'Tis the Season

‘Tis the Season…

‘Tis the Season… to be an emotional wreck.

                I was at one of my Christmas parties.  This one was for the real estate company that I work for, William Raveis in Norwalk.  Here’s the thing you probably don’t know about Realtors- most of us have a sick, hilarious sense of humor.  You kind of have to have a screw loose to be a Realtor.  I knew when I started at this fine establishment six years ago, I had chosen the right place to call home.  As we sat at our wine-infused luncheon (at Noon on a Monday) everyone started to talk about where the “after party” would be held.  I had just finished a set (yes, I perform standup comedy and yes, when asked I will perform at my own Christmas party)and the topic of conversation was whether to meet at a bar or another restaurant.  Our favorite appraiser said to me-
“Anna, where should we go?”- and for the first time in six years, I said that I couldn’t go.  I had promised Hayden that we would go see Christmas lights.  He paused then said “Just go another night”- I laughed.  She remembers everything, and I had promised I would take her tonight.  He then said that children don’t have long term memory until age three.  My girl friend who sat beside me quipped, “you could get hit by a bus and die- then I would marry Paul and move in to your house and she would have never have known you were your mother”.  Now, you may think that’s harsh, but that’s actually the sick, twisted sense of humor that we have.  I laughed and told her to go (beep) off.  And as a good Mommy would do, I missed the night of partying and went and grabbed my child and took her to see the lights.  But all I could think of was that if I died tomorrow, she would never remember me.  I’m not going to lie, I laid in bed all night horrified at this thought.  I tend to become even more of an emotional wreck around the holidays.  ‘Tis the season.

‘Tis the Season… to be amped on Red Bull and Dunkin Donuts coffee.

                I know there are people out there who really enjoy this whole Christmas season.  I applaud them.  I, unfortunately, am not one of them.  Here’s the thing- I feel pressure whenever I have to buy presents for people.  I feel like there’s some sort judgment on whether the gift is thoughtful/appropriate/exciting.  Every year my list grows and grows despite my best efforts to cut people off this list.   This year I bought for a whopping 32 people.  Meaningful presents for 32 people isn’t the best scenario.  I raised the bar too high.  Long ago, I was told that I give great presents and I felt the need to live up to that.  This year I’ve decided that I don’t want to be known for giving cool presents, I want to be known for giving crappy ones.  Despite this revelation, I still needed to buy, wrap, and organize all these gifts.  This past Tuesday, I had a meltdown.  It’s one of those moments when you’re standing in the middle of Hallmark frantically searching the aisles for anything that will be deemed “touching and sweet”- Friggin hell, it’s Hallmark, isn’t that what they’re known for?  Hayden’s running around the store screaming “Frosty the Snowman was a jolly happy hot dog” (again, she has a sick obsession with hot dogs… more on that later), and I’m scanning my list desperately looking for gifts for her preschool teachers.  I went home, Paul walked in the door and I blew up.  I don’t even know what I was yelling about- I knew I had lost control when I had ordered so much online and I had no idea what had arrived and what hadn’t.  I was sent to bed by my husband, and when I awoke Wednesday morning, I doubled up and Red Bull and Dunkin Donuts and I was ready to tackle Christmas and get this crap over with.  ‘Tis the season.

‘Tis the Season… for inappropriate Christmas cards.

                I absolutely refused to spend a ton of money to hire a professional photographer this year.  I had bought one of those high tech camera’s last year and my reasoning was that if I had a good camera, then I would eliminate the need to spend hundreds of dollars every year on professional photography.  Well, there’s a reason why those fine people get paid what they do- They actually know what they’re doing.  I spent a full hour and a half outside with Hayden trying to get her to smile.  She looked adorable, she was all dressed up and the picture perfect model- yet, the simple task to please look at the camera and smile was much too daunting of a task.  That night I sat down to review the 132 pictures I had taken.  There wasn’t one I could use.  Not one.  She was cross eyed in one.  Not looking at the camera in another.  Crying in several.  So, the next morning, I threw her into a regular old dress and tried again.  I was annoyed that I had to do this again and was relieved that  in only fifteen minutes I had snapped a cute picture of her smiling.  I ordered the cards, stamped them and they were sent.  Cross that off the list of Christmas things I hate to do.

                All seemed fine until my Mom said that she heard Hayden’s tushie was in the air on the Christmas card.  I laughed it off.  She was crouched on a rock.  Next call comes in from a good friend of mine who has two boy- she told me that Hayden was a “pin up” and was hanging on the wall next to her son’s bed.  Hmmm.  Then last night, I was at one of my college friends Christmas parties.  Clearly we had all been drinking way too much wine and the giggles were in full swing.  One of my loving sorority sisters said that she had loved the Christmas card.  I laughed and said that I was thankful because I was starting to worry that it was inappropriate.  She told me that she thought I had picked that photo on purpose to be inappropriate.  She then proceeded to grab all the Christmas cards with children on them and lay them out- She asked “Which child will grow up to be the whore?”- She’s an asshole, but I guess I should have reviewed my selection a bit more carefully.  No worries.  I only sent it out to 140 people.   Some people take pictures of their kids doing cute things and put them on their Christmas cards.  I take pictures of my three year old doing Playboy type poses.  Sigh.  ‘Tis the Season to be embarrassed.

‘Tis the Season… for no explanations.

                Why my child is obsessed with hot dogs, I’ll never know.  After waiting a full 90 minutes in line to take a picture with Santa at the mall, she asked him for a hot dog.  I could see his confusion that perhaps he had misheard her- but no, she asked Santa for a hot dog.  She has altered the words of songs so she can reference hot dogs in them. 

We frequently sing songs like “Old McDonald had a hot dog”… or in the theme of Christmas, “Jingle hot dogs”.  When I picked Hayden up from school yesterday, one of the teachers asked why she kept insisting that Santa was bringing her hot dogs for Christmas, so I told her that she had asked for that. .. and no, I would not be wrapping up any hot dogs.  She told me the other day that she had a hot dog in her pants and then cracked up laughing like she had just performed the best set of standup in the history of comedy.  I can’t explain it.  I don’t know where/why this obsession has come from.  Does she eat hot dogs?  Yes.  More than the average kid, I don’t think so.  ‘Tis the season for me to be puzzled.

We’re in the home stretch.  Only a couple more days until everything will return to normal and I can’t wait.  But it’s not all humbug- because let’s be honest, watching the joy in their faces is amazing.  The magic of Christmas really only exists for them- and it’s beautiful.  Plus, the threat of Santa leaving all of her gifts for my nephew has worked swimmingly.  As of December 26^th, the threat of the Easter Bunny not coming will begin.

Merry Christmas! 

It's not that bad, right?

Lies I tell my two year old

Lies I tell my two year old…

The other day, Hayden and I were sitting in a booth at the diner.  She kept insisting that she wanted to stand up and say hello to the ninety year old couple sitting behind us.  Truth be told, I have no idea if they were cranky old people or if they were the nice old couple that love children.  I assumed they didn’t want my two and a half year old staring at them while they ate their apple sauce and pancake dinner.  I didn’t blink an eye and I simply told Hayden that she couldn’t go see them because they hate children and they steal kids and lock them up in their basement at home.  For good measure I added that they make the kids take three naps a day.

Hayden sat down.

It dawned on me that I regularly make up outrageous lies to get Hayden to behave.  I don’t quite know when I started doing this, but I think it dates back about a year ago.  Hayden was going through this phase where she constantly would run away from me whenever we were in a public place and I would freak out.  I remember telling my trainer about this and she said that when her daughter was younger and would run away in a store, she would point to an older man and tell her quietly that the man was planning on kidnapping her if she didn’t stay right by her side.  I mulled it over.  I didn’t want her to be afraid of all older men, but then I realized that unless it’s her father, uncle or grandfather, I don’t want her talking to strange old men anyway.  Seemed to make sense.  I was told by an in-law that this was ridiculous and would give her a complex, but I figured a little fear was a good thing.  (And not for nothing, but cough, cough, Sandusky, cough, cough).

