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We'd been counting down for months now until we could see the new Pixar computer-animated feature, WALL*E.  It finally was released so on Sunday we went to see it, Bailey appropriately dressed in her new WALL*E shirt.  I can honestly say it didn't disappoint by any means.  It was a visually stimulating movie as well as one that called to your heart.  The environmental message didn't hurt either, and being that this family is a tad environmentally conscious, it makes all that recycling we do all the more vital.

This is one of the best family films I've seen in forever and not just for the not so subtle message fused with all of the magnificent effects.  It was rich in depth and intelligence and try finding a bad review on it.  I'm not sure one exists.  There's a reason, I assure you.  So, if you're looking for something worthwhile, I highly suggest this movie; so does Bailey, because she's already asking when she can see it again.

Because you know I was absolutely heartbroken

Friday afternoon, I discovered one of Bailey's bug houses on the ground full of rain water.  I also discovered that her disgustingly gargantuan slug was also in it.  He was floating upside down in the sea of rain and alive no more.  There was no need for salt, just some fresh rain.

 

You know I was totally broken up over his death.  Bailey took the drowning well, mostly because she was fascinated by his shrunken corpse.  I agree, I prefer them dead too.  But I don't agree with needing another one.  I don't agree at all.  I better stock up on salt and rain water.

What Bailey learned at Rifle School

 

Today, as in Friday, was Bailey's last day of "Rifle School."  She started going on Tuesday (because of her busy Monday schedule) and has thoroughly enjoyed her tutelage.  I'm so grateful to my neighbors for inviting her this past week and I know Bailey had a blast, especially during her last day.  They fed her pizza and an ice cream sandwich and set her loose with water balloons in a yard with water sprinklers.  I'm not sure there was a dry kid in the place.  Thank goodness for the spare set of clothes in the car.

 

 

 

 

And out of my own curiosity, I wanted to see what she was learning, so on Wednesday I was having a brief chat with her about Bible School and asked her what she did there and she told me all about the "Bounce House" they jumped in and the red snow cones and the word, "play" came up a lot.  Well, according to her, that's all she did at preschool too and I find that very hard to believe.  So, again to test her own explanation, I bluntly asked her, "Who is Jesus?" because I figured, they had to have mentioned Jesus to her. 

 

Now it's seriously no secret that Daddy and I aren't exactly "church people."  But despite this fact, I'd made a pact with myself that I'd at least expose her to Christianity because really, it's only fair and to be a truly well-rounded individual, you need exposure to everything.  And although I had made this pact, I have failed, or at least, haven't made good on my promise.  The thought's there, just nothing else has been done.  So, when she answered quite confidently, "Jesus is the son of God," I knew she didn't get that from either of her parents.

 

Perhaps we should try the whole church route again and let her play in water more often, because if you look at these pictures and see the joy exhibited on her face, it'd make you think she never gets to do such a thing.  It's all about the simplicities.

 

 

 

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Served Her Right

The pep in her step on Wednesday morning wore me out, but most importantly, it ended up wearing her out.  I get out of the car and get to Bailey's car door to open it and realize she's falling asleep.  She quickly opened her eyes and denied every bit of it and said, "my eyes are just open now."  I was curious how this was going to go and it ended up going fine.

But by 1:30, she was fast asleep, crashed on the couch, and stayed that way for a good couple of hours, if not longer.  She's never been much of a napper, so I hardly knew what to do with myself.  Laundry seemed to be on the list though, as well as miscellaneous birthday party details.

The only issue I had was then making sure Fudge didn't wake her up, and trust me, she tried a few times.  And I've learned something, if I want Bailey to take a nap, I just need to encourage her to wake up at 5am more often.  Wait...yeah, no thanks.

 

 

 

Because I want you to shudder like I did...

Bailey came running into the office exclaiming, "Look what I have!  Look what I have!"  The house echoed of her enthusiasm and I was ready to look because every day is full of these moments anymore.  At any given moment, she brings me snails, bugs, toads, etc.  I treasure all of them.

 

And as I spun around in my office chair knowing Bailey had been safely hunting creatures in our backyard, I start dry heaving.  Nothing in life prepared me for this.

 

 

 

 

 

I freaked out a bit.  I don't know why, but those things give me the creeps.  According to Bailey, they're "snails with no shells."  And sure, it was cute when she kept finding the itty bitty ones and would say that and try to find an empty snail shell in her collection for it to move into, even though I kept wanting to correct her and say, "it's a slug."  (I think Daddy believed her theory too.)  But yesterday when she brought this "BIG snail with NO shell," I was so appalled I kept saying (or was I screaming?), "that is a SLUG."  Daddy found it amusing as he had no idea I would have reacted in such a way.  Because of this, I have a feeling he's only going to encourage her more to find them.  And he's already told her she could keep it and told her to put him in her snail house.  I was too busy tending to my goosebumps to fight it. 

