Today, the Bear accompanied me to a consultation with my OB/GYN, followed by brunch at Whole Foods (she had pancakes, bacon and a biscuit; I had sushi), and an hour trying out everything at the BeneFit counter at ULTA before dancing in the aisles while wearing hilariously oversized hair accessories.

During none of this was there any complaining, any need for a changed diaper, any miserable tantrums or outrageous demands. In fact, there was nothing but giggling and genuinely hilarious insights on her part and, when we got home, we were both ready for a nap.

It was perfect.

I feel like I’ve finally gotten to that part in parenting when she’s not just a cute blob who is completely dependent on me for everything and, thus, has become her own little person. She’s at an age where she hasn’t been influenced by the stupidity and meanness of other kids and she’s still young enough to think that I’m cool and wants to hang out with me all the time. (She also really likes Jimi Hendrix and the Black Keys, although she’s not that into 90′s grunge/alt. Ah well. Gotta start somewhere.) Although we definitely have tantrums when she’s just exhausted and her incessant curiosity has lead to an ongoing refrain of “Why?”s, she’s become far far more wonderful to hang out with on a daily basis than I ever thought a kid could be.

I know, that’s pretty domestic-housewife gross of me and, truthfully, I can’t even believe I’m admitting that out loud/in print, but her simplicity is therapeutic and her genuine curiosity for the mechanisms of society is refreshing and lends itself to pondering my own personal definitions of reality. And her joy – oh, it’s just infectious and addictive. It takes me out of whatever “problem”-that-isn’t-really-a-problem-but-is-just-a-stressor-of-adulthood-and-doesn’t-really-matter and demands that I return to the present, where there is dancing and hours of dress-up to be had. The gigantic hugs for no reason, the random comments about our day-to-day habits, the desire to be around me and cuddle as a means to cure whatever is ailing me… it’s impossible to feel alone anymore.

Which is a huge step from these last 3 years when, even though she’s been developing into her own person, I’ve still been exhausting myself with changing diapers and feeling alone during the day to the fickle demands of someone I barely relate to and like a faceless servant the rest of the time. Somewhere in there, there’s been a shift and now I have a friend who gets me out of bed and demands that I enjoy my life as it is immediately before me. She pushes me to researching where we can go ride horses and pick strawberries and she wants to help with any project I take on, from painting walls to “growing flowers” to folding laundry. She’s the sidekick I never anticipated and I want to freeze her at this age forever.

Tomorrow we’re going fishing and taking a canoe out on a lake close-by. And, no offense to the friends I have around here, but I’m looking forward to it being another day with just the two of us without any sort of adult/societal crap to get hung up on. It is, incidentally, more of Exactly What I Need.

Yesterday I was having one of those superhuge sob sessions about something unimportant (read: I need to put on my big girl panties and get over it) when the Bear noticed and decided to mediate.

Taking the stance of a warrior, she declared, “I KISS IT BETTER!!!”, ran over, pulled my hands away from my face and gave me a prolonged, “mmmmMMMMMMMWAAH!!!” on the cheek.

I’m kinda jealous; my kisses aren’t that effective at problem-solving.

This is a story of my 2.5 year old and how she elicited gasps of horror from a couple dozen mothers while I tried unsuccessfully to control my laughter.

DISCLAIMER: I realize I share entirely too many stories and photos about my child in a massive public forum. And, the WORST part about this is that I honestly hate people who do that, especially because so many of the “Listen to the hilarious thing my gifted/talented/world-saving child did!!!” stories are just so painfully mediocre that they make me want to punt a kitten. Additionally, I also realize that I’m completely biased and unoriginal because I think my kid is genuinely awesome. So, just so you know, I’m totally self-aware about the image I’m painting of myself as a suburban mother whose life revolves around a toddler. I get it.

So, there are free movies every Tues-Thurs morning at a massive multiplex up the road from us that we’ve been attending as we can. Because these are free, I don’t mind leaving 45 minutes in when Chloe is no longer interested in staring at a giant screen, even when I let her do running commentary.