We walked into Wal-mart which is full of crazy people anyway, and the moment she made a run for it, I grabbed her.  I pointed to an older man that was missing half his teeth and walking with a cane and calmly explained that he worked on a farm and he stole little girls that ran away from their Mom’s and made them sleep in a barn with the cows at night.  Clearly, it would have been enough to say that the old man was watching her, but my general nature was to elaborate. 

It worked.  She didn’t leave my side and constantly was looking over her shoulder.  Mission accomplished.

As time went on, my lies got a bit more exaggerated and spanned many topics. 

“Why do I have to have to take a nap?!”

“Because your brain can only handle so much information at a time and if you don’t take a nap and recharge your brain battery, you’ll forget who everyone is.  Do you want to forget who Mommy is and have to go live with a stranger that doesn’t know that you don’t like asparagus?”

“….no.”

Some things are ridiculous.  Our “Elf on a Shelf” who is named Friendly, actually has a magic carpet that that he flies on to the North Pole.  I told her that because I couldn’t think of a more logical answer and I saw her Aladdin movie out of the corner of my eye. 

Or better yet, if she doesn’t behave, Santa will bring all her presents to her cousin and she’ll have to sit on Christmas Day and watch him open all her gifts.

Here’s a small list of lies I have told Hayden:

-That Stop and Shop is owned by Santa’s elves and they are watching her at all times when she is in the store.  They will bite her toes if she doesn’t stay in the shopping cart.

-That Santa Claus is on a diet and has diabetes so we can’t leave him cookies, but we’ll leave him some carrots.

-That whenever she has an “accident” (we are fully potty trained!) an angel cries in heaven.

-If she doesn’t eat broccoli every day, she’ll never be able to poop again and explode.  (This is by far the smartest thing I’ve ever told her- because she panics if she doesn’t eat some “vegge-tables”)

-The “scary” cow at Stew Leonards is made out of marshmallows so he could never actually hurt her. 

-When our gold fish died, I told her that he ran away to join a Beatles tribute band.  I added that he was Paul McCartney just to make it more believable.

The list really goes on and on.  It could be something simple like “Mommy, why are you wearing a white shirt?”… and I’ll respond “Because today is wear a white shirt day to thank all the people who raise money for animal charity’s”.

For now it works.  When I sense she is getting a complex, I’ll ease up.  It’s important to note that when she asks me anything that’s serious, I answer truthfully and honestly.  She understands about how Mommy’s have babies.  (Well, as best as a two year old can understand).  She knows that there are poor people and people going hungry and that we have to help them.   She knows that Mommy has tattoos, or as she calls them my “stamps”.  When she saw me with a tampon in my hand and wanted to know what it was, I told her in simplified two-year old terms.  I actually wish I had hid that stuff a bit better because she opened all my tampons and lined them up down our hallway last month…  and peeled a pad and stuck it on her shirt and called it “my favorite new sticker”.

Never a dull moment… Never a dull moment.

Pre-School University

Pre-School University

When you teach your child ridiculous pet names for their privates, you don’t really think that one day you will have to explain those names to their teachers.  There’s something amusing about making up a word and using it whenever referring to their little tushies/butts/behinds/bums- or in Hayden’s case, tookus. 

When we looked at different pre-schools for Hayden, it felt like the college search process.  We visited different schools in different towns.  We had to consider their tuition, their teaching philosophy’s, their credentials, whether Hayden could get in (waitlists? Are you kidding?)- Really, as a society we’ve done an incredible job of making the selection of a nursery school the most stressful experience for a new parent.  It’s seriously almost a status thing- I remember calling one pre-school and when I heard the tuition was over $30,000 a year, my heart skipped a beat.  One friend justified it though- She said it was the “it” pre-school.  Really?  There’s such a thing as the “it” preschool?  Most these kids still crap their pants.

We finally found our perfect balance of affordability (and I use the term “affordable” very, very loosely), location and got that “warm fuzzy feeling”.  The night of orientation for parents, I immediately fell in love with Hayden’s new teachers to be.  They were young and seemed fun- and I knew Hayden would love them too.   I was right.

After having panic attacks for many weeks, the first day of school came.  I can guarantee you that I was much more nervous than she was.  We walked into the classroom and something happened that I never suspected- Hayden ran up to one of her teachers and gave her the biggest hug ever.  She was so excited to meet her teacher and be at “big girl school”.  I was relieved, but the reality was I had to face the music.  I had to explain to these normal looking adult women, who were in charge of my child, all of her quirks.  I had planned it in my head exactly how I would calmly explain her slang words, weird actions and hardships- but when the smart/pretty young teacher asked me if there was anything special she should know about Hayden, this is what I said… (imagine me stuttering and speaking ridiculously fast)…

“Um, yeah, she calls her rear end a tookus, her vajajay is called a stellina which translates into Italian for little star (nervous giggle)- She’s afraid of puppets.  She watches way too much TV, it’s kind of my fault and I know that the Academy of Pediatrics doesn’t suggest that, I’ll stop keeping it on so much.  She doesn’t know any of her colors, my Mom thinks she might be color blind… oh, and she’s completely OCD about washing her hands.” 

Insert awkward silence.

“Don’t worry, most two year olds don’t know their colors yet.  She’s probably not color blind”

Sigh.

Hayden loves school like no other.  She can’t wait to go in the morning.  She adores her teachers.  Every ounce of work we put into finding this place and every penny was well worth it.  My good friend sent her daughter there as well.  We thought it would be a good idea to send them together so they would each have a familiar face.  This has worked out incredibly well and the girls love each other. 

One night, my friend and I were out having dinner and cocktails (NOT with the girls)- after a few glasses of wine, I checked my iPhone and sure enough there was an email from the director.  For the record, I wasn’t aware that the woman in charge of the school was called a director.  In the email, she asked if both of us would be the room mom’s for all the two year olds.  Of course, it was coincidental that we were together when seeing this email- and also coincidental that we had been drinking… So here is the response we sent…

“Dear Head Mistress,

We would be honored to be the room mom’s.  We feel as though there should be some mandatory uniform for us to wear to events.  We will absorb any costs related to this uniform. We also like name tags, please let us know if you would like for us to pick some up for our first meeting.

Thanks again!”

We thought we were so funny and hip.  We were humiliated the next morning.  I knew we had picked the right place once again, when the “head mistress” responded that she knew she had made the right decision asking us.  I’ll never know how stupid she thinks we are- but she does a great job acting as though we are normal Moms.

Ready for the part of the story where things get really sad?  Our pre-school burnt down last Sunday night.  Yep… It. Burnt. Down.

My heart is broken.  All Hayden’s stuff in her locker, the pictures she painted hanging on the walls, photos of all the kids laughing- gone.

I keep telling her that we’re on “vacation” from school and she doesn’t know any better, but she keeps asking when she can go back.  We’re having a meeting of all the parents this Thursday to talk about what will happen now.  I’m praying they can secure another location to finish out the year.  Out of all the dumb things that can happen… No one was hurt, fire is still under investigation, and the community out pouring of support is amazing. 

I’ll let you know what happens…

Potty Training 101

Potty Training 101

Everybody wants to give me parenting advice.  Let me tell you the truth, most of the time I pretend like I’m listening and take it in, but in reality I’m paying no attention.  But when it came to potty training, I was terrified.  I really had no idea where to start.  I listened carefully to everyone’s advice.  That may have been the wrong thing to do since I ended up with a mash up of weird, cockeyed approaches. 

