Kiddie Ambien
Posted by admin | Filed under Motherhood, Preschoolers, parenting, sleep
I know what you’re thinking: WHAT? WHERE? Do I need a prescription??? If so, can I use my meth lab to make some?
Relax. It’s Children’s Benadryl. God, I love that shit.
Anyone who has a three-year-old will agree with me, I promise. Because bedtime has become a horrible, terrible, drawn-out nightmare that won’t end, even when I go to bed myself. I have never seen a human being fight sleep so vehemently, so desperately. It’s one of God’s little jokes: Just when you get to an age where sleep is this heavenly escape from the daily grind, you have a baby. And that baby sleeps poorly at first, then really well, then… becomes a three-year-old, this demonic, sleepless, talking thing that won’t shut up. Ever. I’ve had to shut the door while Nora was mid-sentence, talking about every single thing she has ever learned in her short life. It’s constant, nonsensical, and will drive you mad if you listen to it long enough.
During the day, I think Nora’s motor mouth is cute. It’s adorable. Most of the time. Her voice is high-pitched and chipmunk-like, as is her cherubic face. It only really gets to me when it cuts into my downtime. If she is still blabbing past eight at night, I stop thinking it’s cute. Because that is an almost-solid 13 hours of hearing about ballerinas, swimming pools, hearts, butterflies, princesses, unicorns and Wow Wow Wubbzy.
And THEN begins the struggle to keep Nora in bed long enough to fall asleep. Every five minutes, she’s calling. “Mommy, I need to go potty.” (She doesn’t). “Mommy, I need my bunny. The one with the pink nose.” (She knows damn well we haven’t seen that thing in months).
“Mommy, I need socks, my feet are cold.”
“Mommy, my fan isn’t on.”
“Mommy, I’m thirsty. And hungry.”
“Mommy, there’s a bat in my room with red eyes.” (This one is particularly hard to deal with, because I’ve watched too many horror flicks and am far too impressionable. What if there IS a bat with red eyes in there? Fuck, I’m sleeping with the lights on).
And God forbid TH and I go to bed before she’s asleep. She sees that living room light go off and goes nuts. And wakes up Ava. And then we’re all fucked.
So night after night, we increasingly become overtired, because no one is sleeping, not me, not Nora, not TH. (I should give TH major props here, because he is the one who deals with Nora in the middle of the night. TH, you are an amazing father. And there’s no punch line… You’re just an amazing father).
Enter Baby Ambien. I was at the end of my rope, and so I called Nora’s pediatrician, who is this hip, young mom herself, and begged her to help me. She told me to buy some Children’s Benadryl and give it to Nora for a few nights, until she got caught up on her sleep. I didn’t think it would work. The first night, I gave her the appropriate dose and tucked her in as she rambled on and on and on about her friends, her favorite TV shows, what she was going to say tomorrow… And then started to slur her words, her eyelids slowly dragging shut. I watched, a big smile on my face and waving bye-bye, as she tried to fight off the effects of the Benadryl… to no avail. She was in La-La Land in under ten minutes.
And slept through the whole night.
Oh, shit.
So now, my question is this: how many is “a few” nights? Are we talking like five days? Two weeks? Until she’s ten?
I have to talk myself out of giving her the Bendryl 90% of the time. Because it truly is amazing: No Benadryl, up until way past MY bedtime and every two hours until morning, or Yes Benadryl, down at eight and asleep until seven – at a minimum.
I am a terrible person that I even think about knocking my kid out with drugs every night, I know. But seriously. Spend a week with Nora and you’ll be ready to give her bourbon, if that’s what it takes.
Fine: Rum. Yes, I’m obsessed with pirates, and would give her rum. Now shut up.
Tags: Ambien, Benadryl, Nora, sleep, talking, Wow Wow Wubbzy
This Used To Be a Funhouse
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Motherhood, Preschoolers, Womanhood, parenting, toddlers
Now it's full of evil clowns.
