Heiderino

My 8:39 entry tonight - a boastful, bragging, gloating rant about my kids going to bed angelically has come back to bite me in the hiney.

9:09: A surly redhead emerges from her room, her little towel turban (turbie twist) is falling off of her newly-showered head, and she’s not happy. She then complains that I told her after her baby brother went to bed, she could watch Annie. I forgot about this, and she doesn’t want me to forget it. She goes on to tell me about a scary movie she watched - something about a veterinarian, a dog, a cat, and I think a screwdriver.

!!??!! She never saw such a movie in my presence !!??!!

All I could do was tell her that she should think of happy things, like her brother, or Santa, to help her forget about the scary things. I also had to explain to her that the reason we forgot to put Annie on was because we were having fun playing together - she was the Mom, and I was the little girl. (Let me tell you, that was a real eye opener.)

SIGH - at 9:18, I believe (said with utter lack of confidence) she may be down for the night. I fully expect Brett to wake up in a rage at any given moment…

8:39 pm. Both kids are in bed…

Brett and I read a “Bok,” and he went right into his crib with (if you can believe this) a smile on his face.

Drue was the perfect bedtime child tonight… She asked me if she could take a shower, brushed her teeth thoroughly - using toothpaste (long story…), then literally hopped into bed. She asked me to put on her music, and I did.

In an overboard effort to make her happy and stay in bed, I demonstrated some of my more obnoxious (not QUITE Elaine-like, but probably pretty close…) dance moves to “Dancing in the Streets.”

“I like your moves, Mom.”

That was the best (and funniest) thing I heard all day.

A very surreal evening indeed!

We went to Summerfest on the Fourth of July to see my sister’s band, Sunspot play. Naturally, we had a few beers. (Leinie’s Summer Wheat, to be exact… Yum!) Drue asked me what I was drinking, and I told her “Beer.”

Drue: “But Mom! Moms don’t drink BEER!!!”
Me: “They don’t? What do Moms drink, then?”
Drue: “WINE, silly.”

Drue and I have started an evening tradition of combing the back yard for doggy piles, to prevent tragedy while we are playing badminton. I have deemed us the “Poopy Patrol.” She thinks it is so much fun, and bless her four-year-old heart, we went out there the other night and she pumped her arms and fists, enthusiatically yelling “We’re the Poopy Protectors!” I corrected her, trying not to laugh. But she found it pretty funny herself.

Last night, she said “I wish I was a mom. Then I could use the pooper scooper!”

I assured her that she can learn to use the pooper scooper LONG before she becomes a mom.

I really should have taped the conversation, because when I told her that it could be her job in a couple of years, she was ecstatic!

If you have a small child, and have had the misfortune of putting them on a “magic flusher” toilet, you may have had an experience similar to mine.

Recently, my husband took Drue to the bathroom at a restaurant. Apparently, before she was done, the thing flushed, sending her flying off the pot, terrified. While he got a good laugh out of it, (on the inside) she was scarred for life, I’m afraid.

We took a trip to McDonald’s for dinner the other night. Right about the time we were going to leave, she told me she had to go potty… “Bad!!!” We bolted to the bathroom, scrambled into a stall, and she froze.

“But Mom… That’s a magic flusher potty… I don’t like those.” I told her to hop on, reminding her she had to go “BAD!”

She wouldn’t do it. She thought that by sitting on the potty, it would cause the flusher to activate. I tried to explain that it had a magic “eye,” but she would not buy into it. Instead, perched on the very edge of the toilet, she had an accident all over the floor, her jeans, socks and shoes. (And, might I add, she’d apparently had two gallons of water during the day.) Her eyes were as big as saucers, because she knew what was happening but couldn’t stop it.

“It’s okay!” I told her, ” It’s just an accident.” I saw a look of slight relief on her face.

That was when it flushed.

She flew off that toilet, midstream, shrieking and crying. Meanwhile, I’m holding the baby and trying to figure out how to handle this situation.

Why on earth would McDonald’s - children’s haven - have these things? They never sense those little bodies the right way. I’m terrified that any time we go anywhere in public from now on, we’ll wind up with sopping jeans and socks.

Finally, isn’t it pathetic that enough people don’t flush the freaking toilet that they had to invent these things in the first place?

Peeeeep!

Originally uploaded by Heiderino.

Tonight, Drue discovered the ziploc bag of Peeps on the counter - the only three Peeps left from my uncontrolled Peeps binge at work yesterday.

Wait! Rewind. The other night, she had Peeps for the first time, and she was instantly addicted. She ate two or three and then walked around with a glazed look in her eyes repeating “Yummy Bunny…” in a slightly wacked-out tone.

Getting back to this evening, she asked if she could have a bunny. I told her, sure, she could have ONE.

About five minutes later, she approached me with an empty bag and a guilty face.

As a parent, I felt that I had to address this. I told her I was disappointed that she ate three when I told her that one was enough. She crumbled on me - crying, and telling me she never wants Peeps again.

Now, my intent here was not to scar her for life on Peeps… And it was even harder to scold her, knowing JUST how easily those damn things go down. They’re worse than Krispy Kremes - it’s like eating air!!!

Finally, we explained to her that Peeps aren’t BAD for you (yes they are)in small quantities, but that massive amounts of them can give you a tummy ache and make your teeth rotten. Somehow it was mentioned that Peeps come in colors other than blue. The minute I mentioned Pink and Purple Peeps, that same glazed look came over her face, with a sort of spaced-out smile.

Ahh…. Like mother like daughter, I guess.

This dream doesn’t belong to me, it belongs to my daughter Drue, who is almost four.

The other night, I got hardly any sleep. The baby was up a couple times, she woke up a couple times, and even the dog woke me up to let him out at 3 a.m. At about 3:30, just after I’d fallen back to sleep, I heard her calling my name.

“Mom! I had a bad dream!!!”

I went in to console her, and asked her to tell me about it.

Now, usually her bad dreams include hot lava or monsters, but this time she was more upset.

“We went to the restaurant with Grandma and Grandpa, and Mishaya came along (friend from school). Mishaya tried to steal my fries!!!”

I must agree, this dream topped any hot lava or vicious monsters.