Hayden has been ready to be potty trained for well over two months.  It was me that wasn’t ready.  I have this fear of being in the car, in traffic, on the 95, and Hayden screaming “Mommy I have to poop”- and me not being able to get her to a toilet in time.  Or worse, being at the mall and Hayden having some kind of accident that not only ruins her outfit but leaks brown diarrhea all over mine.  Yeah, I have a lot of issues. 

One day we were in the car, and she simply said “Mommy, I have to do pee pee”- and I answered “Just go in your diaper”.  I had a feeling that’s not what you’re supposed to say to a child who has been asking to use the potty and wear “big girl underwear”.

But an important thing happened, one of my good friends who has older children listened to me dramatically complain about my fears and she looked at me and said “You know, it all eventually works out, right?”  Duh.  I don’t know any college kids that still wear diapers.  I mean, I knew plenty that regularly went in their pants but it was usually after drinking way too much.  Pace University was a weird place, but alas, that’s another story for another time.

So when her pre-school offered parents a “potty training seminar” with a trained professional, I jumped all over that.  Granted, I spent a week trying to understand what kind of person makes their life work about getting kids to crap in a toilet, but to each his own.  Clearly, I couldn’t wait to go so there was a demand for this kind of speaker.  (Note to self: if this whole real estate/radio dj/baking this doesn’t work out- think about teaching my own potty training 101 class).

The class, although informative, did exactly what I was afraid of- it confused me even more.  I had yet another method to add to the 37 that had already been suggested. 

Last Monday morning, Hayden woke up and promptly said “Mommy, I go pee pee in the potty?”-  I took off her diaper and let her go.  More importantly, I didn’t put it back on.  I put on some old school gangsta rap to get my head in the game and went at it full force.  It was potty training time. 

I put down some newspaper down on the carpets just in case there were any accidents upstairs- For the record, no one suggested that to me, I thought of that all on my own.  When and if I teach a class, I will include that nugget of valuable information. 

One Mom said, keep her naked the whole time you’re home.  So, I kept her naked at first.  “Mommy, I’m cold”.  “Mommy, I want to wear pants”, “Mommy, can you be naked too?”- Hm- that wasn’t working out.  So I put her in underwear and pants. 

Things were going well, like another Mom said, every ten minutes I put her on the potty.  After a couple hours, she was ready to kill me.  “Mommy, I don’t have to go potty!!”  I spaced it out to 30 minutes.  At one point, she became so engrossed in Minnie Mouse on tv that she pee’d on the floor.  (No problem, I had the newspaper down)- So I changed her underwear, put her in new ones. 

Another Mom suggestion, bribery.  “If you pee in the potty, I’ll give you chocolate.”  Hayden’s a smart kid.  She could literally pee four drops, eat a piece of chocolate and go back and pee another four drops for another piece.  That wasn’t working.  So I made a deal, she could get a lollipop for poop.  That was a good compromise.

Mom number 13 suggested not leaving my house for five days while I was potty training.  Let’s be honest, there’s no way in hell I was sitting trapped in my house for five days.  So every morning, I would race the back roads to my Moms house so I could drop Hayden off for her to potty train her for a few hours while I ran to the gym/office/bar. 

Miraculously, she never had an accident for my Mom. 

Day 4, we had friends over.  Hayden was so involved with playing with her friend, that she pooped herself.  I freaked.  I took her upstairs and sure enough, it was disgusting- so I heard my hairdresser in my head… “Make it a dramatic show, cut the underwear off her, show her how you throw them in the garbage”…  Okay.  I ran downstairs and grabbed the kitchen shears.  Ran back up to her bathroom as she stood in shock and silence while I crazily explained that I had to cut her Cinderalla underwear off and throw them away because she pooped them.  She seemed pretty calm while I literally cut a pair of underwear off of her.  As I threw them in the garbage with a huge sigh- she looked at me and said “Okay Mommy, get me another pair”.  Hmm… Not the reaction I was hoping for.

Here’s the conversation I had with our babysitter…

“If she poops her underwear, go into the kitchen and get the big scissors in the butcher block, take her upstairs and cut them off her and throw them in the garbage… it would help if you cry a little and show her how disappointed you are in her.”

I don’t know, maybe I shouldn't have had listened to all the advice.

I did get this text from my husband last night while I was out:

“Hayden sh*t her pants!! Started to clean her and she reached around a grabbed a handful… gross”

I’m not going to lie, I’m glad I wasn’t there for that.  I would have had a heart attack.

So needless to say, this is a work in progress.  But it’s getting better every day. 

Here’s the best part, Paul had to cut her nails and scrub under them to get the poop out from her reach around.  Thank God I missed that- and I'm not going to lie, I laughed at what he had to go through.  Why should only Mommy have fun with potty training, right?

Ms. Libby Sucks

Ms. Libby Sucks

I, like many Mom’s, have fallen in love with Groupon.com/Livingsocial.com- Imagine my excitement when I saw a class for children in Greenwich being offered for only $49 for four classes!  I assembled a small mommy group and we signed up.  

I should have known this was probably too good to be true- I’ve spent literally over two thousand (shh, don’t tell my husband) dollars on ridiculous classes for Hayden.  She’s gone to a private ballet school for two year olds (in my defense, they had mandatory cute uniforms)… She’s belonged to a kids gym long before she could walk… She’s taken art classes… Story groups before she could talk… Gymnastics… The list goes on and on.  So, this class, at only $49 sounded affordable and fun. 

The moment I walked into the class (after sitting in traffic for a full 50 minutes to get there), I knew I was in trouble.  The teacher introduced herself but I didn’t hear a word she said.  All I could do was keep staring at her outfit.  She had on this dress that she clearly bedazzled herself with glitter glue and buttons.  At that moment, I named her Ms. Libby (clearly from the Billy Madison movie with Adam Sandler).  I would not remember or ever hear her real name again.  You always hear about how actors “test chemistry” with each other before they are hired- and I’ve been in interview situations where I had to “test chemistry”- so I know how it works.  And I immediately knew that Ms. Libby and I did not have good chemistry. 

I have a problem with teachers who have overly high expectations for their two year old students- and a double standard too.  Why in a million years, would you lay out tons of instruments and then demand that the children do not touch them?  To me, that’s like pouring a deliciously frozen extra dirty Grey Goose martini- then telling me not to drink it.  It just doesn’t make sense.  There were several situations like these over the never ending class. 

Apparently Ms. Libby plays favorites because when a rowdy three year old boy ran at me, full force, and cracked his large head into my crotch, she smiled… and his mother said nothing.  It hurt.  Really.  How embarrassing, I was just head-butted in my lady parts and I have to smile and pretend that I really want to teach my kid how to count to ten in French.  Let’s be honest, no one here in America, unless your family is from France, really needs to know French.  Not for nothing, I’m more concerned about Hayden learning how to count in English first- then obviously Spanish. 

So at this point, I strongly dislike Ms. Libby and I plain hate the mom of the boy who tried to make me unable to have any more children.  “Oh, he’s so spirited!” Ms. Libby says- Spirited?  Is that what we’re calling bad now?  I kept my mouth shut.  So Mr. Spirit then decides it’s a good idea to throw his maracas right at our heads.  Hayden, being the follower she is (I’m working on fixing this), also immediately throws her maracas too.  Mr. Spirits mom says nothing- I turn thirteen shades of red and grab Hayden.  We have a “talk” in the corner.  Mr. Spirit get’s a little too physical with all the smaller children and twice sits on Hayden.  No word from Ms. Libby (who at this point is rolling around on the ground singing about lady bugs)- No discipline from Mom.

The last straw comes when Mr. Spirit begins to throw rocks at the animals in the courtyard.  Hayden grabs a handful of rocks and joins in on trying to kill the poor chickens.  I grab her and tell her not to ever do anything that the boys are doing- Well, that finally got a reaction from Ms. Libby.  I was told that I was going to raise my daughter to be inferior to men.

