Hangry

I have this problem at night. I get online and somehow find pictures of delectable food. Look here for free looking. I read one time that thinking about eating food can actually stop you from doing so. But not with me.  Looking at food usually forces me into an unwanted Fourth Meal. (Thanks for coining that Taco Bell. That and what you like to call beef that is actually Taco Meat Filling masquerading as beef. And now you're getting sued. So sad.)

The other day it occurred to me that sometimes I get really hungry. My stomach starts trying to eat other things inside me. Then it starts to attack my brain and I get super angry. Hungry angry. Let's just call it hangry,  like my sister and I do.

In case you can't tell, I turn mean when I'm hungry. 


So next time you're out and about and someone's not nice to you, maybe you should offer them a snack pack of Oreos. They might be hangry too.

Off to have a little fourth meal.

Mom Hair

Over the weekend I went to a salon for my once-every-18 months-professional haircut. Because it's a momentous occasion that doesn't even occur annually, I decided to do some big girl research.

At first I tried to figure out my face shape. I was mildly successful. I'm either round, oval, or square. Every few minutes I am positive I am one of those three.

Then I uploaded an awkward non-smiling picture of myself to some ridiculous hairstyle website. It advertised its amazing skills in helping you decide on a new hairdo or hairdon't. Unfortunately, most options were drag-queen-esque and I looked horrendous in every style.

So I decided to take a different route and look at some old photographs of my past hairstyles. I concluded one thing, I need a face-plant. Or maybe just a forehead transplant. Or maybe just no short hair and that I need to cover my Tyra Banks forehead. Or my Christina Ricci forehead.

Tyra, sans makeup. So what if my favorite hobby is seeing celebrities without makeup.

Enter scene: Tara, the sweetie-pie hair cutting extraordin-hair. She was sure that I did not have a ginormous forehead. hmmmm. Thanks Tara. This put me on the fence about bangs.

"Just cut the rest of my hair and at the end, I'll decide about the bangs" I told her foolishly.

Because I was crossing my fingers for a face-plant type transformation, when I saw the finished product of the bland haircut, I was disappointed. I thought it was going to be more extreme makeover-ish. I thought bangs would solve my face problem.

So I made a sort of desperate decision to go for the bangs. And not just any bangs. Wispy bangs? Wispy, that's right.

Then as I watched those scissors heading toward my giant forehead, I found myself screaming on the inside no! no! not my bangs! NOT MY BANGS!!! too late.

What was I thinking? I just took a year and a half to grow them out because they annoy me. And then ooops I did it it again. I left my haircut feeling confused.

When I got home Davy awoke from her a nap, took one look at me and seriously cried for Daddy. He was gone and she cried and cried. I tried to explain to her that it was me, Mommy, and that I got a haircut. I thought she must just be groggy from her nap. Probably a fluke.

Then I saw my sweet niece later that night. She had no idea who I was. Usually she is excited to see me. She looked at me with fear in her eyes.

Then our friend little Maggie didn't know who I was either and called me her Mommy's friend. I was a stranger to her.

party time. excellent hair.

Maybe the faceplant worked in the worst way possible. At this point I was pretty sure I looked like Quasimoto.

Have no fear, Mother to the rescue. To bolster my confidence, when my mother saw me post-haircut she said lovingly, "Awwwww you look like a little girl." Ummm ok. Not exactly the look I was going for Mom. Ugly little girl. Then she tried desperately to redeem herself after noticing my face sink, by saying "I mean you look like a movie star." Wow. Now that was super convincing. Oh well. I guess I'll get used to the little girly bangs. And get used to more people thinking I would have been a perfect candidate for the show 16 and Pregnant.

I don't think it's a coincidence that another definition of bang is explosion or crash. These bangs are a disaster.

Oh well. It doesn't matter what other people think and say about my bangs. What really matters is what I see when I accidentally catch my reflection in the mirror as I wash my hands, and that is...Wayne from Wayne's World. He's not exactly my style icon and for whatever reason I forgot that when I have bangs we look like twins.  He's not that bad looking, right?

Party time. Excellent.

Naked Without Shame

Thankfully my chiquita isn't one of those kids that runs around naked at home all the time. I've heard of parents who basically wrestle clothes on their children every time they leave their house, meanwhile at home they terrorize like naked savages from Lord of the Flies.

After potty training however Davy did get a little more comfortable basking in the buff.  She went pantless here and there, which is extremely helpful when you are still trying to get a hold on Mother Nature and all she showers and splatters upon my floors.

Anyway, last night we went to my favorite place for dinner with Grandma and Grandpa 'Tor-jit' for some sushi and fun. And boy was it. Daddy was on the ball tonight. After getting practice the previous night out taking Davy to the restroom, he was basically a pro potty ass-istant tonight.