 

 

My house has become a menagerie.  And I can handle it, really.

Except this.  Anything but this.

 

Because really, should little girls have SLUGS as pets? 

 

 

And let me tell you, that slime took FOREVER to scrub off.  I made Daddy do it.  That's what he deserves for finding it so endearing.

 

 

 

Nothing a little salt can't handle...

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A Pep in her Step

It seems that Bailey woke up at the crack of dawn this morning and I can feel it too.  I could barely keep my eyes open as I watched her leaping and bouncing into the kitchen in search for breakfast.  Her nightgown was on backwards, a blue one with a white cat on it, and all I could see was this cat running backwards.  It's nice that someone can be so perky and energetic at that time of day.

 

Many hours later, flash forward to now and we're getting ready to leave (still are) and I asked her to please pick up her puzzle pieces off of the floor.  Her response?  "Well, we're going to put Fudge in her kennel when I go to Quinton's school."

There's obviously a pep in her responses today too.

I'll tell you what I told her.  "Yes, Fudge will be in her kennel, but pick up your puzzle pieces anyway."  In my head I added, "just because Fudge won't be able to chew them up doesn't mean you don't have to clean up," but I didn't say it.

 

Please excuse me while I drag myself to the car.

Rifle School

We live in the Midwest home of NRA memberships everywhere.  In fact, we joke that they'll kick us out of Kansas the day they realize we don't own a cabinet stocked full of guns.  We're doing our best to fit in so today, Bailey had her first day of Rifle School.

 

Yes, Rifle School.  There was no stuttering.  She loved it too!  Our neighbors invited her.  She seemed to have learned so much her first day. 

 

Wait...actually it was Bible School, but it seems here in the Bible Belt of America, guns and Bibles go hand in hand because Bailey told us all about, "Rifle School."  I think we were too busy cracking up to correct her.  She had no idea why we had such weird facial expressions.  You'd think she'd be used to it by now.  At least she loves Vacation Bible School and even better, they don't really have guns.

 

Mommy Mode and Other People's Children

Ever since my pregnancy with Bailey, I've been in Mommy Mode.  It seems to be the place to be when you have offspring, or so I'm assuming.  And when I taught, I was a bit overprotective, but after having a Bailey, it's intensified.  I just couldn't help myself.

 

And when I taught, other people's children were the only beings I knew.  I didn't have my own.  And while I didn't always agree with the methods of child rearing that some used, I didn't really have my own experiences to go by, only assumptions, rather presumptuous assumptions at that.  Dirty faces, screaming battles, temper tantrums in the candy aisle.  And motherhood has given me the chance to exact what I thought were proper tactics.  We don't get something every time we're in the store (and rarely ever do).  Yes, my child does always have a clean face in the grocery store (just maybe not always at home as pictures have proven).  Most of all, I know no mother is perfect and it's not worth trying to be, except to be the best you can be.  It sounds like a commercial, I know.

 

Most issues I don't ever judge any mother on because whether I do them or not, I know they could easily happen in life.  And honestly, I don't want any mother judging me and my own methods or lack thereof.  I'm just usually trying to get by.  Isn't everyone?  Of course, I can't help but certain times just be thankful other children are not my children as I'm sure people have thanked their own lucky stars before when witnessing something Bailey has done.  It's happened, I'm convinced of it.  But most importantly, I NEVER shove advice down someone else's throat and tell them what they MUST do as a parent, because seriously, I am no expert.  Really, who is?  Hush.

 

And just when you least suspect it, you go into Mommy mode around a stranger's child, not even meaning to.  A wee one sticking something toxic or choke-worthy in their mouths.  The little one crawling over the edge of the cart when you know they could end up splattering blood all over the store's linoleum.  The kid poking his sibling in the arm with something sharp.  The child found alone, searching in a panic for his or her parent.  And although mothers probably don't mean to get involved, instinct forces them to.

 

This happened to me tonight.  I didn't want it to.  I didn't want to judge anyone.  I didn't want to step over any boundaries, but fate forced my hands...and feet.

 

It all started when I was in the Retail Giant speaking to someone I know.  It was extremely late and I had just stopped by briefly for batteries and grape jelly.  (What a combination!)  Of course, I picked up other things too and then ended up chatting and while we chatted, this woman came up and asked for someone to be paged over the intercom.  A woman was needed out to her car because a couple of her kids were seriously upset.  As this conversation took place, a truth was then revealed that this woman requesting the page had no idea who this woman was.  And she only knew her name from the little girl in the car.  If you're following this, three children were by themselves in a car after 10:30 at night.  Fury overcame my friend and I.