Really?

Because I thought I was teaching my kid how to behave like a normal child that wasn’t going to grow up to be a serial killer.  But that’s just me.

I never went back to that class.  They can keep my $49.  From now on, I will stick to buying restaurant vouchers on Groupon.

My Favorite Age

My Favorite Age

So, here’s my first NEW blog post in a while- I can’t believe how fast time flies when you have a two year old.  I look back at older posts talking about Hayden’s tantrums and I almost laugh because that seems so long ago.  I remember the days when I was covered in baby vomit and smelled like a stale bottle of Merlot- The child was severely colic- and she cried.  And cried.  And cried.  And I wanted to sell her on Ebay.  Hell, I would have brought her into Pawn Stars if I thought they would take her.  It was the hardest first 18 months of my life. 

My mom is pretty much the best mom any person could ever have.  She raised me to be afraid of basically everything and normally threatened me with some kind of hell that I would be going to.  I sometimes think that the reason I am so outspoken and fearless is because I wanted to rebel against her.  Funny thing is- as I’ve grown older, I’ve realized that she has been and always be my inspiration. (Jesus, I could use that in a damn Hallmark greeting card- I no longer feel the need to get her a Christmas gift after that)-

Where was I going with this?  Oh yeah- At the darkest times with Hayden, she promised me that because she was such a terrible baby, that she’ll eventually be an amazing kid.  I’m pretty sure she made that up so I wouldn’t put her first grandchild up for adoption, but I held on to that hope.  Turns out she was right.  Hayden is now two and a half, and the child is the funniest kid in the universe.  And smart.  She can correctly use the word “crap” in several different situations.  Last week she told me to “stop leaving your crap all over the house”- then she grabbed a toy toilet and told me she was going “put her crap in there”- and my personal favorite, after spilling apple sauce all over her shirt she announced “there’s crap all over my shirt”.  I’ve never doubted that she is in fact, my kid. 

This morning she demanded her sippy cup- so I asked her what the magic word was- to which she responded… Abracadabra.  Of course that’s the magic word…. Of course.

So, there’s so much to talk about- Hayden’s first year at pre-school, the change to her “big girl” bed- so stay tuned and I promise to keep you updated on her antics.

No Halloween Here

No Halloween Here
I love Halloween. For eight consecutive years, I dressed up as Marilyn Monroe. I’m one of those Marilyn Monroe fanatics. Sometimes I would wear the white dress from Some Like it Hot… Sometimes the pink dress from Diamonds are a Girls Best Friend… Sometimes I would simply wear an outrageous evening gown, put on my wig and head out. I never broke character from the moment the beauty mark was painted above my lip. Those were great Halloweens.
Someone asked me one year; didn’t I want a little variety? The answer was pretty simple. No. See, every Halloween was a chance to be someone I admired- and it was great. Well, that and my college friends/sorority sisters are insane and we would regularly dress up (like every Friday) and go out. The outfits would be outlandish and hysterical. I would normally be seen out with my Jim Morrison American flag draped over my shoulders like a cape while wearing neon yellow sunglasses. Anyway… moving on. So, last year was Hayden’s first Halloween and I spared no expense. I had not one, not two, not three, but four, yes four Halloween costumes for her. The first was simple- Pig ears and pig nose while she ate breakfast. Fitting, I thought. Then for pumpkin carving, she switched into her Jimi Hendrix outfit. She had an afro and was wearing her onesie with a picture of good ‘ol Jimi on it… and legwarmers for good measure. As we headed to the first party of the day, I dressed her in my most favorite costume ever… a handmade Marilyn Monroe white halter dress with white dress shoes and baby blond wig. It was hysterical and I was so proud. (Please note, that when I say “handmade” I certainly do not mean by me. I cannot sew or do anything that involves needles and thread. I found a person on Ebay who would make it) I ended the day by switching her into a full length white tutu with angel wings and halo- oh the irony that my devil was to be an angel.
This year, I’ve been super busy with work (lots of houses to sell which is great!) and decided that since we went to Disneyland this year and she really liked Minnie Mouse, she would be Minnie. Cute, I thought. Best was that no one would think I would dress her so conservatively in such a normal costume. I drove her yesterday all the way to the Disney Outlet store at Woodbury Commons in NY. I happily grabbed the beautiful Minnie costume complete with matching shoes and ears. Her reaction? Full out tantrum in the middle of the store. She wouldn’t let me try it on her. She threw the shoes at me. She hated it. I tried to reason with her- didn’t work. I told her she could pick any costume in the store (there were so many beautiful costumes)- She didn’t want any of them. I literally had to throw her over my shoulder kicking and screaming and leave the store. I know Hayden. When she says no, she means no. So why pay so much money for a costume that will be a cause of headache? I’m sad. I have a black tutu leotard at home. Maybe I’ll just put that on her with her sneakers and call her a hot mess. Oh yeah, she won’t wear any of the beautiful boots I bought her either. Just her running sneakers. I’m going to eat all her candy as punishment.

She's a Little Runaway

She’s a little runaway…
Honestly now. Just when I think Hayden is behaving more like a “normal toddler” (and I use the term “normal toddler” loosely) she does something that makes me step back and wonder… Why? Why dear God? What did I possibly do to my parents that all these things happen to me?
She’s a runaway. Yep, you read it right. She runs away. She’s like a lightning bolt and you can’t blink for a second or she’ll be gone.
Runaway Episode One: I packed up the car, went back inside to get the diva and to get her Egg-O waffle- and slammed the door behind me. In the thirty seconds it took me to grab her waffle out of the toaster I yelled out “Hayden”… strange silence. I bolt to the door and I must have not closed it all the way or she may have learned to open the door. It’s wide open. I panic (I live in a huge condo complex). I run outside look to the right- no Hayden. Look to the left and sure enough there she is halfway to the mailbox…a good 50 feet away. An older lady was pulling over her car because she saw this little one and a half year old running down the side walk. Me=Mortified. Hayden=Amused. I swear, it couldn’t have been more than 30 seconds. I think it was more like 20.
Runaway Episode Two: My parents own Via Sforza Trattoria in Westport, CT. Hayden has grown up in the restaurant and basically runs the place. She has an obsession with going outside and playing with the flowers. I thought my Mom had her. My Mom thought I had her. Matter of fact: Nobody had her and she literally pushed through two sets of double doors (heavy wooden doors) and strolled outside and sat herself on the bench. Again, it couldn’t have been more than half a minute and she was out of there. She sneaked past three waiters and a busboy.
My husband was not pleased with our little runaway. Although he did find it mildly funny that this baby can outsmart her Mommy.
Runaway Episode Three: While Paul was grilling on the back patio, he ran into the kitchen to grab a plate for the food. When he had returned, Hayden has managed to open the screen door and was chilling on the patio… by herself.
These episodes all happened within seven days. Needless to say, I do not find this funny. Actually, I blame the entire thing on my friends. I specifically put a harness leash on my registry. Not the cute kind that look like puppy backpacks. Kind of like a real leash. Everyone thought I was kidding and didn’t buy it for me. For the record, I wasn’t kidding and if I had a leash none of these occurrences would have happened.
She’s not out of my sight for a second any longer. In the future I will have to make sure her room is always on the second floor and that we super glue her windows shut. I will not have a teenager sneaking out of her room -Or a three year old for that matter. And I’m getting a leash. I plan on keeping her on it until her Sweet 16.
On a positive note, I’ve been getting a ton of hugs lately. I think it’s her way of saying “sorry” for getting me so upset. I forgive her, but she will have no mercy. She’s not leaving my site. I even take her to the bathroom with me. I’m not taking any chances.

