Because Your Brain Doesn't Process Hypotheticals

Dear Laney,

It started snowing hard n' heavy yesterday afternoon, so of course you wanted to go outside. I know this, because you shrieked and raised both of your hands and planted them on the front door like a television preacher trying to rid the door of its inner demons.

"But Laney," I explained, with a sigh and an eye roll, "if you went outside, you'd need to have a coat and shoes and a hat."

Let me tell you what part of that you heard: Coat. Shoes. Hat. Once you brought me all of those things, I didn't have the heart to explain to you the meaning of "If."

Onward and outward:

You won this round, fair and square.

Love,

Mom

Shhh...Don't Tell The Health Department

Dear Laney,

Ever since you mastered using the step stool to access the counter, I've been letting you help make dinner. You seem to like cooking, and I like involving you in the process, so every night I come up with one task that you can do - stirring a sauce, putting lettuce in a bowl, etc.

For fun tonight, I decided that you could do the whole thing. So - God help us - this is what it looks like when you make a barbecued chicken pizza:

What was exceptionally gross is that you were going back and forth between tasting the pizza sauce and snacking on your strawberry yogurt.

Then, after a wardrobe change for you and a couple of Motrin for Mom, it was time to toss the salad and taste-test the pizza.

But here's where things get really crazy. We had some time to kill while we waited on your dad to finish his project and be ready to eat, so you asked if you could crack an egg. I can't explain how I know that's what you were asking for, except that you've been really obsessed with eggs lately - or "Ech!" as you call them. So I handed you an egg to see what would happen (it's amazing how Motrin can take the edge off), and you cracked it into the bowl. So I handed you a whisk and you whisked the heck out of them.

When the other kids in kindergarten are making mud pies, you'll be making omelettes - now with 20% less shell! Nice work. Now, everybody in the tub!

Love,

Mom

I Can't Have Anything Nice

Dear Laney,

My friend Brian had the gall to call me yesterday and accuse me of being negligent with the blog. "But the last two posts have been just pictures," he whined.

Ugh. Hush.

For the past week, I've been working two jobs and the fact that my family members leave the house every morning in clean clothes with a plan for all three meals is enough of an accomplishment for me.

Being seriously low on groceries, though, is something I can't abide, so immediately after breakfast this morning (where you had a banana/chocolate chip pancake and a fried egg) you and I went into town to hit the store. While riding in the buggy, you ate all of the snacks in the diaper bag: cheese crackers, a prune and a tangerine. You would think that all of that would be enough food to choke a goat, but apparently not, because when I put a bag of hamburger buns in the buggy, you chewed a hole in the plastic and sucked big chunks of the bun out of the hole.

17 year-old checker: There's a hole in this bag.

Brooke: I know. We put it there. Just ring it up, dude.

That's right. I paid for them. Walmart has annual sales of approximately $400 billion, but I didn't want them to take a hit on those $1.25 hamburger buns.

Since I'm too busy this week to take you to the doctor, I'm going to go ahead and diagnose you myself as having a tapeworm. I'm going to name him "Steve" and declare him as a dependent on our taxes. After all, he is eating us out of house and home.

Love,

Mom

The Cure For Cabin Fever

Dear Laney,

The weather cleared up today, and temperatures are all the way up in the 40s, so you and your dad hit the playground.

But first, your dad had to clear the snow away from the bottom of the slide and dig out the area under your swing.

Since summer, it seems you have learned how to hang on to the swing all by yourself, and you think swinging is awesome. At this point, you probably think that anything BUT hanging around inside with your mama all day is awesome.

But what was even more exciting to me is that you've learned to climb up the side of the playground. Your dad and I didn't think you could do it, so he kept his hand about an inch away from you the whole time, but in the end you made it all the way to the top all by yourself. Your dad was very proud.

Can you say more than five words? No. Can you climb Kilimanjaro? Possibly.

It seems that even without being able to play outside for a few months, you've been running playground scenarios in your head, because man - you've got that thing down.