So Davy said the magical words, "Daddy! I gotta go pee-pee." Then off they ran to the orange and purple bathroom. This time it was a one person locked door type, not like the urinal men's restroom they ran into the previous night before I could intercept.

A few minutes later they re-entered the main dining area, but Daddy looked concerned. He found the nearest adorable Japanese waitress and based on what I could gather from his hand motions and some limited lip reading...they clogged the toilet. Awesome. She understood and nodded.

Then the waitress' eyes quickly darted beyond my husband to a small blonde pig-tailed girl, our chiquita. She was lifting up her tiny dress. Daddy turned to see why the waitress looked so alarmed. My chop sticks dropped my avocado and tuna roll midway to my mouth. Davy was doing the no pants dance with her princess panties around her ankles. She flashed the entire restaurant.

I've never laughed so hard during a serious sushi eating session.

Daddy of the year? Oh yes.

Find a Fairy

We went as a family to a Mexican restaurant for dinner tonight with my parents, sister, future brother-in-law Doug and my adorable niece. It was so fun. Even though I was sitting across from my 2 year old, with a 9 month old on one side and a one year old on the other side, it was still fun.  The kind of fun that makes you think wow, I wonder if they ever kick anyone out of here? And then of course, I saw a few squished mean-faced looks from some folks who almost slipped on a few of the things we may or may not have dropped on the ground. sorry. about. that.

Were full glasses of water spilled? Yes.
Spilled beans? yes 
Before Mommy could stop him, did Daddy take Davy into the Men's restroom to go potty/ Anatomy 101 for a 2 year old? Yes.
Did she ask Grandma to take her to the restroom approximately 7 times? yes
Did Grandma oblige? yes
Did Davy see fairies? Oh yes.

That was pretty much the highlight. Davy announced excitedly to our large table in her cartoonish voice:

THOSE BIG FAIRIES ARE NOT GOING TO FALL IN!

You may be asking yourself what kind of Mexican restaurant has fairies. I'll tell you. The kind of restaurant that on dance night attracts awkward, dolled up, Mexican-food-loving, freshman girls paired with their equally as awkward freshman boys. And when one little chickie needs to use the restroom, the entire girlie gaggle follows.

Davy was convinced that they were fairies and watched them with eyes of intensity and a big open mouth. She got up and chased them. They were heading to the potty and since they were so big, Davy knew they would definitely not fall in the potty. (Davy will fall in if she is not held properly when she uses public restrooms. 'Falling in' has been extremely traumatic for her.)

I think it's safe to say it's her dream to be one of those fairy freshman girls free from the worry of falling in a public toilet. She loves the idea of the pretty dress, but mostly it's all about potty skill envy at this point.

She surely will be dreaming about them tonight. She forced me into a princess story that included these restroom using wonders.

Blue Monday

It's Monday. And as far as days of the week go, it's usually the most dreaded. I don't have to really go anywhere Mondays, because I watch soap operas and eat bon bons everyday anyway stay home and cook, clean and take care of two glorious girls.

Sometimes I welcome Mondays after a crazy weekend. But for some unknown reason, today the Monday morning alarm clock hit me like a two by four in the face. I slept with a stuffed up coughing baby-not so bad. My whole body hurts because I passed out in a contorted fashion, but that happens all the time. I didn't even have to change Davy's diaper. She uses a toilet, like a civilized human being. I should be ecstatic. But while I was still trying to sleep, she did WWF body slam me as a good morning hug and landed with her palms slapping my face.

But I already was feeling blue-ish. or bleh-ish. Then I saw it. Emily S.' facebook status:

Today is the saddest day of the year.

Which of course made me feel sadder. Apparently they reported it on Good Morning America. Really? How could anyone know that? After a brief google search it seems to be a made up day in 2005 in England. There is even a ridiculous mathematical equation associated with it. Something about Christmas being over, failed New Years resolutions, depressing weather, no motivation and an increase in debt. Sounds depressing to me. (I read that it was a marketing scheme for SkyBlue) But I don't care, I think the third Monday of the new year is the saddest.

And here in America, I don't think it helps that everyone wants to spend this day as a day of rememberence at home in honor of the great Martin Luther King Junior, but not everyone has the day off. So, the people who do have the day off, miss all their friends at work. And the people who do not have the day off are exceeding jealous of their friends at home.

And since I have been trying to think of an awesome way to make me, myself and I feel better, I think that I should look no further than this advice from MLK.

Those who are not looking for happiness are the most likely to find it, because those who are searching forget that the surest way to be happy is to seek happiness for others.

 

So if you are sulking on Blue Monday like me either in your pajamas or at work in your cubicle, I guess when we look outside our self-centered selves and work on paying it forward, we most likely will be happier. Makes sense. Thanks MLK.