She's got high hopes...

She’s Got High Hopes…
Sometimes I forget how strong willed Hayden can be. Everyone tends to have a new adjective to describe her recently. Some I think are cute, some are humorous, and some could be interpreted as offensive- luckily I have a very good sense of humor and am rarely “hurt” by some comments. Admittedly, the child has been very independent from a young age. She can’t help it- she takes after her mother. She simply wants what she wants, when she wants it. When she doesn’t get it, she screams, throws herself on the floor and holds her breath until she gets it. Seems logical to me. I mean, how easy would life be if I could just lay on the floor and scream “DIRTY GREYGOOSE ON THE ROCKS!!!” and someone would just bring it to me.
I would like to list some of the words I’ve heard this week: Manipulative (really?, she’s 18 months- how conniving can an 18 month old be?), Spunky (a personal favorite), Animated (she sure is), Theatrical (Oscar award winning, I think), and Spirited (I think that’s the codeword for misbehaved).
Here is where the problem comes into play. When she plays this little tantrum game with me, I don’t buy it. How does that slang phrase go? You can’t poop on a pooper… Okay, that’s not how it goes at all, but I try my best to keep this blog pg-13. I think you can probably figure out what I’m trying to say. She doesn’t get away with this act with me, but some weaker souls (my Mom for example) simply cannot say no her angelic little face. I truly believe that God made these little monsters so adorable so that we wouldn’t leave them in the woods when they acted this way.
Regardless, it doesn’t make it any easier to accept the fact that we’ve entered the “terribles” zone and I’m not really sure how to handle these outbursts. At home, it’s easy. My new pediatrician (who I love, by the way) strongly encourages “Ignore and Isolate”. You put her in a safe place (her playpen since she no longer uses it and it confines her) and then close the door and ignore her until she calms down. Since I’m a sucker, I won’t leave her in there for more than three minutes. She has performed several marathon tantrums. On Monday night, I almost lost my mind when we entered the 75th minute of tantrum. All I did was try to keep my hand under her head so she wouldn’t keep banging it on the floor. Every time she saw me looking at her, the act would get louder and more involved. I’m not emotionless and the truth is that I hate these outbursts. What Mommy doesn’t? So, sometimes I cry. I won’t let her see me cry though. That would be an act of weakness on my part and I’m pretty sure she smells fear. But I’m getting better with them. Last night, I made the decision to take her out to dinner with me and two of my single girlfriends. I remember the nights where we would sit at the restaurant table for hours, polish off a couple bottles of wine and discuss anything and everything- last night we barely got through one small pitcher of Sangria and I have no idea what we talked about. All I kept trying to do was keep Hayden quiet and occupied. She only threw herself on the floor screaming twice. A success, I think.
What boggles my mind is that she is so good when she’s out with other kids. She’s polite and loves playing with children her own age. She follows the older girls around at the park (they’re mean to her though and it takes every ounce of my being not to yell at them and remind them she’s just a little girl)- She’s beautiful, loves to sing and so funny. How do I possibly get through these random acts of tantrum?! I asked the doctor when she would stop. He told me 25. Cool, I thought. Cool.

Professional Singer

Professional Singer
There are a lot of things that I’m really good at… Selling houses, being the loudest person in the room, and finding the perfect excuse to order dessert and to avoid the gym (just to name a few)- but one thing that I have never been good at is singing. I remember in second grade I was cast to be one of the two wicked step sisters in Cinderella. I was thrilled to have gotten the part but thought it was odd that all the main people in the play got to sing solo’s but I didn’t. What I have since realized is that they were protecting me from the obvious backlash of disgust and teasing that would have ensued if I had been allowed to sing. I’ve frequently thought about auditioning for American Idol so that I could get my own record deal similar to the one that the Asian kid got that sang the Ricky Martin song… She bangs… She bangs…
Early on I began singing to Hayden. Out of pure desperation, of course. I figured if the child wouldn’t sleep, I would torture her with my own renditions of anything Aerosmith. Much to my shock, she enjoyed my classic rock lullabies and would fall asleep. Amazing. I became more eager to sing to the little diva. In the car, I would sing lots of Madonna and Janet Jackson. She would clap and dance. I’ve begun to think that everyone is wrong all these years and the truth is that I’m an excellent singer. I mean, if an 18 month old things I’m a pro- I obviously must be. Now, I put soul into the songs we sing. You’ve never seen a performance like when I belt out “Itsy Bitsy Spider”. It’s a Broadway production. I’ve begun to choreograph dances to old time favorites like “The Wheel’s on the Bus” because I’m now under the impression that Hayden and I will become some famous mother daughter singing team. Similar to those Judd people minus anything country sounding.
Now that Hayden is becoming a chatter box, she also thinks she’s an excellent singer. She will bust into song at almost any time. At first it was cute. We’d be at Walmart and all of a sudden she’s start singing “E G P”- (her version of the Alphabet Song). Last weekend we had a small problem. We were at a memorial service for my Great Aunt when the priest sang out “Alleluia… Alleluia…” followed by a moment of silence for prayers. Hayden found this to be the perfect time to sing a favorite tune of her own… “E… I… E… I…O”. Her voice rang out loudly through the high ceilings of the church. Many people thought it was hysterical. Me, not so much.
But you know what else I’ve realized? She doesn’t really have that great of a singing voice. I mean, it’s okay for an 18 month old- but nothing like what Christina Aguilera sounded liked in old videos I saw of her on one of those VH1 documentaries. I will continue to bring her to her music classes and further explore our mother daughter capabilities, but I think I better go back to my original plan of becoming a mother daughter Trapeze swinging team. Ringling Bros. is always hiring.

Disappearing Items

Disappearing Items…
Why Hayden finds the need to hide things is beyond me. It’s one thing to destroy items, but to secretly place them in a spot that I may or may not ever recover the item is far worse. At least I know that once she destroys an item that it’s gone forever. Then I have the decision to replace it or simply let it become a casualty of her recklessness. I used to find it rather amusing when I would go to sweep under the couch and find a credit card that I had long reported stolen months ago, but as more important things begin to disappear, my patience grows thin.
I think I may have written once about the case of the disappearing Swedish sneakers- I had bought Hayden these awesome summer sneakers on Zappos.com. I totally loved them and convinced myself that they were worth the high price tag. One day, they disappeared. Long story short- My mother accused me of throwing the shoes out by accident because “that’s exactly something you would do”- My husband blamed me for being a “hot mess and losing them”. No one accused the 14 month old. I went online and bought another pair of similar shoes, minus the high price tag. They were not nearly as cute but I reasoned that I could not spend that amount of money twice. Didn’t matter though because a couple days after the new ones arrived, the old ones made an appearance… at the bottom of Hayden’s hamper. Hayden loves to “put things away” and I had no doubt she also put her shoes away- at the bottom of her hamper.
Anyway, I have this coupon holder that I got at Old Navy. It’s cute. It says “Coupon Queen” on the front and is an accordion type holder that holds all my coupons. I love coupons. As I was re-organizing my purse, I made the decision that I should keep all my gift cards with my coupons. That seemed logical. What I didn’t plan was that Hayden was going to somehow get a hold of my coupon holder and lose it and/or hide it. It’s been one month and no sign of it. I’ve searched high and low. I had over $300 in gift cards that I was stocking up to purchase Hayden new fall clothes. Not to mention my coupon for the free gallon of milk at Stop and Shop that I was excited to finally use.
During the endless search, I did manage to find some other items that I hadn’t even realized were missing. These items included: my old sunglasses in a pasta pot in the kitchen, two bracelets in our fireplace, three crayons in my Steve Madden heels and a pair of Hayden’s shorts hidden behind a plant in the dining room. She’s going to be an awesome “hide and seeker”.
So, I continue to pray to St. Anthony for the return of my coupons and gift cards even though I have a feeling it may be hidden behind the bread racks at Costco and I will never find it. I guess it could be worse- One of my best girlfriends also has a hider- He hid the cable card that goes into the cable box. They couldn’t watch TV for a week. To me, that would be emotionally devastating.