Actually, now it's full of toys, garbage, and children who are far too clever and devious for their mother's good. No clowns, thank God. That would really be the icing on the cake, if I had to deal with evil clowns on top of everything else. I'd really need some heavy meds — and serious weapons — then.
So clowns aside, this place really does teeter on being an insane asylum on most days. From the moment they wake up, my girls make it their mission to destroy any sense of order or sanity in our home. Nora even tells Ava, "Come on, Ava! We have work to do!" I think she picked that phrase up from Wonder Pets (if you don't know what I'm talking about, consider yourself a lucky, lucky bitch or bastard), but it is so appropriate in context, I have to smile. The "work" my little hellions have to do is destroy, demolish, and then cackle cruelly as Mama frantically tries to undo the mess.
They take things out of drawers, cabinets, any sort of container, and seem to take particular joy in creating disorder where there was once order. It's not like they are taking specific things out to play with, they are just flinging shit over their shoulders as fast as they can possibly manage. God forbid they manage to reach a box of cereal or rice or flour in the pantry — if I don't catch them in the nick of time, it will be everywhere. Toilet paper rolls — holy shit, if I am so stupid as to leave a bathroom door open, Nora will unroll at breakneck speed and Ava will be mummified, only to eat her way out of her binding. Yes, that's right, Ava eats toilet paper. And she revels in it, making sure I see her tear off a piece and deliberately put it in her mouth. As if to say, "Watch this, Mom. I'm eating paper. Whatcha going to do about it? HUH?"
Nora, at three years old, is a bit more controllable, since she understands right from wrong, and that there will be consequences for her actions. (Am I a spanker, you ask? Hell, yes. I haven't had to do it yet, but I wouldn't hesitate if I thought it necessary). Nora has also developed a devious way of getting around punishment: She becomes immediately remorseful, saying, "Mama, I am so sorry! I am so, so SORRY!" And then she flashes those big blue peepers and stretches her arms out to me… Yeah, try and spank that, you black-hearted wench.
Ava, on the other hand, doesn't give two shits and a piss, and will wreak havoc at every opportunity. If her sister is in it with her, all the better. But if not, she can manage fairly well by herself. When I scold her, she has one response: She screams at the top of her lungs. No, not cry, SCREAM. Like an angry, defiant battle cry. And then she flashes her even BIGGER blue peepers at me and a fucking dimple, for God's sake…
I was such a GOOD kid. Where did I go wrong?
I blame TH's rotten genes. Better that than my mothering, right?
And now, a vintage ad, because it made me vomit a bit in my mouth:
Tags: Ava, evil clowns, hellions, insane asylum, Nora, spanking, toilet paper
Pirates On the Brain
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Preschoolers, Womanhood
So as many of you know, I have been writing an ongoing serial over at The Noble Pirates. While it is fiction, I do a whole lot of research on the subject in an attempt to make it as historically accurate as possible. As such, I have become obsessed. My pirate obsession has led to me neglecting my baby Mommy Brained. I'm so sorry, MB. You are not the redheaded step-child, I swear. You are my first, and I will not neglect you any longer.
It is probably not necessary to tell you that I dream about pirates, see pirates wandering around the mall, see the word "pirate" on street signs and billboards, and hear it spoken by people ALL THE TIME. Usually, they're saying the word "prior" or "pyre" or something. Anything that begins with "p," if I'm being honest with myself.
Nora has gotten used to accompanying me to the bookstore or library and has begun to ask me, "Mama, are you looking at pirate books again?" Even the three-year-old understands that her mother is fucking nuts for pirates. My knee-high boots are now my "pirate boots," and Nora routinely grabs sticks off the ground, slashes them in the air (or at Ava) and says, "AAAAAARGH! I'm a PIRATE!" I can already see her in therapy years from now, talking about her mother's abnormal fascination with 18th century criminals, and how it impacted her desire to date bad boys. As obsessed as I am, if Nora or Ava showed up with a guy who looked even remotely like a pirate, I'd call the police immediately. And then they'd scream at me, telling me it was all my fault to begin with.
My pirates have even begun to take over my marriage. Poor, poor TH. I know he'd like to accuse me of some sort of infidelity, because I talk about my pirates the same way a tween talks about the Twilight dudes (you know, with stars in my eyes, eyelashes fluttering, heavy breathing, nipple-rubbing). Really quite sad. It's gotten to the point where I can't even compliment TH without some pirate implication hanging over my head: Today, TH was looking particularly scruffy and unshaven, and I said, "TH, you look ruggedly hot today." Immediately he said, "Why? Because I look like a fucking PIRATE?"
Sheesh. Calm down, people. I'm writing a novel about pirates, but I'm not PSYCHO. Well, not completely.
On an entertaining note, TH has begun to sneak onto my laptop to add his own creative thoughts to my manuscript. It's actually REALLY annoying, but also damned entertaining. This morning, while I was showering (cue porn music), TH hurriedly sat at my laptop, probably snickering like a naughty kid, and added a couple lines to one of my chapters, including: "Howel asked Sabrina to strap one on and lay seige to his poop deck."
Granted, I was laughing for far longer than warranted. But seriously. He needs to stop. Ok, not really. But he definitely needs to put his erotic lit in a different color font so I don't ACCIDENTALLY publish it online.
So TNP readers, you are forewarned: If you should suddenly come across some soft (or hard) core porn while reading about the various sailing rigs, know that it's *probably* TH hard at work.
If the lawyer thing doesn't work out, he's always got a future in erotic literature, I guess.
Tags: Ava, erotic lit, Nora, pirates, The Noble Pirates
I Wish I Made This Stuff Up
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Motherhood, Preschoolers, Uncategorized, parenting, sleep
Nora is not sleeping. Ipso facto, neither am I.
At the ripe old age of 3, Nora's developed a healthy fear of the dark, being alone, and her bedroom. Now, as you all know, I am an avid supporter of sleep training. Of babies. Who can't talk and make you feel bad for being a terrible, horrible mother and human being. And who may end up psychologically scarred but won't have a long enough memory to know why. (What?) Nora remembers everything, and Nora knows exactly what to say to make me cave in to her desires. For instance, "Mama, I need you! Mama, don't leave me! I'm so scared! I LOVE YOU!"
Damn it all to hell. Who can resist that?
It all started with a pathetic bout of swine flu, that landed her in Mama and Dada's room. Since then, she's been terrified of the rain, of the "creature" in her room, of pretty much everything and anything that keeps her out of our bedroom at bedtime.
So now. I'm sleep deprived, Mommy-time deprived, and have what I think is the beginning of the swine flu. Remind me again, why do people have kids?
Today I had an eye exam with the guy who did my LASIK, just a run-of-the-mill check-up to make sure my eyeballs are still functioning properly. So I packed the girls and my sleep-deprived, tentatively-swine-flu-ridden ass to the doc, wearing sweats, not a smudge of makeup, and no deodorant. (For the record, I usually wear deodorant. It's just that today I forgot. What? As if you never forget to put deodorant on. What. EVER.)
Murphy's Law. It's the single most important law to remember when you become a parent, because it is the one that will rule your life. So the girls are having meltdowns, I look like shit, and lo and behold, I'm given the "new doctor" at the clinic to see, who, I kid you not, looks like Tom Cruise. And not the psycho, Scientology, PPD-bashing Cruise, but the young, hot, before-fame-went-to-his-head Tom Cruise. As a matter of fact, this guy looked better than Tom Cruise, because he was tall and really well-built.
I have one thing to say: WTF???
I think that clinic has some sort of policy, that it won't hire a male doctor or nurse that doesn't score at least an "eight" on the sorority girl Hotness Scale. So I'm sitting there, no deodorant, Ethiopian-faced children in tow, trying my best to sound in control of… well, my life? And as Tom Cruise asks me about my now-bloodshot eyeballs, Nora wanders over to the lever that control the chair I'm sitting in and WAP! the back of my seat moves out from behind me and I'm suddenly lying completely flat on my back.
Oh, Tom Cruise laughed. Shit, I couldn't STOP laughing. It was all just too… convenient. Like something out of a Ben Stiller comedy, where you sit there thinking, "Come ON, can't that guy get a single break? If I had his sort of luck I'd just shoot myself."
The day has not gotten better – naturally. I just spilled a glass of water on my beloved Macbook, and I think it's official: Today is NOT a good day. Fuck you, today. You suck ass.
Tags: hot doctor, LASIK, Murphy's Law, Nora, sleep deprivation, Tom Cruise
Sibling Strife
Posted by admin | Filed under Babies, Just plain funny, Motherhood, Preschoolers, Uncategorized, parenting
As Ava has gone from baby to toddler (Holy shite! Ava's a toddler! Time to try for #3! NOT!!!! GOD that is the most UNFUNNY joke EVER!), to Nora she's also gone from "baby sister who just sits there and cries" to "little sister who fucking RUINS MY LIFE." Granted, Nora has yet to use those exact words, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time before she does. Except I hope she never uses the "F" bomb. Who am I kidding? Since I am her mother, I can almost guarantee that she'll be "F" bombing by the time she's five. (There's another really unfunny joke. I need to go back to bed.)
Back when Ava was a tiny thing, I thought God had heard my prayers and given me an "easy" baby. She seemed to spend a good amount of time just sitting and observing, unlike Nora, who'd spent most of her baby-dom screaming her little head off. And then she became mobile. Around the time she started crawling, she developed a major attitude. Whatever Nora was doing, whether it be playing with dolls, watching TV, or sitting on the potty, Ava wanted in on it. As she realized that 1) Nora was bigger, faster, and stronger than she was, and 2) crying wouldn't always get her what she wanted, she started to fight back.
I distinctly remember when my brother started doing this. He wanted my attention, and resorted to sitting on me to get it. I'd be lying on the floor watching TV, and he'd toddle over and flop his diapered butt directly on my face. With any luck, it was a shitty diaper. Ava is no different, and she's developed this aggressive streak to getting Nora's goat.
Example: Nora will be playing "tea party" or something with her dolls and stuffed animals. She will carefully line her "friends" up, placing a tea cup in front of each. Ava will watch from a corner, plotting. You can see the wheels turning in that curly head as she watches Nora meticulously set everything up. Then, just as Nora begins the party, Ava starts running. She dive bombs in the middle of the tea party, flailing her arms and legs, making sure that everything is destroyed thoroughly. And Nora wails, “NOOOOOOO AVA!!!!” There is only one way to describe the expression on Ava’s face as she rolls onto her back, spread eagle amidst the destruction: Smug.
Having been in Nora’s shoes, I really should sympathize more than I do. I mean, I do sympathize, it’s just that I find it hilarious, too. I mean, I think it’s adorable that Ava would do anything for Nora’s attention. Because that’s what it boils down to – wanting your sibling’s attention.
Ava is proving to be a force to reckon with, just like her sister. They’re not only smart, but conniving, sassy, and full of feminine wiles.
TH and I are so doomed.
Tags: attention, Ava, Nora, sibling, siblings, sisters, tea party
YES, presents!
Posted by admin | Filed under Just plain funny, Preschoolers, Uncategorized, parenting
As her third birthday approaches, Nora is officially at an age where nothing, not a single slip of the tongue, escapes her.
Fuck.
I knew this would happen. And yet, I was in denial. Because see, now it's not just that she's parroting what I say, it's that she also understands what I say. No, she doesn't understand the meaning of curse words I use, but she gets that they are used when Mama is being naughty. And she knows they are exclamations of dismay.
But it's more than just that – she listens when I'm on the phone, seemingly playing with her toys, her eyes averted. But then she'll hear something off, and her eyes will turn on me like little headlights. For instance, my mom called me the other day to report that my grandmother, who is eight million years old, fell and broke her hand. Nora heard my side of the conversation and started howling, "WHO BROKE HER HAND? WHO, MAMA? WHOOOOOOOO?"
So TH and I were having a conversation in the car last weekend about Nora's upcoming birthday bash. (I'm saving my rant about toddler birthday parties for another post. And trust me, you don't want to miss that one). We're having it at Chuck E. Cheese. Yes, Chuck E. Fucking Cheese. NOT the fancy cupcake parlor, NOT with hired magicians, a band, a three-tier cake. Once again, I'll address this topic later. *grinding teeth*
Well, Nora was in the back with the DVD player on, and both TH and I thought she either a) couldn't hear us or b) just wasn't listening. We really need to stop assuming this, as apparently my child not only has super sonic hearing, but she has a vocabulary that far exceeds my own. At some point, TH said to me, "Well, maybe it would better if we told people not to bring presents because -"
Nora exploded before the words were out of his mouth. She was like, WAIT! WTF? Out loud, she cried, "Mama! Dada! YES presents! YES presents!" After we'd gotten done laughing our asses off, she added sternly, "And Dada NO EAT my cake!"
Yeah, Dada. Shame on you for even suggesting that people not bring presents. No cake for you, bitch.
Oh- and check out Sabrina (Post 6) over at Fiction Chick. Because you need a shitty fiction break.
Remember my post about Nora sitting languidly in her Elmo chair, French Kiss style, you people make my ass twitch? Another variation. Because that's how she rolls.
Tags: birthday, birthday party, cake, Chuck E. Cheese, language, language development, Nora, presents
Random Shiznit
Posted by admin | Filed under Babies, FYI, Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Motherhood, Preschoolers, Uncategorized
- Nora only wants to wear one shirt, her so-called "Happy Shell" shirt. I've managed to wash it once before she noticed it was missing, and that was only because I was certain there were feces stains on it. Not wearing said "Happy Shell" shirt causes her to have monumental tantrums, replete with kicking, moaning, and head-banging.
- It's that time of the month, and my girls were fighting over a box of super absorbent tampons this morning. I had to pull one out of Ava's mouth. Tantrum ensued.
- I've become highly adept at carrying both girls at the same time. I just have to make sure to switch their places every once in while, so I don't get uneven guns.
- Ava uses Nora's potty seat to play peek-a-boo. Were the hole a bit bigger, I have no doubt she would wear it around her neck.
- Nora is currently watching Yo Gabba Gabba while sitting languidly in her Elmo chair, her legs crossed, wrists limp, looking like she should have a cigarette hanging from her lips. And like she should remove the cigarette from her lips every once in while to rasp in a French accent, "You people make my ass twitch."
- Is it just me, or does Muno from Yo Gabba Gabba look like an enormous, warty penis?
I'll let you guess which one is Muno. Photo by [177] via Flickr.
Tags: Ava, Feces, meltdowns, Nora, penis, random, random shit, tampons, tantrums, Yo Gabba Gabba
My Daughter, the Con Artist
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Motherhood, Preschoolers, Uncategorized, parenting, sleep
I've come to realize an important truth: Things don't necessarily get easier as kids get older – they just get different.
Actually, I would argue that Nora's bedtime has become considerably more difficult in the past few months. Like shoot-me-in-the-face more difficult. Like I'm-going-to-sell-my-children-on-the-black-market more difficult. Like fuck-it-I'll-just-give-them-away more difficult. You get the point, no?
Once upon a time, not too long ago, I was able to convince Nora that bedtime was bedtime. Our routine was simple: bath, read books in bed, lights out, goodnight kiss. And for a while there, she accepted it; she knew that after the third book, the lights would go off and Mama (or Dada) would leave. I'd shut her door and know that TH and I could enjoy a quiet evening to ourselves.
Well, all good things must come to end. At some point, Nora figured out that Mama and Dada were LYING when they said that they were going to bed too, because she could hear them clattering around in the kitchen. Moreover, she developed enough self-awareness to be afraid of things, and that just opened up a whole new can of worms. Nowadays, her bedtime routine is stretched out indefinitely as she tries her damnedest to keep me in her room – or convince me that she, too, needs to go back downstairs. Perhaps the most painful aspect of this whole process is that she REFUSES to let TH put her down. (And when I say "put her down" I don't mean in a Old Yeller kind of way. My father-in-law HATES it when I use that phrase.) And while her wanting only me is touching and all, by the time nine o'clock rolls around, I'm dead on my feet. And if I'm still pleading with Nora to GO TO SLEEP, well, let's just say calm, rational parenting goes out the window. I'm ready to duct-tape her to her mattress.
In the dark silence of her room, Nora will suddenly stiffen and ask me, "Mama, what dat?"
ME: "That's the sound of the cars outside."
Nora: "What dat?"
ME: "Those are the crickets chirping."
Nora: "What DAT?"
ME: "I don't know, but it's nothing scary, I SWEAR."
Or alternatively, the conversation will go like this:
Nora: "Mama, I have to potty."
ME: "You just went potty."
Nora: "I need Cheerios."
ME: "No Cheerios now."
Nora: "Mama, I left Doggy downstairs!"
After losing it on TH one night, crying that I was just soooooo tired, TH and I decided that she simply had to accept that Dada would do her bedtime routine with her, at least a few nights a week. Nora did not take this well, as she spent those nights wailing for me at the top of her lungs. And even me, cold, heartless bitch that I am, would feel myself weaken until I was on the verge of tears. What started off as painful actually become quite amusing as I would listen the the exchange between TH and Nora:
Nora, sitting on the potty for the third time in under ten minutes: "Dada, I like your shirt."
TH, waiting impatiently for her to finish: "Thank you."
Nora: "Where did you get it?"
TH, sounding unsure of how to respond: "Uh, I got it at Academy."
Nora: "A. Ca. Dem. Eeee?"
TH: "You know, the store with all the bicycles. Where you always have a meltdown."
Nora: "Oh, yeeeeeeaaaaah…."
It hasn't gotten easier yet. I'm still waiting for it to. SURELY at some point she'll get the idea, right? RIGHT?
Tags: bedtime, bedtime routines, Nora, parenting, Preschoolers, sleep, TH
The Darndest Things Kids Say
Posted by admin | Filed under Just plain funny, No One But Your Mom, Uncategorized, parenting
Or do.
I am going to irritate the childless and indignant by sharing some funny things Nora has done and said recently. Go ahead, start moaning about how boring, how brain-damaged I am, how I can't talk about anything but my kids. And while you're at it, go ahead and eat some shit.
Anecdote One:
The oppressive Houston heat has caused the insects to try and crawl indoors for cover, thus making our garage a bug cemetery. Anyone who knows me is aware of my utter and complete terror of cockroaches. It is so bad that should I come across one, I will use my children as human shields. I don't know where this phobia came from, nor do I care. Just keep those little fuckers away from me.
Nora has no such fear (yet), and watches in amusement as I writhe and squeal before a dead bug. To her, it's just a bug, like any other bug, and bugs are fun to play with and then squish. Why is Mama so afraid of this bug that looks so much like the friendly crickets and grasshoppers on TV?
So the other day I was taking the girls out of the car when Nora noticed that I had run over, and completely demolished, an enormous cockroach in the garage. She pointed to it and said, "Oh, poor cricket! It has a boo-boo."
Uh-huh. God, just writing about it makes me swat at the stray tendrils of hair around my neck as though they were cockroach legs. *Shivers, eyelid twitching.*
Anecdote Two:
I am trying to teach Nora to pick up her toys at the end of the day before she goes up to bed. Naturally, I try to make a game out of it by singing that blasted "Clean It Up!" song and dancing around like a flaming idiot. At first, Nora would sing and clap and dance… and watch as I picked up the toys. After I tried to explain to her that I wasn't looking for a cheerleader but a helper, she started (begrudgingly) picking up a couple toys. Let's not kid ourselves, people – even a toddler knows cleaning up sucks ass. You can try to sugar-coat it all you want, dress it up in a song and dance, but it still sucks.
When trying to get Nora to pick up some giant puzzle pieces and put them in their box over the weekend, she quickly realized that this was taking a whole lot of effort (walking over to the piece, picking it up, walking back over to the box to where TH was sitting) that she just wasn't willing to give. So she started picking up the pieces and, without moving her legs, stretched out her arm as far is it would go, saying, "Reach it, Dada." Yeah, Dada. She'll bend and pick up the pieces, but YOU have to run back and forth to the box.
It kind of reminds me of when I played tennis in high school. I would hit the ball as long as it didn't go out of my racket's reach. If it did, well, you win. But I'll be far less sweaty than you at the end of the game. So there. Needless to say, my coach informed me I had no "competitive edge" and would never be good at tennis. Oh, REALLY?
I'm telling you, there is no question this kid is mine. Or TH's, for that matter. One nice, big family of lazy asses.
Tags: boo-boo, clean it up, cleaning up, cockroaches, high school, lazzy ass, Nora, picking up toys, tennis
Beauty In the Eyes of the Two-Year-Old
Posted by admin | Filed under Motherhood, Preschoolers, Uncategorized, Womanhood, parenting
Nora has decided she does not like my engagement ring. You know, the ring that TH spent a small fortune on to propose to me? Yeah. That one. She declared, "I don' like it."
Which is lucky for her future husband, I guess. And for TH, since he hopes her dislike for diamond rings will also translate into a dislike for jewelry, which will translate into a dislike for expensive things in general. As a woman who rarely wears jewelry and would rather spend her money on expensive software and gadgets than baubles, I say to TH: "Dream on." She may not want expensive earrings for her 13th birthday, but if she's anything like her mama, she'll want a $2,500 laptop. So pick your poison.
On Sunday TH was cleaning out the Monster Truck with Nora's "help." Props to TH for taking on this endeavor, since he probably finds all kinds of science projects in there – molding graham crackers and french fries, sippy cups with months-old juice in them (which Nora will happily drink if she finds them before TH does), stinky shoes, grocery items that rolled out of their bags and are colonizing the trunk (so THAT's what the smell was!)…
Anyhoo, TH found a tampon that had rolled out of my bag, and Nora immediately seized on to it. "Daddy, what dat?" TH, not wanting to go there, told her to "go ask your mother." So Nora trotted in holding the tampon like a prize, asking me, "Mama, what dat?"
I wasn't exactly sure how to answer, since neither "a feminist advancement that freed women from the cultural constraints of menstrual debility" NOR "something ladies cram in their hoo-has" seemed appropriate. So I simply said, "It's a personal item for grown-up ladies."
Nora: "Open it? Open it, Mama?"
Oh, sheesh. Fine. Whatever. She can play with a tampon if she wants. Once unwrapped, Nora examined the tampon carefully, intelligence flickering in her blue eyes as she tugged on the string and fiddled with the applicator. After taking it apart, she sighed, smiled at me and said, "It's pretty!"
And there you have it, folks. My daughter does not like diamond engagement rings, but she thinks tampons are pretty.
My little feminist.
Photo by lobstar28 via Flickr.
Tags: diamond rings, engagement rings, feminism, Nora, tampons