 

I ended up eavesdropping outside while my friend was talking to a manager over the matter.  And although I was originally meaning to just find out more to the story to relay back to my friend inside, things went a bit further than that.  My eyes first told me there was a girl around the age of eight, a boy around Bailey's age in the driver's seat squirming about, and a little screaming baby in a car seat with a tube taped up by his nose.  I was quite nauseated by the idea of the three of them being alone. 

 

I approached the car again and this time, the little boy like a fire crawled over the window's edge of the car.  The windows were all rolled completely down and he got out so easily it disturbed me.  But hey, I have my own climber at home.  It was only instinct, but the moment he was over that window, I scooped him up and put him right back in the seat.  I was mad at myself for allowing it to happen, even though I knew he needed to be kept safe, but really, this kid had no idea who I was.  So I then decided to introduce myself immediately to all three children and then learned their names and ages.  The baby was four months and much calmer at this point, the girl was indeed eight, and the little monkey boy was two.  He affectionately earned the title of Monkey Boy after proving to me he could climb out the window 54,352 times.

 

I was out there for a while with these children, long enough to learn all sorts of things about them.  But as much I learned, give me very little credit.  There was an Amish lady in a car waiting for a parent to go out to that specific car and once she knew the children were in safe hands, she ended up leaving.  She'd apparently been out there for a long time.  Then there was a couple with two teenage girls who had been giving away kittens and they'd been watching the car for a long while (and were the same people who had the woman paged).  By the time I'd gotten out there, the mother had been absent for over and hour and thirty minutes.  They had seen the woman go in, but it took a while to realize three kids were in the car ALONE. 

 

The manager ended up calling the police and I continued to hang out with the little boy the most since he had no intention of staying in the car any longer.  I tried my best to entertain him safely and we walked up to the building (they were parked right up front) to see the last kitten and suddenly he decided to run off inside screaming for his mother.  I quickly grabbed him and we went back out and there was the assumed mother arguing with the manager telling him she hadn't been gone "that long."

 

I'm not sure how she got out those doors without hearing her son or missing us since he hadn't ran that far inside.  That baffled me.  So did the fact it took her a second to realize he was standing next to me and wasn't in the car at all.  That part me disturbed me more.  I handed her off to him in front of the manager and walked back inside because I wanted to prevent myself from saying anything towards her.

 

The cops arrived shortly thereafter and the witnesses had to give statements, including myself.  The cop wanted to know how long I'd observed the children (almost thirty minutes) and allegedly she'd been absent for around two hours.  They ended up letting her leave with the kids but the case is pending and charges might be filed once tapes were viewed and an exact time was accurately calculated.  The cop admitted he couldn't do much if it'd been "just" an hour.  He didn't seem to agree with that personally, only professionally.  But really, ten minutes is too long.

 

I really felt for those children and although I try my best not to dislike or hate anyone, I really didn't like that mother and felt as though she didn't deserve that title at all.  I also wondered how much trouble the little girl would be in since she is the one who offered the mother's name, who by the way wasn't her mother and according to the child was, "like my aunt."  The situation called to mothers everywhere as every mother inside who knew of what happened was disturbed, as well as even the people who didn't have children. 

And that should tell the world something: actions like that woman's are completely abnormal and taboo.  Thank goodness the rest of the world was willing to be those children's mothers.  Something like this makes me want to just hug my child even tighter. 

The Fly Trap

There was a little lady who captured a fly,

I don't know why she captured that fly.

But now her toad won't die.

 

I've been singing this song in my head, my own parody version of The Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly since yesterday.  I started singing it after Daddy found Bailey another little toad (yes, another specimen to add to our long list of amphibians we've discovered this past month).  Bailey then went out to find insects for her new little warted friend and somehow, some way managed to catch a fly.  She was thrilled to share that her toad then ate that fly.  She was soon out trying to capture more after that.

Watching a creature devour another creature then became a death match worthy of selling tickets to, or so it seemed considering it felt like Bailey was out to catch flies only so she could witness her toad eat the pitiful pests.  I'm not sure if Daddy has ever felt prouder.

 

But sadly, our deadly contender is no more.  No, no, he didn't die.  Bailey let him go this evening at her own request.  And you thought we killed another.  Ye of so little faith.

Paris, Je t'aime

After I arrived home tonight from a day at work, Bailey and Daddy were on the floor with Bailey's giant floor puzzle of the world.  She was putting it together in such a stellar fashion and quite efficiently.  Then Daddy found the Eiffel Tower, and yes, Bailey knows this tower well and exclaimed, "we're going to go there!"

 

Um...not for another five years, my sweet.

Bailey and the Missing Book

For a few weeks, bedtime was a bit grim.  One evening, Bailey realized something was missing, and not just any something.  One of her favorite books, Olivia and the Missing Toy was missing and was nowhere to be found.  After countless hours searching along with her sidekick detective, Daddy, it turned into a very cold case. 