Today’s feature film was the agonizingly formulaic “Arctic Tale”, which played out like every other here’s-the-story-of-a-modern-baby-polar-bear’s-life-and-how-it’s-going-to-die-because-you-”need”-to-buy-a-giant-car-YOUAHOLE!! Aaanyway, there was a scene in this movie in which a large polar bear sets its sights on a baby seal and begins to pursue it, thundering through the water as the music mounts and children all around us begin to cry out in their “IT’S GONNA EAT ME IN MY SLEEP!!!” terror. Just as the cacophony of kids screaming reaches it’s pinnacle, the “auntie” of said baby seal swoops in and thwarts the predatory bear’s mission, much to the relief of everyone in the audience…

…Except my angelic, blonde haired, blue eyed, pink dress-laden daughter, who slaps one hand to her forehead, reaches an upturned palm toward the screen and yells, “Ah, COME ON!!!”

The glowers of sheer disdain and pure judgment from my parenting peers couldn’t quell my hysterical laughter for the next five minutes until the Bear, now disillusioned with the film’s lack of baby-seal-mauling scenes, insisted we “leave to home.”

I have the best sidekick ever.

The Bear has gotten to the age where she’s no longer speaking gibberish, which makes communicating with her a completely different experience. Now I actually have to listen to what it is that she’s saying, translate it into an entire sentence, and respond accordingly. (This is important if I want to encourage her language skills. Which, um, I definitely do.) Often, there are times that she’s been saying something for a very long time that I simply cannot understand until she has the opportunity to physically demonstrate it, which has the potential for hours of frustration when she wants so desperately to get her point across and cannot enunciate whatever it is she desires.

So anyway, I thought I’d include a short list of her most frequent vocabulary uses. Many of these she has been using for about 6 months, but about 60% of them were just developed in the last couple months. Also, when the definition has slashes, it means that this word has multiple definitions that are used contextually. Reeeally keeps me on my toes.

Here are the words that actually mean whole sentences:

“Dosdos” ~ I’d like to go upstairs/downstairs now.
“Ewwwwww!” ~ Someone pooted!/I just pooped!/One of the cats just barfed!
(My hubs had an incident where he was just out of the room a couple days ago and heard one of our cats making the “Guh, guh, guh” pre-vomiting noise. There was a moment of silence and then he heard, “EEEEwwwww!”)
“Sjoos?” ~ May I have some juice?
“Muck” ~ May I have some milk?
“Chose?” ~ May I have some Cheerios?
“Kek!” ~ Someone is having a birthday so there must be cake! (She says this during birthday parties even if there is no cake in view.)
“Tekyu!” ~ Thank you! (I have to brag about this one for a minute because she always says it anytime anyone gives her something. The other day I went in to check on her in bed and I pulled the covers up over her while she was sleeping. Barely conscious, she said, “Tekyuuu.” I was so proud.)
“Bye Bye!” ~ This one seems self-explanatory, but she says this when she wants someone to go away, like a needle-wielding nurse.
“Co! Co!” ~ It’s cold! (She always says this while wrapping her arms around herself and making her jaw chatter, even if she’s just describing ice cream. It’s hilarious.)
“Deddee buck!” ~ I want to look at the wedding-photos book you gave Daddy for your anniversary.
“Waigo?” ~ Where did it go? (This is almost always prefaced with a gasp and a palms-up shrug.)
“Cuws” ~ I want to color now.
“Seet seet!” ~ Have a seat next to me.
“Huuuuug.” ~ Pick me up and hold me. I don’t feel well or am tired but won’t admit that. I just want mommy. (Admittedly my favorite.)

Because we’ve been stuck in the house battling bronchitis and lethargy-inducing fevers for the last week, we’ve been subjecting ourselves to a lot of movies. She only has about five she wants to watch ::sigh:: ad naaauseum. Here’s the list:

“Teek!” ~ The Tinkerbell movie or its sequel. She MUST wear her wings (“Weegs!” or “Veegs!” or “Sfy”) and skirt every time we run these movies.
“Pooh” or “Piggit” or “Teega” or “Rabbie” ~ The Pooh Movie
“Doggies” ~ Lady and the Tramp
“Muwmuw” ~ The Little Mermaid (although this isn’t her favorite, much to my chagrin)
“RAAAR!” ~ Monsters, Inc.
“Sessie” ~ Sesame Street OR the “Bare Necessities” Sing Along Songs DVD
“Miggie” ~ The godawful “Disneyland Fun” Sing Along Songs DVD featuring Mickey Mouse
“Piggie” ~ The Muppet Show. I’ll discuss it more later, but “piggie” actually has multiple meanings, which I think is pretty cool.