Vacation with Hayden

Vacation with Hayden
I normally don’t encourage Hayden’s fears. I actually do everything in my power to make her confront them. All summer she’s had a huge fear of sand. Instead of making her conquer this fear, I encouraged it. I figured the few times a year I get to relax on a beach, I would like her to feel as though she can’t leave the blanket. This would make it easier for me to relax and not worry about her running off. I spent all summer screaming the minute she put her foot in the sand. I would calmly explain to her that the sand is very hot and if she touched it, she would most likely burn to death. Of course, she has no idea what I’m saying, since the only thing she knows that is hot is Grandma’s coffee and her dinner- nevertheless, it worked. She would cry in hysterics whenever a piece of sand would touch her. Mission accomplished. I also found it amusing when she would try to blow on the sand to “cool it off” like we cool off her chicken nuggets.
The first day of vacation was my 30th birthday. We had driven down the night before while Hayden slept in her car seat. We knew it would have been a death wish to travel that distance to Ocean City, Maryland while she was awake. We were almost there as the car’s clock read midnight. Paul reached over to give me a kiss and to say Happy Birthday and fittingly Fergie’s “Big Girls Don’t Cry” came on the radio. I held it together. I’m not so sure what my fear was about turning 30, but it felt so… well, so old. I, of course, know that 30 is not old- but explain that to 21 year olds everywhere who are out partying without responsibility. In my mind, I’m still that partying college girl- and then I realize I haven’t been an undergrad in over eight years and I can barely stay up past midnight. Honestly, where did the years go and where did the pounds come from?
Anyway, it’s hard to be depressed on your 30th birthday when you’re on vacation with your beautiful family and most of your closest friends have made the trip as well just to help you celebrate. I enjoyed a perfect day at the beach while Hayden stayed on her blanket island paralyzed in fear and I lounged in my chair. Of course, she got me back by being a complete monster during dinner. Luckily, a few martini’s and a bottle of wine was enough to make the event comical. A few of my friends who do not have children seemed terrified- The ones who have children didn’t blink an eye.
The next day at the beach, my fears came true. As I sat in my lounge chair reading a book (a book! Can you believe I could actually read a book! Not a magazine- Not a billboard but a full- fledged adult sized book!!) Hayden became brave. She had been eyeing the 37,000 other children at the beach realizing that they were not frying to death by going in the sand. And much to her surprise, they seemed to be having fun in this volcano sand. I did everything in my power to make her believe she could not get off the blanket, but just like everything else in Hayden’s world, she did not care what I had to say. I sighed and watched. I knew this would be inevitable, but really thought I could get away with this until next summer. It took her exactly two minutes to feel the sand under her feet before she began to run. And guess what? Within the next hour, she was obsessed with going in the ocean, splashing and pouring wet sand all over her hair and body. Game Over.
I would like to interrupt this blog post with a quick side story… There was a family set up in front of us- A young looking mother alone with FOUR children. To me, you have to be some sort of Superwoman to be able to have four kids. I can barely cope with one. Anyway, all of a sudden it dawned on this group that their five year old son/brother was missing. I could see the worry in my husband and our friend’s eyes. My eyes immediately filled with tears as I imagined what she must be feeling that her little one had wandered off. The guys started scanning the beach for the kid, the two sisters were in tears screaming his name- but the mother- Yes, the mother is the one who surprised me the most. She calmly walked back to her blanket and started rummaging through her bag. I assumed she was looking for a cell phone to call someone for help (at this time, every life guard had been notified and everyone was on high alert) but it wasn’t her cell she was looking for. She yelled at the older daughters to stay put while she walked up the beach and she slowly lit her cigarette. Now, I am not a judgmental person. As a matter of fact, I was an “occasional” smoker for a couple years in my early 20’s (when I was young and cool, remember?) but as a mother, if my five year old had just gone missing amongst thousands and thousands of people, I wouldn’t light a cigarette. But that’s just me.
They found the kid- He had wandered to the boardwalk and was located at 14th Street. We were set up at 5th Street. He had made it nine blocks and onto the boardwalk, by himself. I will not talk smack about this Mother but in the famous words of Forrest Gump, “and that’s all I’ve got to say about that”.
Back to Hayden.
We went to a lot of the rides on the pier. Imagine my surprise when Hayden ran up to a ride that had a bunch of cars that drive around in circles (you know, those old school ones that have the giant umbrella over the whole thing…) and she was screaming and shaking the bars that she wanted to go on. That’s when I realized that she was taller than the “You must be this tall to ride” Pirate. My heart skipped a beat. My baby was tall enough to ride on the ride alone. I stood there for a good five minutes while she pleaded to go on. Finally, the conductor looked at me and said “Maam, you can stand there all night for all I care, but are you going to let your child ride or not?”- I went to go buy some tickets. When I returned, Hayden had not moved and she was just about near hysterical that she had to go on the ride. I went in with her, buckled her in and she immediately burst into tears when she realized that she had to go alone. So, of course, I crammed my huge tush into the back seat of her red convertible and I sat behind her while she drove me around in circles with a big ‘ol smile on her face. I felt sick. Mostly because we had a few cocktails with dinner and this stupid ride was spinning me in circles but also because this was yet another moment where my little baby wasn’t such a little baby anymore.
On the way home, we broke up the trip with a stop in Atlantic City for the night. We figured that Hayden had behaved “enough” to go to a decent restaurant and we went to Patsy’s in the Hilton. Hayden was the only child and everyone seemed to be there on a romantic date. They hid us in a corner which was fine with me. Hayden realized that this wasn’t a kid friendly place and immediately started screaming. Not crying screaming, just her normal dolphin scream that has no real meaning besides to aggravate and horrify everyone surrounding her. Our waitress was kind enough, but when Hayden started to wipe her dirty tomato sauce hands on the walls (I swear I did everything in my power to stop her) she seemed to be ready for us to go. Needless to say, we were not offered the option to have dessert which was fine with Paul and I. We had managed to drink our cocktails and our bottle of wine in record time and were ready to get out of there. We left that waitress the biggest tip she would see that night, I’m sure. Our little way of saying “We’re sorry”- We headed to the boardwalk to let her let out some steam. She was in her glory running around and Paul and I just stayed close. She approached three huge men who were I would guess were partaking in some illegal activities and she began to point her finger at them and yell. I scooped her up and apologized, to my surprise they just smiled.
You should have seen her dance on the boardwalk outside an outdoor club- She had better moves than any of those 21 year olds. I’ve named one move “the airplane” and it basically involves spinning around in circles with your arms out while screaming “Weeee….” Take that Beyonce.
Hayden made sure to put Orange in the hotel safe every time we left the hotel room. For safe keeping of course. She also became more obsessed with “buttons” (which she repeats endlessly) and has to push everyone she sees. Not the best situation when we were on the 21st floor of the Hilton hotel in AC- Overall, it was a great trip with great friends. The best part? We rented a Pontoon boat and the rocking put all our kids to sleep… We sat there on the open water with cold Corona’s and enjoyed the silence… Although temporary, it was beautiful. Beautiful, sweet, silence.