Can't wait for summer. Seriously.

Love,

Mom

Sample Conversation With Your Dad

Brooke: Thanks for picking Laney up from school. Hey - where's her barrette?

Thor: I dunno.

Brooke: sighs. Well, we'll probably never see it again.

Thor: So?

Brooke: So that's the fourth barrette we've lost.

Thor: So why not quit using 'em?

Brooke: rolls eyes. Because...when her hair's free to run wild like that, she looks like some hopeless ragamuffin that you picked up on the side of I-90 and decided to drop off at daycare.

Thor: So?

So? So if it was up to your dad, you'd probably wear track shorts to Prom.

Love,

Mom

I Ow. I Ow.

Dear Laney,

This is your favorite book this week:

Or, as you call it, "I Ow... I Ow!"

Love,

Mom

Hitting The Road

Somebody Call The Ops

Dear Laney,

We went to Barnes and Noble the other night, and you parked yourself in the Nickelodeon section, right under the Backyardigans books. You sat and read quietly, flipping through the books all by yourself. Then, you became OBSESSED with this one book - thumbing through it over and over, always pointing to this one photo of Tyrone and Uniqua and saying "Op!" "Op!"

I was proud, but I had no idea what in heck "Op" meant. Wanting to encourage your talking, I agreed, "Yes, Laney, it's very op."

Last night, I put on the Backyardigans episode called, "Cops and Robots." Halfway through the episode, Tyrone and Uniqua started singing:

Can't stop! Can't stop the cops!

Can't stop! Can't stop the cops!

Can't stop! Can't stop the cops!

We're the best in the galaxy!

You pointed at the screen and very seriously nodded your head: "Op."

...So what you had been doing at the bookstore was pointing out the cops. Gosh, not even two years old and already on the lookout for police.

Maybe when you're finished being an engineer, an orange-peeler for Denny's, a Home Depot manager, and a modern artist, you can become a getaway driver for a crime syndicate.

Love,

Mom

A Right Brain Kind Of Day

Dear Laney,

Today, you finger-painted for the first time, and it went like everyone who has ever had children could have told me it would.

I figured that with Valentine's Day coming up, you could paint pictures for your grandparents as a special treat. I started this project by taping a grid of paper together. You have so many grandparents that we have to turn to the Chinese method of mass-production. But I needn't have worried about the paper, because what you REALLY wanted to do was paint your feet and then splatter the paint around.

I'm going to do everything I can to encourage your creative side - first, because I can't wait to see the look on your dad's face when you tell him you want to be a conceptual artist when you grow up, and second, because this style of art could really take you places.

Love,

Mom

Samantha's Satellite First Birthday Party

Happy birthday to you.

Happy birthday to you.

Happy birthday, sweet Samantha!

Happy birthday to you.

Love,

Us

Home Depot Assistant Manager

Dear Laney,

We make so many trips to Home Depot that you're starting to think you run the place.

You like to wave to people, point to merchandise, and re-shelve things when they fall.

The next time an employee there asks me if there's anything we need, I'm going to say, "Yes. An orange apron, a name tag and some start paperwork."

Love,

Mom

Mom's Mental Health Day

Dear Laney,

Your dad stayed home with you today, so I could run some errands in town and have a toddler-free "Me day." Sure, I missed you, but...

I used the bathroom all by myself!

I ate crappy-yet-delicious fast food that I would never let you eat!

I visited the library and checked out my books in English!

I listened to music in the car that wasn't performed by a cartoon moose!

And then it was time for me to go home, all jacked up on Frosty and freedom.

I have no idea what you and your dad did while I was gone, but when I walked in the front door, I discovered you both sprawled out on the living room floor, completely disinterested in getting up. It seems y'all wore each other slap out. And brought the dog along for the ride.

This is not the first time I've wished Ella could talk. And tattle.

Love,

Mom

Wildlife Crossing

Dear Laney,

With all of the snow melting in our neighborhood, a lot of animals have been stopping by to visit. We saw this lady on our ride home from daycare last week:

...And then we saw these girls on our way home from town today. I pulled up next to them in the Subaru (or, as your dad calls it, the "Super-Ooh") and took this photo through the sunroof. Actually, I pulled up next to them, hunted around in the car for a camera, rolled down the window, opened the sunroof, and spend about 14 minutes trying to figure out how to focus your dad's camera.

I took about 72 photos of these dang deer - who were happy to stand there silently mocking me as I took one worthless photo after another.

I can't shoot deer with a camera, and your dad can't shoot them with a gun. Hell, they might as well move into our front yard and call it a day.

Love,

Mom

Conoc-Oh No!

Dear Laney,

On Tuesday, I took you to daycare, and you cried when you recognized the front doors. Today, I drove you to daycare, and you cried when you saw the Conoco through the back window and realized we had gotten off on the Frenchtown EXIT. I swear you don't miss a beat.

This afternoon when I picked you up, your teacher and I decided that your dad would have to be the one to drop you off; it's just less traumatic that way. After we made that decision, we moved on to THIS enlightening conversation:

Teacher: I have to tell you something about your baby, and I hope you take it the right way.

Brooke: Oh, no. What?

T: Your baby doesn't take shit from anybody.

B: Really?

T: Yeah, I turned my head to put their blankets away and when I looked back at the play area, Laney was slapping Madison.*

B: Oh no!

T: Well, of course I stopped her and said, "Laney! We have to use nice hands!" But truly, Madison's a little bully and totally deserved it.

B: Oh Lord...So we're not expelled?

T: No! Madison likes to take toys away from other kids, but today, Laney told her it wasn't her day.

Honestly, I would say that I am 50% proud and 50% mortified. I'm sure it won't be the last time in my parenting career.

Love,

Mom

*Name changed, so if her mama ever comes across this blog she won't be able to press charges.

Popsicle Redux

Dear Laney,

You know how my cousin Heidi has that genius-bordering-on-madness system of giving her girls popsicles in the tub?

Sure, at first I thought it was kooky, but tonight when you refused to get into your bathtub, I thought: Popsicle!

Sure enough, it worked like a charm.

The flaw in this plan was that your mama is sometimes a big, dumb monkey, and I gave you the popsicle after I had already run you a bubble bath.

This afternoon, I caught you sharing your yogurt push-pop with Gus - one lick for you, one lick for me - so you'd think you'd be a little less persnickety about soap on your frozen treats. At least we know where the soap has been.

Love,

Mom

The One Where Mom Runs Out Of Ideas

Dear Laney,

Yesterday was rough. Dad had to take the car to work, so we couldn't leave the house. We still have a few feet of snow on the ground out here, so we can't really play outside. So yesterday was all about me and you being trapped inside.

Have I mentioned that you're getting some molars in?

The big challenge of yesterday was trying to keep you entertained, occupied and medicated. We read books. We colored. We made mini-pizzas. We danced to The Backyardigans. But 13 hours is a lot of time to fill.

At one point, I put your tub in the shower and turned the water on low and let you "wash dishes" in your bathtub. That killed about 15 minutes. Just 12 hours and 45 minutes to go 'til bedtime!

I worry sometimes that this blog is a cautionary tale for anyone out there considering having children. I mean, I want it to be a true-to-life account of our days together, but I don't necessarily want it to be a contraceptive, if you know what I'm saying. And I hope you don't.

Here are some phrases that actually came from my mouth yesterday:

"Go give Ella this chicken finger and tell her you're sorry for hitting her with a ski pole."*

"OH! So THAT'S why our washing machine has been broken for three days - because the drain hose was filled with old pickle chips and Q-Tips and fruit leather!"**

Today, you're back at daycare, and I'm hoping a trained professional and a group of other children will have more success entertaining you today than I did yesterday.

Love,

Mom

* No dogs were actually harmed in the making of this blog. In fact, Ella's internal monologue goes something like this: "You mean I can lie by the fire all day and eat chicken fingers and the only thing I have to do in return is take an occasional beating from a toddler? Score!

** I wanted to take a picture of this for the blog, but your dad implied that no one would want to see something like that. He forgets that a large part of our readership is made up of nurses who thrive on disgusting visual aids.

In Praise Of Your Dad

Dear Laney,

Remember that stomach bug you unleashed on me at Home Depot last night? No? Well, I woke up with it this morning. So, thanks for that.

I have been sick as a dog all damn day. I mean lie-on-the-couch-and-moan sick. Honestly, I wanted your dad to conk me on the head with his crowbar and put me out of my misery.

And throughout the day, I kept thinking, "What the heck would I do without Thor?" He took care of you all day long so I could lie down in the shower and feel sorry for myself. He fixed your meals and changed your diapers and let you help with every project he worked on today.

Do I care that all you ate all day was variations of cheese-on-bread? No, I do not. Do I care that you didn't have on pants for 90% of today? Nope. Do I care that your dad used you to load-test the new pantry shelves? Uh-uh.

All I care about is that you were well taken care of...because while we may from time to time make fun of Dad's snoring and singing and Hobbit feet, today, he was my hero.

Love,

Mom

This Is The Way Our Weekend Ends, Not With A Bang But An EEEEEECCCCCCCGGGGHHHHH...

Dear Laney,

Hang in with me here - It's been quite a day.

We started today just like we begin every weekend day around here - with a home improvement project. Today, we came a few steps closer to having a working pantry and linen closet. In fact, you helped your dad put the rails on my sliding shelves. And while you're great at construction work, it seems you could also have a brilliant future as a plumber:

Today was notable for a few reasons. First, your dad shot himself in the finger with the nail gun. He decided he was fine, put a Band-Aid on it, and kept going. I would have been more concerned, but that particular accident seems to happen to a certain side of your family so often that it could almost be called "pulling a Burbach."

Also, this morning was memorable because you were in such a foul mood, and seemed determined to stay that way. I love you and all, but you were a complete pain in the hiney. Your dad and I tried everything - from letting you drive the truck to having arts and crafts time.

Peg Peg even got on the phone with you to have a talk about how you should be nicer to your parents, and how much better you would feel if you took a nap.

I would say it went in one ear and out the other, but that would be giving too much credit to the first ear.

The one bright spot in your afternoon was when you figured out that you could put your stool under the row of switches in the hallway and control all of the lights and fans downstairs. You were so serious about your control panel that your dad started singing "Ground Control To Major Laney." Any time your dad sings, it's a win-win.

As soon as you climbed down from the stool, you were back to whining and moaning. I started floating the idea that you were possessed by the devil and needed a nap/exorcism combo. Your dad said "Maybe she's sick. I was sick last week and you couldn't tell by looking at me - I just felt awful." Hmmm, maybe. But I still would have put $5 on supernatural possession.

So we all got in the car and drove to Home Depot, hoping you would finally get some sleep if we put you in your car seat. And you know what's weird? On our way out the door, I grabbed a dishtowel and put it in the diaper bag. No idea why. But stay tuned.

When we got to Home Depot, you were ornery. Didn't want juice. Didn't want a banana. Didn't want to help me pick out paint. You know what you DID want to do? Projectile vomit on me in the Electrics section.

Yep.

So I pulled out my psychic-moment dishtowel and the wipes and cleaned you up, cleaned me up, and cleaned up the floor (you're welcome, Home Depot). Then I grabbed you and found your dad over in Lumber so we could get the car keys and I could tell him where to find our cart.

I'm sure public puking is a rite of passage for every mom, and I hope I handled it okay. Thankfully, you seemed to feel better right away. You drank some juice in the car, had some animal crackers and were a new person.

In fact, this was you right before you went to bed tonight:

Here's hoping this was an isolated incident, and we wake up tomorrow ready to face the week.

Love,

Mom