And then here are just the basics:

“RAAR!” ~ Monster/dragon/dinosaur. (She’s not afraid of any of these. Also, when little boys have tried to jump out and scare her with roars on playdates she giggles at them and then runs after them, doing the same. Awe. Some.)
“Ticky ticky!” ~ Tickles
“Achoos” ~ Tissues (this is one we didn’t teach her but she just started identifying on her own.)
“Cowds” ~ Clouds. (Another we didn’t teach her.)
“Ah-pay” ~ Airplane
“Hawsie” ~ Horsie(s)
“Cows” ~ Cow(s)
“Buds” ~ Bird(s)
“Caw” ~ Car
“Tuck” ~ Truck
“Piggies” ~ Toes/Pigs/Miss Piggy.
“Toes” ~ Toes (she actually recognizes that there are two words for toes and that one is a colloquialism! Coool!)
“POOPP!” ~ Poop. (This is the one word she overenunciates every time. Loudly.)
“Cowck” ~ Clock. (It sounds filthy when she says it out loud. We must remedy this.)
“Cackee”/”Gaggee” ~ Cookie
“Schoo-choo” ~ train
“Kack! Kack!” or “Dack!” ~ duck/goose/swan
“Uggut” ~ yogurt
“Chickychicky”/”Bok!Bok!” ~ Chickens (this is always accompanied with bent-elbow flapping gestures)

I could ramble on for a while about basic vocab, but I think after a while it starts to get mundane (“Doew” = “door”, etc.) But that’s what I have for now. And that’s pretty much all the language I get on an average day. I wish there was a device that people could wear that would translate everything everyone else said into basic toddler language so I could see how they’d do after a week of that. I’m sure their nerves would be as frayed and their sanity as wrecked as mine after just a couple days.

For Christmas and her birthday, the Bear got a tiny tutu and toddler-sized fairy wings from different relatives that just happen to match. Because she’s been sick all week and the weather has been crappy, all she’s wanted to do is wear those two things over her clothes and watch “Tinkerbell” on repeat. Okay, granted it’s pretty adorable, especially when Selena Gomez kicks in with the theme song during the credits and I’m ordered to “Dance! Dance!” along with the tiny spinning blonde fairy in my den. It’s magical and cute and makes me gush over with happy feelings about being a mom and having a little girl and all that mushy gunk I’d hate on anyone else.

However, the cuteness of her attire is wreaking havoc on my already-weak disciplinary resolve. It’s hard enough for me to tell her “No” or to take her away from potentially hazardous things she desperately wants to be entangled in, but this week it’s been particularly difficult, especially when I try to turn off “Tink! Tink!” and get her to do something other than staying glued to the television.

And this week I learned that I’ve never felt like more of a monster than when I have to make a tiny baby fairy cry.

::sigh::

If it wasn’t so pitiful it’d be hilarious.

The Bear woke up this morning with a fever of 104.1 (F… duh.) We had a tepid bath, some aceteminophen and went downstairs to try out some juice (to no avail.) During WordGirl (8:00 a.m.) she was at 100.3 and doing okay and was still alright by Sesame Street (10 a.m.) – only a little lethargic and curmudgeonly – so I went into the kitchen to unload the dishwasher while she watched the TV from the couch. Ten minutes later, I poked my head into the den only to find that she’d crawled onto the floor, curled up in a little ball and gone back to sleep. I put her back to bed and kept checking on her at a manic every-5-minutes. The temperature started escalating again, so I called the doc, flung the Bear in the car and drove 30 miles to my pediatrician (I have my reasons for going this far.) She was just pitiful in the waiting room and completely unlike herself; she was curled up on my lap with her eyes half-mast (but not sucking her thumb), her eyes were downcast and red and she made little whimpers whenever I tried to move her. I would talk to her and she would repeat whatever word I emphasized (“We’re going to the doctor.” “Doc-tow.”) but there was none of the incessant babbling I was shocked to realize that I missed. She’s diagnosed with strep throat, we get some antibiotics and well-wishes, we drive the 30 miles back home and we plunk ourselves down to rest and watch more “Pooh”.

This may sound terrible of me but I secretly loved what happened for the rest of the afternoon. From 3 until about 6, the Bear laid against my chest, curled up and drifting in and out of sleep. (She was usually disturbed by my incessant temperature checks.)

Ever since she was little, I’ve never been able to get her to go asleep in my arms. Not ever. Not when she was a baby, not when she was teething, not when she’s been about to pass out at the end of the day. It’s one of those things that tears me up inside as her mother but, because she relies on me for so many other things and shows adoration in other ways, it doesn’t bother me too much. However, my mom can always get the Bear to settle down and fall asleep and there’s a really stupid, petty, catty side of me that’s been envious of that, even though my mom never does it to spite me.