Hayden the Destroyer

Hayden the Destroyer
There’s a bar in White Plains called “The Brazen Fox” and I was never quite sure what that was referring to. I couldn’t understand why a bar would be called something like that. After the last few days, I officially consider Hayden a “Brazen Fox”- She is courageous in her mischief and intent on destroying all that is good.
Well, I guess that’s a pretty bold statement- but it sure feels like that this week. It seems to be one thing after another. She becomes so fixated on a task that she will find a way to succeed at whatever that task may be. She learned that in Paul’s closet there is a cup that he throws his spare change into at the end of the day. Three of four times a year I will roll it up and bring it to the bank. Needless to say, that change adds up. She became insistent that she had to play with the coins. Obviously, I don’t want the kid to choke or touch dirty money- so I wasn’t happy with this display of eagerness. We closed the closet tightly, blockaded the doors with a heavy box and our laundry hamper assuming that would be enough to make her move on to the next impossible task. As I was in the bathroom, it was very quiet in our room. I’ve come to learn that quiet is never, ever good. (Unless, of course, if Elmo is on, then no one is allowed to speak) I walked out the bathroom and Hayden was gone. I mean, she was no where. I walked around the second floor shouting “Hayden!”- No answer, no noise. I started getting nervous- checked her bathroom, behind the rocker, under the crib, under our bed, in the corners, no Hayden. Then I heard the faint noise… what was that noise? It was the sound of someone playing with change. I stared at the closet door- No… How could she possibly? I quietly walked to the closet, removed the hamper, removed the box and opened the door. Sure enough, there sat Hayden in the corner playing with the change. She immediately gave me the “stank eye” and quickly grabbed a cup full of pennies and poured it all over her body. I grabbed her and the tantrum ensued. I’ve become quite numb to her screaming and throwing herself on the floor. I was out with my cousin and her daughter the other day and she couldn’t believe the dolphin screams that were coming from this child. She was even more shocked that it didn’t seem to phase me. Of course not, I’m used to it. I have no idea how she got in the closet. I don’t know how she closed the door behind her to hide. Paul and I realized… we needed to step up our game. We have a true handful to raise.
Then there was yesterday- I, again, was in the bathroom- Paul was downstairs getting ready to leave for work. I heard a loud crash followed by Paul screaming. He must have scared the hell out of her because she came running into my arms “Anna!” I corrected her for the millionth time “I’m Mommy”- She didn’t care, she knew she was in trouble. I went to survey the damage. She had collected all the remote controls from upstairs, stood at the top of the stairs and thrown them through the guardrails down to the first floor… aiming directly for our entrance table piece and shattering our crystal candle holders. Part of me was relieved that it had missed our Lladro statue- a beautiful piece that my parents had gotten us for our wedding- Part of me was amused that she had the know how and the planning capacity to do this. After a lecture- and five minutes in time out- we went about our day. Paul yelled on his way out “put all the valuables in storage”- I giggled to myself thinking that would take about three minutes. Valuables? Yeah, right. We have tons of those. Another minute later while I was getting dressed I heard a repeating thud… this time she had learned that if she stuck her arm far out in between the iron railing, she could reach the chandelier and grab it. She was shaking it and clanking it against the railing. Crap, I thought. How am I going to put our lighting fixtures into storage?
I’m kind of laid back when it comes to all of this stuff… Sure, it’s annoying- but she’s a kid. What am I going to do? She needs to learn the difference between right and wrong and she will by trial and error.

Oh how the tables have turned...

Oh how the tables have turned…
The whole time Hayden was sick, I prayed I could take her pain away- that it could be me going through her pain. Well, this week I have a stinky cold. I’ve been healthy for so long that I forgot how annoying it can be to get sick. My runny nose just drips and drips… very attractive, I think. My husband is very supportive. He keeps looking at me in disgust and saying that I better not get him sick. He’s very sympathetic. I don’t think anything is more horrible than getting a cold in the summer. It’s a total oxymoron. When Hayden was sick for those awful two weeks, I did everything in my power to comfort her. And even though this stupid cold is nothing like what my little diva went through, it’s amazing how the tables have turned. I just cuddled with her for an hour today while she watched her cartoons. (and yes, I am one of those Mom’s who let their kids watch TV and I’m not afraid to admit it.) Normally, during TV time, she’s running around, playing with her toys while I sit on the couch with my laptop in my lap doing work. Today, I think she knew that Mommy needed her. And I just sat there holding her and she comforted me. Funny how that works.
Anyway, we’ve been working really hard this past week with her “issue” with my name. She keeps calling me “Anna”. It’s not cool. I mean, it’s cute, but not cool. I’ve noticed she only does it when she wants my attention right away. So, if we’re playing, I’m “Mama” but if I’m on the phone, working on the computer, or doing something that doesn’t involve her, she calls “Anna” (in my Mother’s Italian accent, no less)- I’m sure she picked it up from my Mom. She listens to her call me that and that’s how she gets my attention. We have a routine now. When she calls me Anna, I point to myself and say “Mommy”- and then she points to herself and calls herself “Mommy”. Sigh. It’s a work in progress. She has no problem with “Daddy” though- or “Nonna and Nonno” (Italian for Grandma and Grandpa)…
I feel like my baby isn’t a baby anymore. My sister was visiting from California and she said “Hayden’s like a full blown kid”. And I realized that it was true. She’s a little person. She’s always had an attitude but now it’s in full blown diva mode. My Mom said to me “She’s becoming a little monster”- I’m sure it has nothing to do with the amount of spoiling that happens at Grandma’s house. Today we were at Stepping Stones Children’s Museum. She loves the water area. She refuses to wear the water smock that all the children wear. Today, I was determined to get it on her. She had on a nice outfit and I didn’t want it soaking wet. I grabbed her, strapped her into the smock while she squirmed and squealed- and she broke free and ran away. I smiled in my small triumph… until I watched her rip the smock off of her and literally throw in on the floor. She waddled her little self right over to the water and began to soak herself. I looked around, not one single other child had a problem with the smock.
This seems to be an ongoing power struggle I’m having with her. She won’t stay in her stroller for more than ten minutes- she won’t hold our hands when we’re walking in public and regularly runs off laughing in hysterics- she hits “Anna” aka “Mommy”… but then… but then there are those small moments… This morning I was working on my laptop while she ran room to room playing. All of a sudden I heard “Nee Nee Ohh” (This is an Italian song that we’ve always sang to her at bedtime or naptime) and I walked into her room. Sure enough, she had pushed the ottoman to the rocking chair, climbed up on the chair and was rocking… clutching her precious Orange. She was singing “Nee Nee Ohh” to her lovey toy and putting him to sleep. It was beautiful. Then she screamed for fifteen minutes because it was her naptime too. I’ll take those small moments at any chance I can get.