I was oblivious to just how full of dread this all was.  One day Bailey mentioned it to me outside, and I really didn't know what she was referring to until a conversation with Daddy.  Bailey didn't know where it was.  Daddy didn't know where it was.  Not even Mommy knew where the book was.  Yes, it was a tragedy.

So last Friday (the 13th) as we were getting ready for bed, Bailey mentioned to me that she really missed her book and needed it back.  She also shared with me that the police stole it and that "they really needed to give it back."  She was adamant in this theory and gave me details of epic proportions regarding the matter.  I think the cops realized we were on to them because within a couple of days, Daddy solved the case and the book was returned to its rightful owner.

She still wants an Olivia and the Jungle book.  Ian Falconer really does need to get to writing that.  And to the police-- please stay away from our book shelves!

Minnie Mouse's Wardrobe

The other day, Bailey approached me asking me if she could wear a particular something.  She wanted to wear some ears.  Now, yes, she has her own pair of ears, but these were a pair of Minnie Mouse ears, not to be confused with her Mickey pirate hat with ears.  Like the hat, these too came from the Wonderful World of Disney.  And back in February, we did get some enjoyable usage out of them.

 

 

 

 

Oh, and by the way, with the ears comes a new persona.  She does insist upon being referred to as Minnie Mouse while donning the ears.

 

But since our trip, into a drawer they went.  I figured they might see the light of day again sometime, but I wasn't sure when.  So on Wednesday morning when she brought them to me as the first article of clothing she wanted to wear, I knew that would be the light of day for those ears.  Now finding something to wear with them was the awkward part.

 She picked out a shirt, a Tinkerbell long-sleeved shirt.  I explained to her it wasn't a long-sleeved shirt kind of day, which has become a typical debate for each day.  Most of her favorite shirts are long-sleeved, so even though she knows it's no longer cold weather, she still wants to sneak them in.  I told her she needed pants on too, and she argued that, "Minnie Mouse doesn't wear pants." 

I told her, "then Minnie Mouse will wear a dress."

"But Minnie Mouse doesn't want to wear a dress.  She wants to wear a shirt."

"Then Minnie Mouse will wear pants."

"But Minnie Mouse doesn't wear pants."

And repeat.  This went on for a while until the freedom of the great outdoors was brought up and she finally compromised, but not easily, and we went through a couple other arguments, well, mostly me just saying, "then we won't go outside until you make a decision."  She eventually did settle on wearing her Minnie Mouse shirt from Disney World (actually we picked it up at a Retail Giant store in Florida) with a pair of shorts.  And for most of the day, she did continue to wear her ears, even if they needed adjusting from time to time.  The only time they came off was when she wanted to swim in the little yellow pool outside.  We had forgotten them afterwards and she realized it later and dashed out to rescue them. 

 

After all, who is Minnie Mouse without the ears?  Who is any mouse without their ears?

A Dinner Conversation of Titanic Proportions

Wednesday night's dinner out required some rather interesting reading material.  I glance in front of me and read the book's title upside down, and while I am quite the skilled reader at print that is indeed upside down, I really had to question myself with this one.

http://www.amazon.com/You-Wouldnt-Want-Sail-Titanic/dp/0531162109

Now before you shrug your shoulders, this is a children's book and we were getting ready to eat dinner.  ...And my child isn't quite four.  So this book did shock me a bit, even though we were completely prepared to laugh our way through this book.  Bailey was captivated by the iceberg and seemed to have a grasp of the book's subject.  Meanwhile, Daddy and I were too busy comparing it to an overly hyped movie that once swept the Oscars and everyone's movie collections.  Anyway you want to look at it though, it is most definitely true: you wouldn't want to sail on the Titanic.

Piece of cake

After Kid's Day Out yesterday, Bailey and I came home with the intention of baking a cake.  I had originally planned on making it while she was there, but really, what fun would that have been?  And so when I mentioned to her at the school that we were going to make a cake, suddenly it lit a fire underneath her and she was ready to roll, or at least leave.

 

She was curious what kind of cake we were making, and well, simply put, it's a practice cake.  There was something I had wanted to try in case I'd do it for an upcoming special occasion, but I really felt I needed some practice.  I don't usually do this with cakes, they're literally something I do the first time, but something told me, I needed practice.  The gut is never wrong, except when it's full of fat rolls and an extra ten pounds.

 

 

With my sous chef right beside me and my newly appointed title of "Chef Mommy," we began our baking expedition with my sous chef Bailey reading off the instructions.  She has them memorized by this point.  We made a simple French Vanilla cake.  That was the easy part.  While it baked, we went outside to play for a while.  We needed to relax until the next steps.

 

We had a blast outside since the temperature didn't even reach 80 for the day.  YAY!  (I better mention, Bailey has a blast outside at any temperature.)  We eventually made it back to the cake to do some icing work and to stack it.  Then I realized I was missing a critical ingredient, so out to the Retail Giant we went.

 

 

After this was in my clutches, we could again partake in our adventure.  Although, really, I could've used the vanilla I already had in my cabinet, but I didn't know which flavor I'd use until I arrived to the Retail Giant's flavoring shelves, or lack thereof.

 

This is where the real fun begins, right?

That funny looking substance right there has become my latest kitchen experiment.  I'm all about experimenting.  Well, okay, sometimes.

 

With my work space ready, I put my sous chef to work.

 

And after some continuous hard effort, we came up with this.

 

I let Bailey play with the left over putty.  She enjoyed making things with it, but once she realized it was edible, she decided to try a bite.  This stuff tastes like bland gum,even after the flavoring was kneaded into it along with my blood, sweat, and tears.  (Perhaps those extra flavors are what did it in.)  It was such a strange texture and taste, but we decided to go ahead with a piece of cake anyway.

 

It really did look quite professional, especially with Bailey's placement of the stars.

 

 

There was a constant among the three of us as we ate our decadent experiment: a glob of fondant was left on each of our plates.  We ate the cake underneath the fondant.  because as strange as the fondant tasted, it tasted worse on the cake.  It tasted like it didn't belong on the cake, as though it hindered the cake's wonderful flavors.  And I mentioned it tasted like gum, and well, you grow up knowing you're not supposed to swallow gum.  It was the most successful experiment, because after doing this, I have a feeling, Bailey's birthday cake will not be made with fondant, no matter how gorgeous that cake was going to look or how fantastic my design truly was.

Back to the drawing board...or the mixer.

The Little Ballerina

I'll be honest, after how tumbling went, I was a bit nervous today about Bailey's first dance class.  But before I tell that story, I'll start from the true beginning.

 

 

Her outfit from almost two years ago STILL fits, just shorter than we like.

 

 

The past several months, Bailey has shown an interest in ballet and has on more than a few occasions referred to herself as a ballerina.  The more she was interested, the more we thought that perhaps it was time to put her in a ballet program.  This was something we had really wanted to do a long time ago, but had made the firm decision that we needed to make sure she was ready.  As thrilled as we were about her interest, there still came much hesitation and procrastination.  A new studio was opening up in town and suddenly it was chosen for us where we should take her.

It still wasn't that easy though.  The article in the paper didn't tell me anything past that, and I barely know much about this town the way it is, so I wasn't quite sure how I'd find this place if it wasn't online or in a phone book.  And just as I was defeated, I met this lady at my place of work, and through a chance encounter involving throw pillows, I learned of her open house the following night.  I want to believe fate played a role here.  But then yesterday happened.

We took Bailey to that open house, as she was super excited to start ballet.  The only snag, it's not actually Ballet, it's called Creative Movement, BUT DO NOT TELL MY CHILD THIS.  EVER.  I don't believe in lying to children, but details, details.  This is everything.  She was fitted for shoes that night (which she wouldn't stop talking about afterwards) and we paid for all kinds of new classes.  Bailey couldn't have been more enthralled by the dance floor, dance bars and mirrors, which she took advantage of, naturally. We were feeling lucky and accomplished and like proud parents should feel.

 

And then, yes, yesterday happened.  Which kind of made the almost past two weeks of preparation for "Ballet" seem like a hoax and a sick joke.  We were so carefree and maybe naive, but with new dance clothes and fresh attitudes over the subject, I was really hoping for great things.  But after yesterday when Bailey said she refused to go back to tumbling, I wasn't so sure about today.  I was a little unsteady.

 

She willingly got dressed in pink from head to toe and while we were getting ready, Bailey asked me a vital question. 

"Is my new ballet teacher going to play music?"

"Of course."

"Because I don't want to go if she's not going to play music."

"Of course there will be music."

"Good, because I like music.  I just like to dance to music."

My answer seemed to amuse her and was confident about what she was about to do.  I was still a little edgy.  I had seen things.

 

We walked down the corridor in a hurry, not wanting to be late and even after asking two people who were blocking the doorway to dance class to excuse us, we ended up having to shove our way through.  And that one woman DID hear me.  I hated telling Bailey, "just go ahead," but come on.  She's three.  She has class too.  LET HER THROUGH.  Without any second thoughts, Bailey went instantly to the teacher's assistant when she called to her, sat down and seemed right at home.  I was concerned that she was now barefoot, as she had worn a pair of pink flip flops to class because her ballet shoes were supposed to be in class.  I was hoping they had them.  I saw there were lots of mothers and other adults sitting, waiting to watch class start.  Man, did I know better.  I bolted into the hallway.