Today, she laid in my arms for hours and didn’t move until just after 6, when her fever jumped to 105.1 and we had to plunk her into another tepid bath. (did not like.) Afterward, I took her into her bedroom and rocked her in the rocking chair for longer than she’s ever let me. When I thought she’d fallen asleep, I let the arm that wasn’t supporting her drop to my side a little. Immediately, she reached up to my shoulder and ran her hand along the outside of my arm, pulling it around her again. She didn’t even open her eyes.

I leaned in and whispered, “I love you, Bear” and I heard her say – very, very quietly – “Ah yahzz yoo, Mama.”

Today might be the best day of my whole life.

Honestly?

I don’t even know anymore.*

*Not that I really did, although I was convinced that I did up until about six or seven years ago. But now I’m certain that I don’t. And I don’t know where to start or if it’s even worth starting and it’s not bad and it’s not good and what it all boils down to is that I’m a giant wuss and no amount of begging the Universe for a pair of white-gold-dipped balls is actually changing that at the moment and that’s frustrating on top of everything else slowly stacking itself on each other. So, even though there’s a lot going on, there’s really nothing happening.
Because of me.
Being chickenshit.
And then hating it.
And then hating myself for hating it.

… And I’m tired. I think tired is coming in at a close second. Like, really long-term, weary, worn-out tired. It’s like I’ve spent since I was 13 overanalyzing and oversentimentalizing everything and then I ramped that up in the last few years with the mental workout of recovery and now something in my brain just finally powered down and now I don’t want to do any of it which doesn’t really help me because I’m pretty lazy when it comes right down to it but I kinda felt productive in my inactivity before now because at least I was dissecting and understanding everything but now that I’m not even doing that I’m really just not doing anything at all.

I really miss being able to blame my ineptitude on being completely out of my mind.

~ I have my first audition in five years with a professional theatre here in town. While I’m excited to be getting back into theatre, I’m petrified as I haven’t acted in about 3-ish years, I haven’t sung anything except karaoke since my vocal register changed (pregnancy wreaks havoc on EVERYTHING) and, after thorough review of every performance I’ve ever given, I’ve pretty objectively realized I’m not much to look at on stage, nor do I have any level of awareness or implementation of any techniques I may have learned in my 5 years of arts school education. I’m afraid I’m going to look like one of those idiot ‘American Idol’ contestants who’s too deluded to realize they should stick to something else.

~ I just got back from a seriously blissful weekend in Atlanta. While the trip was primarily to visit with my husband’s family, I spent about half the time visiting with my own family and friends which was just incredible, almost to a degree I wasn’t expecting. The Bear and I drove my mother’s behemoth 1998 Suburban down for the 6-hour trip a day early (we had piles of babythings to return to my cousin who gave them to us mistakenly believing they were through with having children) and spent a night and an extra evening visiting with one of my oldest and dearest friends (it’s interesting; I haven’t known her longer than any of my other childhood friends, but she’s the only good friend I can say I’ve been close to the longest.) in her AMAZINGly posh little neighborhood in the Highlands area of Atlanta. The Bear and I stayed with her and her poor, unassuming fiance who was so tolerant of Chloe’s incessant excited squeals while he was recovering from a very very recent oral surgery that I feel I owe him a kidney or something. Anyway, being able to catch up and spend some actual “hang-out-and-talk-about-stuff-other-than-general-catch-uppery” time with her was a rare treat and then being able to see her again the next night at her family’s Football Marathon Extravaganza was even cooler. (Best meal I’ve had in years. Literally. Her brother smoked melt-in-your-mouth barbecue and this crazy Bacon Explosion – we called it the Coronary Log – that was woven bacon wrapped around sausage wrapped around bacon and smoked into a magical, life-shortening log of majesty. And then her dad provided home grown Georgia peaches for homemade peach ice cream that almost made me start speaking in tongues.)
Aside from getting to have a social life with real, actual friends who aren’t obligated to be around me for familial or occupational reasons, I was able to visit with my siblings one morning for a mind-altering breakfast at the Flying Biscuit where I devoured an organic pumpkin pancake stack drizzled with maple syrup and pralines that, also, made me consider going into the priesthood or taking Jesus as a groom. We hit the Decatur Book Fest which wasn’t nearly as cool as I was expecting (I was hoping for book sales galore and only got indie authors hawking their wares en masse) but I did get to meet the guys from Mental Floss and yell at them for monopolizing all of my productivity and spare time with their addictive informative site and intriguing trivia. Plus, I got one of the founders to sign a book for me! Whee! The highlight of this whole thing, however, was that I got to spend some time with my siblings who I always just assume want to be around me to see my daughter. However, when my brother seemed genuinely excited to hang out with us sans Bear later on that evening I’m not sure I’d been so touched in a very long time.

And THEN, as if my weekend wasn’t emotionally rich enough, I got to stop off at my cousin’s incredible little bungalow in Roswell, Georgia where he and his wife made us lunch and their daughter spent two enamored hours bringing the Bear into hysterical giggles I haven’t heard other than when she’s being tickle tortured (Always go for the feet with little wet wipes. Works every time, even during frantic sobs of age-associated protest.) I tend to gravitate toward my cousin as a means of shared sanity as we both have been the ones in our families who have absorbed that swept-under-the-rug dysfunction and have had the residual emotions manifest in our mental states. Because of our shared experiences with years of therapy and learning how to implement those tools into the sanity surrounding us, we have a lot in common in that we look at things objectively and are often the ones accused of being melodramatic or just insane by those who would rather blame and ostracize the “crazy one” for familial craziness instead of beginning a process of self-evaluation and transformation themselves. (::Sigh::) Nonetheless, while both of us have reached a point in our lives where we’re emotionally self-sufficient and no longer willing to sit around and whine about being victims or other cowardly shows of general laziness, we have a mutual understanding of the ability to look at dysfunctional insanity and disassociate with it on a personal level, which is something I often feel very very alone in. It’s always nice to be able to get together with him and compare notes although sometimes I feel bad that our conversations usually go that direction before moving on to anything else, simply because we see each other so rarely and it’s such a sense of relief to have someone who understands who is also within the family. (Luckily, both of us have fantastic spouses who are objectively level-headed but still always on our team… even if we’re wrong… That being said, there’s something to be said for having someone who can understand and relate to my exact situation because he’s witnessed and experienced the exact same things from the exact same people. There’s definitely a sense of validation there.) And he’s always the first family member I send an email to when I’m dealing with great emotional upheaval or conflict in my personal, family-related life as he’s distant enough to deal with the situation objectively but close enough that he can make observations about the usual participants and the roles and persuasions they embody within the family dynamic.
All this being said, that poor guy has gone through far faaaarrr more family insanity and mental fuckery than I eeever have (selfishly, I’m unbelievably thankful for this) so, while his life experiences are always to caricature-esque extremes, I feel like I can really learn a lot from his journey to self-realization and his ability to emotionally liberate himself and find happiness in his own life. It’s very inspiring, although heartrending to hear, let alone to physically observe.

So yeah, it was a great weekend for me and a surprisingly emotionally refreshing one to boot. Granted, the Bear has gotten to an age where she’s really selective about her choice of activity and hates being redirected with a passion (It’s so bad that if we try to pull her off a staircase she’s been playing on for ten minutes in public, she’ll fling herself on the ground and begin screaming and kicking. This happens no matter what personal agenda goals of ours conflict with hers, even to the more minute detail, like changing her diaper when she would rather sit and play with her toes. It’s EXHAUSTING.) so it was really hard to go along with the adamant plans of the in-laws without flat out refusing. There were a few times that they were intent on doing a certain thing at a certain time and were inflexible about it, which is perfectly fine and honestly completely understandable and even relatable to us as people who used to have lives with plans and agendas but, being that we have a child who often restricts our freedoms and abilities to do anything according to regimented plans we were constantly trying to assert our inability to participate, which was taken more personally than intended. We were adamant in insisting the group go on without us and enjoy their time in town while we joined them while we could but that usually backfired on us as well. So we found ourselves stuck in awkward positions such as the Sunday morning incident when we took the Bear to a hot, overcrowded zoo filled to the brim with Labor Day Family Vacationers during which she only showed interest in – again – climbing stairs, running after her peers and… that’s about it, actually. As predicted she showed little to no interest in the animals who were barely visible in their tiny but hilly entrapments and, after realizing that we had plans different than hers, began fussing about everything. She didn’t want to be carried, she didn’t want to walk, she didn’t want a juice box, she didn’t want anything in particular but to scream and insist on pushing the stroller up and down a massive ramp and then scream more at us when we tried to thwart her plans. In addition to battling an oncoming migraine that lasted the rest of the evening, I was practicing breathing techniques to restrain myself from angrily reminding everyone that I did say this would happen and that we would definitely have been better suited for her to have visited in the early-to-mid afternoon, after her nap when all the other kids were still taking theirs and she could have a little more breathing room like my husband and I said at the beginning. (I’m sorry to sound like a ruthless bitch here but we do, after all, spend all our time with this little person. We do have a general idea of how she functions and her inability to adapt to anyone else’s plans. It’s a flexibility we’ve been forced to learn in order to keep screaming meltdowns to a minimum and maintain some semblance of sanity.) When the Bear fell asleep in the car before we left the parking lot and was awake by 1:30 p.m. within an hour of us laying her down for a nap, I was even more frustrated by the validity of my prediction. (It was the one time in my life I honestly wished I could have been wrong just to avoid more of the I-told-you-so’s-and-why-doesn’t-anyone-listen frustrations.) ::sigh:: And, of course, when we insisted that the rest of the group stay and get their money’s worth out of their visit, we were met with genuinely well-intended “of course nots!” which were appreciated but not out of character and was even more of a reminder that this often happens in such situations that could easily have been avoided. I’m definitely not saying that it doesn’t royally suck to have a child who is such a prima donna and demands her way on schedule all the time (it totally does), but, knowing that this is the sort of person who is often among the most popular in this sort of family gathering, I would think that those around us would try to accommodate that for the sake of everyone’s sanity at the least. The weirdest part of all of this is that it’s beneficial to EVERYONE involved when concessions are made to keep her happy as we are all given more time to enjoy ourselves and nobody’s having to run off to quell her fussiness, so, again, the insistence on ignoring our always-accurate warnings is beyond me. Especially since there have been a surplus of consistent examples to back my assertions’ accuracy. Still, though, we’re frequently ignored when we attempt excuse ourselves from late-night public dining ventures (again, always from the best intentions from this group of people who just want to include us) and other out-of-synch plans that inevitably end with elevated stress during an epic meltdown.

However, I was incredibly grateful at the offer to take the Bear off our hands for an evening while me and the hubs enjoyed a night out on the town (Don’t go see “Extract”, by the way. Not much to talk about at all and I’m not even sure it’s worth a DVD rental in six months. Seriously disappointing with a protagonist story very similar to that in “Office Space” without nearly as much relatable humor and sense of direction or varied levels of emotion. Everything just felt hollow and forced and, while the cast was full of individually appealing personalities – Mila Kunis is funny, quirky and hot, as always. Jason Bateman is handsome though a bit bumbling and uncertain… as always. Beth Grant is a particular highlight, returning as one of the most hilarious obnoxious bitches imaginable which, despite her real-life sparkling personality, is what she’s simply genius at. – , together they were just like an eclectic collection of thrift store furniture “finds” that are divine by themselves but look like an apartment in a schizophrenic’s mind when flung into the same room. Not an ounce of chemistry in the whole group. So there’s my mini review.) And I was secretly relieved that the in-laws were the victims of Poopocalypse II later in the evening as I’m not sure my heightened exhaustion and end-of-day stress could have handled such an involved event while keeping myself from breaking into tears. (Again, a 6-hour trip with someone who loathes confinement more than myself is taxing of multiple days’ worth of energy and emotion.) Greg and I went to an actual party with real adults that had other stuff to talk about than having babies and then we went out to a movie and stayed out until midnight. I cannot remember the last time we did that together. 11:30, sure. But midnight? Not since I was pre-pregnancy. Amazing.

~ So I’m gearing up for a big week here. Recovery laundry and babycare from this recent trip, a last-minute monologue cramming session, a trip back to Myrtle to return my mom’s car this weekend… it just don’t stop, apparently.

I’ve been kind of freaking out about the Bear’s development as of late. My parents insist that I could name letters and numbers when they were pointed to by the time I was 18 months (apparently my dad used to place bets with his friends as to whether or not I could and, when they stood there slack-jawed he got to chuckle and remind them that they now owed him a beer) and I have friends who tell me their siblings could read by the age of 2. Meanwhile, my daughter is still barely making out words and mostly sticking to the same 5-8. Although she is adopting a new word every other day or so, she seems to easily forget them the next time I bring them up.

Naturally, this sends me into that whole worrisome insecurity I’ve transferred from my lovelife – where it is no longer necessary – and over to my parenting. Am I not letting her socialize enough? Maybe we watch too much TV! Should we be reading more? Do I need to drill her on letters and numbers? Is she going to be behind when she starts preschool? Maybe I’m being a terrible mother. I need to do more reading about this age; I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Maybe all the accomplishments of hers that I’m impressed with are months overdue! Should I have done that whole sign language for babies thing even though I heard it stunts their verbal progress? Oh God, why can’t I do anything with competence!?

And yeah, I know a lot of moms say that kids just naturally do things on their own time but there have been reports of kids who were locked in basements and such that never developed at all, so clearly that theory is bunk. And I’m not leaving my kid solitary confinement all day (or ever) but what if her expanding brain is just turning to mush because it’s not stimulated enough? Again: Oh God, why can’t I do anything with solid, consistent competence?!

So I’ve spent the better part of the day planted in front of the computer reading parenting resources on Parents.com and Disney’s parenting site. (I really should’ve started this earlier because I need to start introducing more vegetables into her diet and I have no idea how to deal with these tantrums she’s started throwing and I really have no clue as to when to transfer her to a normal bed or when to start potty training. ::sigh::) As it turns out, she’s right on track, despite what I’m hearing about these freakishly brainy kids who will probably turn out to be socially stunted like savants and prodigies always seem to be.

In fact, there are a few things she’s already doing preemptively, which is really exciting for someone who’s parenting without any sort of guidebook. It’s funny with kids because they just start doing something and you don’t even really notice or recognize it as a milestone until someone points it out to you. A lot of times when I was reading about her anticipated monthly accomplishments I found myself going, “Oh, well yeah, she’s been doing that for a while.” She’s been running and kicking for a few months now, she’s putting together small phrases (“It’s HOT!”, “Hi Kitties!” and “Hey doggie!” being her favorites), she’s sorting things by color, she’s able to recognize things even when in different forms, she turns letters and text right-side-up when she grabs a book (even when there are no pictures) and she’s doing a few other things that really aren’t due until later in the year.

Hunh.

So basically, what I learned is that, through absolutely no deliberate action on my part and no idea as to what I’m doing, I’m managing to not only keep my child up to par, but even enabling her to surpass the average. Um, yay me? I’m sure when this sort of thing is viewed by psychologists, they’d say that it has something to do with the individualized attention she’s been getting but I’m genuinely positive I’ve had nothing to do with this at all. All I do is play along with her and redirect her when she’s getting into something potentially hazardous. That’s it. No Montessori technique, no Dr. Spock recommendations, no playgroup-discussed methods. Nada. And it seems to be working.

And I am perfectly happy with continuing this lifestyle. After all, I want what’s best for my child.

Maybe I’ll write a book about it and coin “The Slacker Parent Method” (much different from the book “Slacker Mom” which was so horrible I couldn’t even finish it. The woman who wrote that wasn’t a slacker so much as a coldhearted, selfish bitch who probably should never have procreated in the first place. I want to start a therapy fund for her poor kids, especially knowing that this woman’s book sales have inevitably vindicated her atrociously apathetic attitude. ::shudder:: They’ve got a long road ahead of them.) I could become another “child expert” (heh… what a bullshit job title… kinda like “life coach”) and show up on panels and stuff. This could be very lucrative.

*Copyright pending

This is me with nothing to say but still feeling the need to write something. I’ll indulge with ramblings about self/pop culture/Burning Man/etc. Feel free to abstain.

~ Donald Duck has always been my favorite of the original Disney characters from the time I was a small child. This still has nothing to do with the fact that I loathe it when people try to emulate his voice. It always sounds unintelligible and just ridiculous.

~ I’ve realized that anything Nick Park is behind I’m pretty much automatically going to adore. Aside from the Wallace and Gromit productions, “Robbie the Reindeer” and “Shaun the Sheep” are just infectious with clever joy.

~ If leprechauns are so worried about people stealing their pots o’ gold, why don’t they invest it or spend it or something? Perhaps their fighting-Irish Napoleon Complex is only satiated with the knowledge that they have great wealth in a tangible form. The ego associated with material things, I guess.

~ I’ve got to learn to let go of my control issues. After hours of watching children’s television, I’ve realized that I am completely incapable of watching any cartoon without becoming frustrated in the inconsistencies and plot holes. (Honestly, though, how can Squidward’s house become flooded or tears be visible if Spongebob lives under the sea?!?)

~ After a few weeks with this writing course, it’s become evident that I blow as a writer unless I’m talking about myself. Fan. Tastic.

My professor is very encouraging but I still feel insecure when he says things like “Once again, you’ve made a stellar effort.” I know I’m working my ass off to push myself but that doesn’t mean I’m producing anything worthwhile. I don’t need praise for my effort, I just want to know that I’m not sucking in this genre.

I don’t know. The one short story I wrote for the fiction writing class I was in a few years ago that I thought was absolute garbage and was fully expecting to be mercilessly criticized for was awarded the unofficial Blue Ribbon of the semester. (The professor – a nationally recognized author – actually sketched a little one on the final draft. I kept it after all these years because it makes me smile.) So I get that all art is subjective but if I hate what I’m producing I feel really unethical accepting any sort of praise for it or trying to submit it to competitions, etc. Somehow being awarded for something I don’t stand behind feels like lying to me.

(The same thing happened with some photography I submitted to the student literary journal that last semester of undergrad. The piece I thought was my all-time best work wasn’t even published while the one piece that took the smallest effort, wasn’t that visually appealing and was honestly about to be left at home won a freaking award.)

~ The Gosselin parents are sad, pathetic people with personalities of white bread toast. Why is the media so fascinated with yet another crumbling marriage between two people who exploit their children for money? Why are we giving them any more attention or justifying/perpetuating their chosen “career” any more than we have to? And why hasn’t someone at least told Kate that her hair is unforgivable? (There; that was my superficial snarkiness coming out.) And why are these women latching onto and publicly fighting over Jon for “fame”? Really, he’s not attractive, he’s clearly just having a textbook mid-life meltdown and he’s not famous so much as highly publicized so the whole thing won’t have mattered in six months and they’ll have wasted their 15 minutes on that. Ew. (Oh, there it was again.)

~ Every year during this time I get a little down because I’m missing out on Burning Man for yet another session. It’s one of those things I’ve longed to attend for years and years now but never had the money or the time to make the drive and set up camp. I have a friend who has gone for about 5 or six years now whom I visited in Berkeley. While there, she took me to a warehouse in Oakland where a bunch of Burners live in little makeshift apartments and work on art all day. They were scheduled to have a party that night but, because it was so cold, we ended up just standing around a trashcan bonfire and chatting about various life experiences. Still, though, just being around all this incredible, innovative art (including the famed Dr. MegaVolt!) and these people who just live out these wild, pronoiac fantasies was awe-inspiring. Then, a couple years ago, I spent a while in Asheville, NC, helping an amazing performance artist I’d met at a folk art show get ready to make the long trek out there. I helped him wrap up some huge projects, like a random spiritual-and-philosophical-beanbag-toss game where the rules and challenges were subjective but always rewarding. He also has this unbelievable art car he’s transformed from an ambulance that he uses along with his stage show in which he discusses and pontificates about absurdist philosophy under the alias Mister Doctor Professor. We also spent a lot of time building a tent that could entertain masses as well as weather the daily sandstorms that blow up at the festival. And I loved every minute of it.

I know these kinds of people are few and far between and are usually the ones who are laughed at or mocked by the larger, consumerist society and I also realize that in my saying that it makes me into a TheMan-fighting cliche but I really, honestly, do not care. These Burning Man-like events and are just things you do for the sole purpose of enjoying life and exploring your own mind and pushing your limitations and/or concepts of joy, communication and creativity. These are the types of people who excite and inspire me more than any other, even if I can only watch from a distance.

So during Burning Man week I always feel a bit of longing to be out enjoying the insanity and all-night partying and unbelievable art projects (the 55-foot long, electronic, metal, flaming Serpent Mother built by the Flaming Lotus Girls in 2006 is one of my absolute favorite works of art of all time) and the insane contests (from the obscene and vulgar to the absurd and family-friendly) and just all of it. I hope it’s still going on when I finally have enough money and time to go.

This year, however, I’m going to try to refocus my energy to tapping in to the positive vibes Burning Man generates. Certainly such a large convening of ecstatic minds in celebration has to emit some incredible rifts in the global energy. I want to be a part of that somehow. Maybe I’ll paint something…

~ This morning I was enjoying my weekly cup of Decaf Hazelnut Creme coffee when the Bear started clamoring for a taste. Figuring she’d hate it, I gave her a sip to which she replied, “MMMMMMM!” and then began reaching for more. After a few minutes fruitlessly attempting to fend her off, I decided to put a tiny spoonful in a sippy-cup of milk, like a baby latte that would actually have some nutritional benefit. Suffice to say that it worked. I just have to make sure this doesn’t become a habit.