How to Potty Train: Scientifically

Sorry I've been slacking lately blogging...As usual I have great excuses reasons I could not blog.
-last minute video camera tour of my colon on Friday at the doctor.
-newbie cloth diapering with my favorite chubby baby, Gianna (Thank you Sarah K.)
-husband working late
-exhaustion
-read Eat, Pray, Love and it just made me realize I love to eat and led to
-me making and eating falafels with tzakiki sauce, Italian meatball soup, homemade peanut butter, and homemade strawberry sorbet, and probably other things...Oh yes and the remainder of the dairy free cupcakes from the birthday party Sunday are now gone. gone. gone. Thanks Anne S. for giving me multiple reasons I need to start running again asap. 

And now back to your regularly scheduled blogram...

Special shout out to Sarah S. for the advice on potty training.


Potty Training: A Scientific Method


Problem: My two year old pees and poops in her diaper and we're snowed in.


The hypothesis:
If child eats and drinks food while remaining on the potty, the child will eventually pee and/or poop in the potty. The child will continue, on own, to use the potty in a desperate pursuit of sugar and dancing. 

The materials:
a talkative diaper loving two-year old
pretzels of all shapes and sizes
apple juice with a new sippy cup
a pink potty
a tiny potty seat that sits on the potty
a step stool
pull ups
reward candy-smarties and dum dums
Computer or TV or DVD player
DVDs or youtube videos, like this elmo one

The Procedure:
1) Sit child in front of the electronic babysitter
2) Make sure she is pantless
3) Give child a bottomless bowl of pretzels
4) Give child ample apple juice
5) Dance and give child candy after doing business in the potty


Experiment Observations 
The two year old peed in the potty multiple times. There was even fecal material in the potty on one occasion. Mother and daughter participated in impromptu potty dances complete with flailing limbs and awkward half jumps after the deed was done. Simultaneously, songs were sung that may have included but were not limited to these lyrics, "You went pee pee in the potty/ you went pee pee in the potty/ you didn't go on the floor/ cause that would be naughty/ you don't need your diapers no more/ you don't go on the floor." This was followed by unrestrained ingestion of sugar by Mother and daughter.
The daughter peed in various other locations around the home throughout the day. In her bedroom, the kitchen, the living room, you get the point. All over. She begged for her diaper. Mother refused and forced her to carry on.  Finally dinner arrived and Mother was exhausted and found out that her partner in crime, aka hubster, would be coming home super late. So she let the two year old child eat dinner pantless because, why not? I'll tell you why not. Mid-dinner, something arrived at the dinner table that no one ordered. Poop on the chair.

I'm not wearing any pants and I'm about to leave you a present you won't want.

 Conclusion
 Wear pants at the dinner table.

*Unexpected Results
 Potty training was harder on this Mother than initially anticipated. Next time buy more candy. You never know when a snow storm or a Mother is arriving on the scene. Between each fecal spill I drowned my anxiety in dum dums and smarties, as a coping mechanism. Next time invest in some intensive care lotion. That way you can try to revive your poor chapped hands from the sorry state they have fallen to while using harsh disinfectants and desperately attempting to prevent feces and urine from infecting family members. Which you failed at, by the way, Gianna was crawling in pee on the floor that did not belong to her. 

A Princess Story

Once upon a time today there were two princesses named Davy and Gianna. Princess Davy was a busy princess, always making sure everything was running smoothly inside the castle by regularly running laps around it. She also immensely enjoyed redecorating and admiring the organizing ability of the castle queen maid and would pick up any item at random that caught her eye then strategically place it in difficult to find locations. Some things were missing for long periods of time hoping to be rescued again. If only Princess Davy could remember where, oh where she had placed them. Such was the case for a beloved Charlie Brown DVD and an even more beloved credit card. 

Besides hide and go seek with material possessions, she had various other hobbies as well. She loved applying mascara to the area around her eye lashes, such as her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Occasionally she took up less civilized activities, such as fishing tea bags out of unattended teacups, or taking friend princesses hostage by refusing to release them from her strong and determined grip. 

She also loved to attend to her sister, the littlest Princess Gianna. She loved to attend jumping parties in her crib and ripping letters off her wall. Ear piercing screams were part of common attempts to awaken from slumber the minor princess. Princess Davy would glide the baby Princess across the floor with her feet often suspended mid-air, a scene most typical and worthy of consternation.

Princess Gianna was an absolute delight to behold and although it was somewhat difficult to comprehend what she desired amidst the shrill tones and intonations. Most frequently her disposition was one of compete and utter joyful enchantment. 

All was well in the castle when at the end of the day the two princesses danced and joined hands. Princess Davy pulled Gianna's arms as their feet slid across the ballroom floor. All the while you could hear a child-like voice in song..."so this is love." 

Easy Delicious Tuna Crostinis

My sister Katie gave me this brilliant idea one day and now it's a staple in our home.

You can dress it up or down. It's like a good pair of jeans. But tastier.


Ingredients:

• A can or two of tuna.(The best tuna for taste is the white albacore. But seriously it doesn't matter that much in this recipe. Any tuna will be excellent. )
• One egg (this is the glue for the tuna and the bread-like stuff)
• Bread crumbs or pretzels or crackers. Or something salty and crumbly. 
• Oil (coconut is good, or grapeseed or olive oil.)
• Salt, pepper, and your choice of dill, lemon pepper, garlic, whatever you like with tuna.

Mix tuna, egg and bread crumbs or pretzel crumbs or cracker crumbs into a bowl. Eventually you are going to have to use your hands. Add in your seasonings.
One can of tuna, one egg and a half cup of bread crumbs should be about right. This might be different if your tuna was super watery or your egg was enormous. Try to form ping pong sized balls with mixture. Flatten them a little.
Heat some oil. Enough to cover the bottom of your pan. When it's hotttt add your little tuna crostinis. mmmm. Flip them after about a minute. Cook for another minute or so.

Viola!

Make some tarter sauce and serve it on an open faced sandwich with spinach.

Put it in a salad. mmmm

Substitute for a homemade crab cake.

We Are Family

Davy keeps saying, "I love our family." And it warms my soul. I melt. There is nothing better than your two year old saying those words. (Ok truthfully if she said, "Mother I am now done with diapers forever" that might be waaaay better.)

Throughout every day Gianna, Davy and I take breaks to snuggle close to each other and giggle. All three (sometimes four when Daddy is around) of us frozen in time loving each other. I'm not kidding. It's nauseatingly precious. It's like a thousand hallmark commercials deep fried and rolled in powered sugar.

I assumed when she said family she meant Mother Dearest, Daddy-o and little baby sister Gianna. But today she informed me, "Mom Snoofy is my brother. He is my little brother." Hmmm ok. He must take after Daddy. 

Davy and her brother Snoofy

Then out of nowhere she was mid-bite at dinner and announced mockingly, "Daddy you are my favorite parent." My warm soupy soul quickly became a hunk of ice.

 In a desperate effort to change her mind my husband declared, "Well Mommy is my favorite parent."

 "Oh really Daddy, Mommy is your favorite? You are my favorite parent Daddy."

So unfair. Moms do all the dirty work and what do we get? Snoofy children and second place to celebrity dad. Ridiculous.

favorite. just kidding. or am I?

It's not like I'm walking around all day telling her Gianna's my favorite child. (Which she obviously is right now.) Why does she have to torture me?

Come Back to Planet Earth Davy

For the past week or so Davy has been spending almost her entire days in her own little world. It's getting increasingly difficult to reach her. I truly value imagination and creativity, but at what point do you intervene to prevent your child from a future of isolation and obscurity in grade school. Ok, maybe I’m overreacting. But I keep flashing back to this girl in my first grade class on the playground. She was giggling and laughing as her imaginary baby sister and brother crawled all over her. Creepy. I cannot let that happen to my child.

The worst part of it is that she is now making up things and ideas and I have no idea what she is talking about. She gets very passionate about it. She’ll almost convince me that her world exists.

"Mommy, I’m just so busy putting this 'omo' on the 'elify.' I just have to do right now or he won’t be able to 'difoo.'”

What does that have to do with the play dough all over Godzilla’s head? I think she is under the impression that making up words will confuse me and she won't get in trouble for her ridiculousness. She is on to something because I am easily distracted. Thankfully she translates in her teenager tone, "Mooo-ommm I’m washing Godzilla’s hair."

Could Dr. Seuss be to blame? Maybe we should take her off it.

Also, I don’t know if I’m just getting increasingly tired of the constant flow of items being removed from their home or if she has turned it up a notch, but it definitely seems like the latter.

This morning she was giving imaginary friends presents in every room. She was building these little towers of books and when I tried to moved them she would scream that I was taking Charlie Brown’s presents from the kitchen, the kitten’s presents from the nursery and Snoopy’s presents from my the master bedroom. Memo to Davy: The reason you have a room is to keep your toy-like items in it.

Are you the real Davy or just a crazy look-a-like?

We had our friend Alex Baker over for dinner tonight (Davy renamed him the 'brown strong man') and we tried to convince him of her sanity so that he would think that her craziness was a fluke.  She interrupted us mid-conversation dragging a brown and black blanket and made everyone pet her cow. Then she laughed herself into hysterics as her cow gave us some after dinner entertainment by nonstop jumping. Of course he needed a little cow help, but she gave us all a good laugh.

Earlier today she told me there were some cows in her room that she was playing with. I handed her Gianna's stuffed cow and asked her if she wanted to play with this cow. Her voice lowered, she looked at me seriously and blinked a few times. "No Mom. I have REEEAL cows in my room."

Whatever wacko. Please give me my semi-crazy daughter back.