 

In the massive rule book the teacher sent out, it said parents were not to be in the studio while class was going on, and I'm all about following that rule.  I had no business witnessing that debacle yesterday in the tumbling auditorium, and I wasn't about to torture myself all over again.  And I knew I'd be a major distraction.  There was a part of me that hoped Bailey would like dancing more than tumbling.  She certainly couldn't have liked it any less, right?

 

I waited in the hallway with a couple other mothers and was eventually joined by others, who then left shortly thereafter.  I actually found myself chatting with these moms, and it felt right.  I don't chat with enough moms for whatever reasons, and sometimes when I do, I wonder why I don't try to meet more moms.  Like, I'm still wishing I'd run into those other two moms again that I met two different times at our favorite local Children's Museum.  So, we were talking and both of these moms have little girls who had been at a previous dance studio.  Both girls are turning five and the one actually goes to Kid's Day Out too.  The mom had asked me about that because yesterday her daughter was mentioning Bailey and she knew it couldn't be "the other Bailey," and was curious just who this Bailey was.  I told her the only redhead in the class and she had already noticed her.

 

The thirty minute class went by rather nicely as I sat out in the hallway and then the doors opened and the assistant came up to me.  Oh boy, now what?  She told me Bailey did really well and danced every dance with them.  I was so relieved, even though I secretly wondered if she was lying to me.  I still couldn't see my redhead as the area was flooded by a sea of pink tutus.  And then there she was.  Lollipop in hand, as victorious looking as could be and calmly approached me and said confidently, "I danced every dance with them to the music."  (She had not heard the assistant tell me that in the hallway either.) And then she proudly displayed her new ballet shoes to me, the ones the instructor had ordered especially for her.

 

And so we walked together out the doors, ballet shoes in hand, smiles on our faces.  I have never felt better.

And Bailey was joyful in announcing this meant she could put a sticker on her new behavior chart.

 

 

I'm hoping this isn't just a honeymoon period...but after the extensive dance recital she put on for us tonight in her new shoes along with many of her stuffed friends to Mozart's harmonious works, I'm thinking we might be okay...for another week.  She can't wait to return, and she is still telling me, "I don't want to go back to tumbling, just ballet."  I guess she really was just that bored.

 

Handling a Baby

After our rather interesting first class of tumbling (which by the way, took place over twenty minutes late), we did end up going to Kid's Day Out, which happens only on Mondays.  We arrived to the children being outside playing among the bubbles and concocting bottles of mixed sands. 

When I picked up Bailey, the building was shockingly quiet and Bailey was doing some art at a table.  The moment she saw me, she ran and hid and it took some coaching to get her out.  Finally, she was ready and we were talking and I asked the typical, "were you good today?"

The answer?  "No, I wasn't."  I was shocked by her answer, I asked it twice.  And I thought I heard her tell me, "I hit a baby."  Then she was shoving her dirty hands at me and as she continued, I realized I had misheard her and felt so relieved and told her so until the teacher replied, "No, she really did hit a baby."  In fact, she hit the teacher's baby, a child probably almost a year old.  The teacher told me Bailey had spent some time in time-out for her actions (rightly so) and Bailey never would tell me why she did it, except that she was sorry.

 

Well, she is an only child, so, really, she has no idea how to treat babies, and she can only go by what she sees at home.  Ha, I'm kidding. 

 

Honest.

 

 

(Oh, and so for the teacher, I think she has her own experiences like mine, since I came in to see her child get in trouble and throw a chair down and get into more trouble.  After tumbling, it did help ease the theme of the day that mine is the only one.)

That Child of Mine

In my experience, there's "one" in every class.  I shouldn't have to define "one," because there just is.  And this morning in tumbling, I can confirm as I I already have formerly discovered, that "one" is always mine.  It should comfort every other parent that my child has that title.

Yes, it's true.  Because my "one," is the child going her own course while the instructor is showing the rest proper techniques.  The "one" is the child who sarcastically pretends she has no idea what the directions are and even after the teacher reminds her, ignores them anyway.  The "one" makes sure that as smoothly as class is running, it doesn't stay that way altogether.

 

And in the world of parenting, it's truly best to be oblivious to your child's status of being the "one."  And you certainly don't ever want to witness it with your very own eyes.  It's not good for the blood pressure, or your relationship with your child.  No, sometimes it really is best to be blind.  Especially for the child, because that way, when the teacher's aides are passing out lollipops at the end of the class, the "one" might actually get that unnecessary piece of toxic sugar from the teacher out of pity or just retribution to the parent.  Since the "one" is indeed the "one," the fight is rough over the lost confection, and loud as it echoes down the over-hundred-years-old building's hallways and stairways.

The "one" is told she now has a goal for the next week's class.  But we'll see if she lives to see that day, let alone eat that lollipop.

She had something to tell me

When my bathroom door came flying open this morning along with my shower curtain jerking open to reveal me, I just knew it had to be important.  But there is a certain fear that comes with hearing Bailey say, "I have something to tell you."  It could be anything, really, and it could be something quite bad.

 

She went on to tell me how a branch fell from The Mulberry Tree and a snake came tumbling down with it, a really big snake and it was black and white and it slithered away towards the fence and it was gone.  It was a bad snake, according to her story, and it helps to emphasize his large body. 

 

And then, as quickly as she came, she left the premises and I could proceed with my shower and regain my dignity.

There's Something About Bailey

At least there must be, because last night, Bailey had a stalker.

 

This stalker had quite an infatuation with our little redhead, so much so, he couldn't take his eyes off of her.  No matter how much his parents wanted him too.

 

We went out for pizza last night and there was a little boy at a neighboring table who was awe-struck.  The moment Bailey and Daddy left the table to grab a book off their children's shelf (yeah, they have children's books and it's a must that she read one, the SAME one) the little boy immediately wanted to follow.  He got up from his table watching her, wanting to go after her.  His parents got after him and told him she went to go to the bathroom.

 

He was very ecstatic when she returned and all throughout our dinners, he continued to watch her every move, prompting his parents to scold him because he was so busy doing so, he wasn't eating his own meal.  Bailey was completely oblivious to the whole ordeal. 

 

I guess we just have to get used to it.  And so do his parents.  (Although it probably has to do with her being his age and he wanted to play, but her being adorable doesn't hurt either.)

Friday the 13th

Considering she JUST now went to sleep, making sure I couldn't even properly post this blog entry on Friday the 13th proved just how freaky this day really is.

 

Another scary moment...Friday the 13th marked exactly one month until her birthday.  Yeah, definitely scary.

The Departure of the Tadpole Express

The Tadpole Express has already departed, along with his replacement.

 

The Tadpole Express departed sometime early Wednesday morning.  He didn't even say goodbye.  Bailey was the one to tell me he had left with the memorable words, "my tadpole just died, he's just dead."  And there he was without any explanation, belly up, along with all of our tadpole raising ambitions.

Bailey was upset so my answer was to get a replacement.  Daddy and Bailey were actually the ones to pick him up on Wednesday evening.  Their journey home was one for the record books.  It involved a leaking bag with four holes, a tadpole ending up first in a Target sack, which also had holes discovered and then finally in a dumped out soda cup where he felt a bit cramped.  According to Daddy, it was the longest drive home.  Ever.

The second version of Tadpole Express had large back legs and as fascinating as he was, he too departed as quick as he came.  By Thursday morning he was gone.  And I left him in a bowl, hoping for a miracle.  By the afternoon when I had caught Bailey holding him in her hand and saw the squeeze marks on him and the laceration on his corpse, I knew he was indeed dead, and if he hadn't been, he would've been after that strangulation hold. 

There will be no more replacements after that one.  Our experiment will be saved for another time, for another year.  After all, we've had far too many amphibian-related entries on this blog lately, and that's just not suitable for anybody.

I caught a thief

I came home tonight from work quite tired, not so much because of work but because I mistakenly ended up in the wrong pair of shoes.  Proper shoes are incredibly important to me, so the fact my feet were not in them has beaten my poor ego considerably.  My poor feet were sore, but after walking through our front door, I had things I had to do first.  I ran a quick errand back out to the car to put some things inside that I knew Daddy would forget in the morning and my entry back inside revealed something disconcerting.  There was an opened donut box.

 

Now an opened donut box may not be relevant to you, but on Thursday late nights in my household, a donut box means something, and it's certainly not meant to be opened.  On Thursdays, I buy a donut for Bailey for Friday morning and set it in my computer chair because everyone knows donuts would be in a computer chair awaiting their demise.  It's a surprise of sorts, which isn't really much of a surprise since she expects it every Friday morning.  And back in the winter, I started this tradition in order to ensure I could sleep in on Friday mornings.  She'd have this donut treat, leave me alone so I could rest, then I'd wake up, feed her a real breakfast and we'd spend our day together.  She no longer keeps my reason true anymore though, since she no longer feels as though I need any extra time to sleep.

 

But I can't ruin tradition, even if I don't get my end of the bargain.  So tonight, just like any other Thursday night, I had the donut box and it was sitting on a large package I had brought home, an item for the ever-beloved birthday party extravaganza coming up quite soon.  And when it was opened, I snuck a look inside and saw there was no longer a donut.  There was only residue and I frantically turned on a light and searched for a not-so-good little canine of mine. 

 

And there it was.  The sprinkled chocolate donut, chocolate side down in the carpet,the dog beside it with a huge chunk of cake-like substance missing.  She was then put into her kennel as I was furious.  I was more furious that her action meant I had to make another trip out in the storm just for something most people would judge me for feeding to my child.  Daddy ended up waking up to my lecturing the dog and he put her out on the deck, despite my opinion.  And yeah, most people may think I didn't have to make that extra trip out, but Bailey had already mentioned during the day that tomorrow meant she'd have a donut.  She knows her days of the week.  Most importantly, she knows when she gets junk food.

 

The shoe thief has now turned to donuts and belongs in a jail cell even more.  And hopefully Bailey will never know the true tale of how her morning donut came to be.  Or maybe she should.  Perhaps she would appreciate it more.  Or just want to kill the dog.

The Tadpole Express

The occasion called for a special surprise today and so after we spent some time at our favorite local children's museum, we made a rare stop at one of the most fascinating little pet stores on the planet.  They even have a monkey on display.  And while Bailey thought he was fabulous, something else caught her eye.  She was instantly drawn to the different kinds of fish.  I was there for my own purposes and although they weren't in the place I remembered them being over six years ago (imagine that), I found them a few tanks down.  I called Bailey over and before I had a chance to tell her what was going on, she was so ecstatic at was before her.  And so when I told her she could bring one home and this was her surprise, she was shocked beyond comprehension.  She anxiously told the lady who worked there which one she wanted and was very specific. She knew who she wanted.  She was so proud of her new pet, we didn't even go gazing at the birds, rodents or any other wild beasts they have in their possession.

She immediately named her new pet "Tadpole Express," which is rather appropriate considering he is indeed a tadpole, and as Bailey can tell you, he's going to turn into a frog someday.  We're the lucky souls who get to watch.  And I've been waiting patiently for this moment to do this activity again.  When I taught, I had bought one from the very same store (but several tanks down) and it was truly such an enjoyable experience.  His name was Thadeus though, not Tadpole Express and this is Tadpole Express' story.

 

Tadpole Express had quite the journey home as we searched frantically for dance clothes, clothes that used to be in every Target store and suddenly are not, at least not the light pink or black ones.  How convenient that they stop carrying them just when I need them.  And her tiny tot body did not fit into any of the ones at Kohl's.  I don't expect you to understand our need for such things, but there was a need indeed.  Tadpole Express was a trooper though as we hurried into just a couple stores (more like four) on our way to his new home.  At one point his bag was leaking, and I believed Bailey when she told me she poked a hole accidentally in it with her finger, but later I discovered she had nothing to do with it, just how it was set into the brown paper bag.

We finally made it to our final destination, but before we could place Tadpole Express in his new quarters, we had to evict this guy first.

 

Surprisingly, it took some effort.  But after he figured out where he was going, there was no looking back and he seemed to have no bitterness to our eviction decision.

Bailey couldn't be more happy about her new pet experiment.  She picked out one who didn't have legs like most of the rest of them did, which means she'll get to witness even more of the stages of a frog's life.  Tadpole Express really is so fitting.

A Spider's Magic

We were heading out for a day of Wonderscopic play and Bailey had the front door open as I was corralling Fudge into her kennel and grabbing last minutes essentials (a.k.a. my cell phone and purse) and behold, there was a spider inside the door reveling in admiration from Bailey.  I don't know why, but I still get a little freaked out around spiders.  It's not as bad as it used to be before Bailey came to be, but the thought of her being near them sets off my safety alert.  It shouldn't though, this kid can surely fend for herself since just last Thursday, a spider's fate was in her hands and the results are below.

 

That's my girl.   That corpse was much bigger in real life than it is in the photograph.  According to her, she took her bug box to him.  I was impressed. 

...Okay, you can stop judging my floor right about now.  It's cleaner now. 

 

Anyway, back to today's report.  I came back into the entryway and she told me about her spider friend and I asked her to leave him alone and she told me "he just flew away."  I am sure I must have had an intrigued expression on my face along with much perplexity as I pointed out, "but spiders don't have wings."  Her reply?  "This spider was a magic spider.  He doesn't need them.  The magic makes him fly."

Eh, what do I know?

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Let's try this again...

The third time's supposed to be the charm, so when we found another frog this evening (making it our third amphibian) we thought we'd press our luck. 

Fortunately, I picked up a precautionary item last night just in case this might happen again.  I'm psychic, you know.

We needed to be prepared.

 

See, he can't wait to get in his new home!

He's anxious to get in that tub.

 

I think the real life scenery impressed the little guy!

And it came furnished.

 

 

With him safe in his new domain, I was crushed when he only lasted thirty minutes.

 

A certain little girl (andI'm not one to name names) decided to carry her new pet's habitat over to the fence we share with our neighbors and then spilled the contents, which happened to include our amphibian friend.  For whatever reason, he didn't seem to want to return and we never found him. 

 

And as irreplaceable as he was, I found this one in a couple minutes. 

But he's not a frog, he's a tiny tiny little toad.  We'll see how long he lasts...

 

 

...Hopefully at least until morning so we can release him.