Hayden Gets Sick

Hayden Gets Sick.
So- I skipped a week of writing. Sorry about that. I wasn’t ready to write yet- It’s been really hard lately and life is finally getting back to normal. I want to give you the “abbreviated” version of a novel of things that have happened over the last three weeks.
Hayden’s not usually sick. I’ve been pretty lucky in the fact that she wasn’t the kid with the runny nose, she never had a hacking cough, and she’s never puked or had a really high fever. Three weeks ago she came down with Coxsackie. I believe I wrote about my horrible experience with my Pediatric group a couple weeks ago. When Hayden broke out in blisters, I was relieved that the worst was behind us. (for those of you not educated in annoying toddler viruses… and for the record, I had never heard of these viruses… Coxsackie is a common toddler virus that causes high fevers and then the kid breaks out in blisters all over their hands, feet, mouth… it’s not pretty)- She seemed better, but she couldn’t kick her fever. I quickly learned that the minute I skipped a dose of Motrin, she would become incredibly lethargic and spike a 104 fever. She would wake up with this fever too. It didn’t seem to bother her so much after the blisters, but it just wouldn’t break on its own. I gave it some time and didn’t miss a dose of Motrin.
I woke up on day seven of her 104 fever and called our pediatric group looking for guidance. I did not get a call back. This time, I hung up and called the administrative area of the practice and promptly fired them and requested all of Hayden’s records. I was told it would take up to two weeks. No exceptions. I filled out all the paperwork and began to call another pediatric group that had come highly recommended to me. They told me that they would not see a sick child without reviewing their entire medical records and they would need three days to do that once they received the paperwork. I hung up frustrated but not too concerned because Hayden looked okay, just couldn’t shake the fever.
That night I went to pick her up from my Mom’s house (she watches Hayden full time while I work)- and my Mom looked concerned. She hadn’t eaten and was acting very lethargic. We were out of Motrin. I quickly left to run and get some (well, the generic kind… you guys know what I mean). When I came home she has half passed out on my Mom’s lap. I took her temp. 104.8. She had a glazed expression and I was scared. So were my Mom and Dad. Great, I thought. I fired my pediatrician today. I called my cousin and asked her about this place called Firefly in Stamford. It’s a pediatric after hours emergency center. It was my only choice and I was happy to have a place to take her. After two hours waiting, we saw the doctor. I explained to him that we were currently in between pediatricians… At this point she was on day eight of over 104 fever- She had Coxsackie and all the blisters were healing and I didn’t know what to do anymore. She had gone through one and a half bottles of Motrin and one bottle of Tylenol in the last eight days. He examined her, tested her for strep (negative) and finally said that he needed to order blood work. We were sent on our way with a laundry list of things the blood work would test for.
The next morning was the worst morning of my life. She woke up screaming. Soaking wet in sweat. I couldn’t calm her down. She wouldn’t let me hold her. She kept throwing herself on the ground, banging her head, screaming. Her fever was sky high and I didn’t know what to do. I tried to console her- nothing work. After an hour of this, she finally passed out. I grabbed the phone, called my Mom and told her I needed her right away (Thank God for my Mom. Really.) Next call, the new pediatrician again. This time I begged the lady on the phone for someone to see my baby. Finally, she said to me, that it was not office policy, they would not see her and that the worst thing I could have done for my child was to leave a practice during a serious illness. That’s all I needed to hear. I burst into tears… on the phone with this stranger. She changed her tone to a nicer one but stood her ground. I just hung up. I knew I would never bring Hayden there. I sat on the floor and cried. I think it was the pent up anxiety I had been dealing with all week. I had a very sick little girl, had fired my incompetent, non-caring pediatric group and had no one to turn to except a doctor at an ER center who kept talking about his love of hockey. Screw it, I thought. He’s all I have. My Mom showed up during my break down and ordered me to go wash my face, put on some make up and get ready. We had to go get blood work for the baby. And I listened. That’s all I needed to get myself back on track. We loaded her up in the car and headed to the Tully Center in Stamford for her blood work. While we were waiting, Realtor Anna came alive. (Realtor Anna is my no-nonsense business persona who doesn’t take no for an answer and gets the job done quickly and correctly). This time, I called my old pediatric office and asked to speak to the office manager. She again told me that paperwork would not be ready for 8-14 days. This time I told her that she would have them ready, my daughter was sick and I was going to show up and get them. I could either a. make copies of the file myself or b. show up at the office with my attorney. Their choice. This time she told me she would release the vaccinations and most recent well check up. Deal I said. Then I promptly sent my husband to go pick them up. I wasn’t going to show my face there after that!
Finally, it was Hayden’s turn at the Tully Center- She was too dehydrated and they couldn’t get any blood. She was screaming bloody murder. They sent us to Stamford Hospital so they could try there to get the blood. On the drive over I took a call from my Aunt. She told me that I should go where I went growing up. Stamford Pediatric. She named her favorite doctor and out of sheer desperation, I called. Miraculously, they would happily take her first thing the next day. The doctor I requested wasn’t available but a female doctor was. I took it. Stamford Hospital was able to draw the blood- Thank God.
Paul and I took her in and immediately liked how warm the staff was. The nurse was sweet and the doctor was great. She spent the time to listen to our story. She asked a lot of questions about Hayden and her background. Even Hayden liked her- and Hayden is known not to like doctors (Remember? She was called a “wild child” at her old practice)- She immediately said we needed to insert a catheter to get a clean urine reading. It was horrible and Hayden wasn’t happy, but we were able to rule out a UTI on the spot. She sent us to Advanced Radiation Center and performed chest x-rays. Within two hours, we knew her chest was clear. She ordered more blood work and luckily they could do the tests with the blood they had already drawn. She called me later that night to check on Hayden (and me, I think). She told me that the blood work looked okay so far. She would call me in a day or two when the rest of results were in. The next morning, Hayden was in a much better mood but her whole body was covered in a funky rash. Roseola. The kid had back to back viruses. I took pictures to show the doctor and when she called, I enthusiastically told her that her fever had finally broken and that she had gotten the rash. She confirmed Roseola. Then she paused. One more thing- some bad news… Hayden had Lyme disease. What?! I was upset but relieved that there was a reason to all of this sickness and madness. We started her right away on antibiotics, twice a day. She hated it. We kept forcing it into her and she was doing much better. On Monday, the phone rang again. It was our new doctor. Oops. It was a false positive, Hayden did not have Lyme disease and we needed to immediately discontinue her antibiotics. Double WHAT?! The last two days have been back to normal. She’s eating like a champ. No fevers. And no real explanation of what happened to our kid. I’m just relieved to have my normally cranky diva back. I guess this wasn’t so abbreviated, was it?
Oh, and now her toes and fingers are peeling. Doctor says not related, but you can bet a million bucks I have Googled and WebMD’ed everything I could. Sigh. Blah.

Vent

Vent
Kids get sick. I get that. Actually, I’m pretty open to the idea that kids need germs to build immune systems. I’m not crazy with the Purell (especially since Hayden ate it and I had to call Poison Control) and I have no problem having my little girl run free and touch whatever she wants… within reason. I’ve been pretty lucky that she hasn’t gotten that many colds or any flu’s- ear infections… etc. This week all of that changed.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever vented before about our pediatricians office. I mean, it’s an awesome place. It’s big, has an emergency center, and tons of state of the art equipment. What it doesn’t seem to have is a lot of bedside manner. Something this first time Mommy really needed to help get through Hayden’s colic spell as a baby. I’ve had problems with the practice from the start. It felt a bit cold, kind of like an institution focused on getting the most clients and collecting the most money more than a place to help keep your baby healthy. I had been pondering leaving since Hayden was a month old. I liked my doctor though. And she knew Hayden from the day she was born. That meant a lot to me. So, I stuck it out. One time, Hayden had an allergic reaction to her vaccine and I called the afterhour’s line to see what I should do. As I sat in worry for an hour waiting for a call back, I kicked myself for not noticing the large blisters on her legs sooner. Finally the phone rang and I jumped to get it. The advice? Take her in to the office tomorrow to see a doctor or if I’m really worried take her to the Emergency Room at our local hospital. She didn’t ask how old my daughter was, no question about what vaccine it was, nothing. Imagine my surprise when I received a bill for $22 for that advice. Oh, and after the call I did the research. It’s a reaction some children have when two of the vaccines are combined. It’s common and I had no reason to worry. I was told to go to the ER.
Anyway, last week we received a letter from the practice stating that my doctor was leaving. I was initially upset that my dream of Hayden’s doctor knowing her from the day of her birth was about to disappear, but realized that this was my chance to finally go elsewhere and pick a place that was a little warmer. I sent an e-mail to friends asking for suggestions and had a few lined up to call.
Then, Hayden got sick. I mean, really sick. She passed out and her face was so hot I thought she would burn my hand. I figured maybe it was more molars but had a feeling this was different. She wouldn’t eat, couldn’t drink and was incredibly lethargic. I tried to give her some Motrin (my secret stash that I was keeping for this kind of emergency- no way I was going generic, recall or no-recall) and she started vomiting. