Feb 23, 2007

Mommy in Training

2/23/2007 — cori

Although it is true that I am still a mommy in training (everyday I learn something new and interesting about my children I previously had not known), I am actually referring to my 2 year old daughter here. She fancies herself a 'real mommy'. End of discussion. If anyone tries to tell her differently, they wish they hadn't.

Since she does everything with extreme attention to detail, it makes sense that she would enter her new found career armed with as much knowledge about the job as possible. Where better to get all the answers from than your own Mommy. It is rather a convenient set-up for her. I am drilled with a million questions a day - a least. She watches my every move like a hawk. She immitates everything.

You can imagine the boys' shagrin at having two mommies in the house now. They can never get away with anything. She monitors their every move. She reminds them of things I've said. Everyone appreciates all the extra 'help' she provides.

She is constantly asking me things like, "Do mommies yike ayigators?" If I give a puzzled expression, she'll rephrase her question to, "Mommy, do you yike ayigators?" If I like them - then they're 'in'. If I disapprove, they're banished to the 'out' category in her mind. She'll respond appropriately, if I say "Yes, I like alligators." she'll say, "Me too. I a real mommy and I yike ayigators too. Ayigators don't fweek me out."

Now you might be questioning the use of the phrase 'freak me out' in my two year old's vocabulary. Funny story there. I kind of taught her that one. I made a lasting and indellible impression on her already highly impressionable memory. It just so happens that about two months ago I came across a mouse running thru my car. Not a sight that anyone would like to see. Especially me. I freaked out horribly. I immediately stopped and turned off the car (thankfully we were in a parking lot already) and literally jumped out. After I got out I yelled to the kids to "Get out of the car, quick, quick!!" I was too grossed out to explain why. A mouse just came dangerously close to my foot, maybe even brushed against it. How is any mortal supposed to act in such a close encounter with the rodent species?

Once I caught my breath and the children were all safely beside me in the parking lot I told them in a very weak and shaky voice, "There seems to be a mouse in the car. Get it. Please" Gavin was overjoyed. He'd always hoped to catch a mouse. I told him to look under the driver's seat floor mat. Unfortunately the suspect wasn't there. I'm now standing in a busy parking lot with periodic hee-bee-jee-bee shivers running down my spine while onlookers give me curious stares. Why anyone couldn't see we were in immediate peril is beyond me. All the doors to the van were wide open and we were all standing 3 feet away staring at it.

I guess this small episode left it's mark on my poor daughter. She questions me about it constantly. "Mommy, why you fweek out about mouses?" That's an easy answer, "Honey, Mommy freaks out about mouses because I don't like them. I think they're gross." She felt the need to inform everyone we saw that day about the mouse we had in the car and how her mommy freaks out. (I obviously need more mommy training in how to adequately handle my innante fear of rodents while around small children.)

Thus began the onslaught of questions from Chloe, "Mommy, you fweek about flies?" or "Mommy, me no yike mouses. I fweek out about dem too." or "Mommy we don't yike mean feens (queens) do we, Mommy? We yike fnow white." I assure her that we do infact like Snow White, we do not like mean queens. "Do mommies seep wid dere heads under dere pilwoughs?" This mommy does. Therefore, that must be the one and only true way to sleep in her little mind.

If I go to write down some item I remember we need to pick up at the store, guess who pulls out her trusty little pen and paper and 'writes' down her list too. If I start to make dinner, guess who toddles up behind me and says, "What I do to hep you?" If I sit down at the computer for even a minute, guess who comes up behind me to tell me that she needs to work on her 'purple yetters' (a word document we let her type on with purple font) - it is of utmost importance and must take priority.

She's highly offended if I go to the grocery store sans Chloe. Why in the world would I want to go alone? Who would be there to eat all the samples they hand out or run over to the bakery with such glee to grab a free cookie? We even play 'Going to Market Street'. She makes me be her and she plays me. It's a hoot.

But nothing is better than the unsolicited, random hug I get in the middle of day with Chloe telling me, "You my best fwend evur, Mommy." We may go thru some ups and downs during our 'training phase', but nothing compares to the uncompromising love, trust, and admiration of your children.

Her actions remind me of an anonymous quote, "Immitation is the best form of flattery."

Feb 10, 2007

Happy What???

2/10/2007 — cori

I kid you not. This is the cake my HUSBAND so kindly and proudly presented to me on my most recent birthday. I thought it was a joke. I asked him, "Did you let the kids write this?" To which he replied, "No. The lady at the bakery counter did it." Hmmmm. Maybe the lady at the bakery counter needs to come to terms with the fact that she's not a good frosting writer. Then I was like, "You mean you actually paid money for this?" He nods his head, "But it has buttercream frosting. Your favorite. And red icing too."

Okay. How should I respond? This isn't the cake I had spent the whole previous two weeks hinting about. It isn't even close. And it has red frosting. Everyone knows that red frosting tastes terrible. I mean, yes, red is my favorite color. But if you really knew me, you would know that I hate red frosting. So, this takes me back to the question running thru my mind, Did the man I marry 10 years ago, who's known me since I was 12, really and truly pick out such a hideous cake and just give it to me as if everything is normal? Maybe he's giving me marital counseling as a birthday present. Maybe we don't really know each other as well as we thought we did. Maybe this is all a big practical joke and the real cake is hidden away somewhere, the one I've been drooling over every time I pass it at the bakery counter at the OTHER store I hinted about. He didn't even buy it from my favorite store.

And then to top it off he inserts these 5 inch high sparkler candles and lights them. True to their name they start to spark. Oh goodie...a possible fire hazard, I just love fire. Can it be? Did my sweet husband also forget my intense fear of fire. I mean a small 2 inch birthday candle I can handle, but a 5 inch sparkler that spits fire? What's happening to our marriage?

He has this huge grin on his face thinking I am just in awe at everything...he's so proud of himself. Since he thinks he's on a roll, he proceeds to tell me how proud I would be of his efficiency. He got my slippers 75% off at Target just the day before and while he was there he saw this wonderful cake and thought this was just way too perfect and the epitome of efficiency. I guess you can't argue with logic like that!

However, all was not lost. To his credit, I did receive a pair of tickets to the Symphony along with the slippers and cake. Oh how I love the Symphony! I guess our marriage is okay afterall.
I don't think I've ever laughed so hard when receiving a cake. I had one of those deep, belly laughs that makes tears involuntarily stream down your face. Laughter is a wonderful gift and I sure got an abundance of it on my birthday.

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