very first step -- albeit a tiny step -- in her journey toward autonomy, and it's a bit unnerving. Mom, now I really do understand. All I can do is make her room a place where she's safe, secure, comfortable, happy and knows she's loved.
Photo of Blue Bed in Flea Market Style by Emily Chalmers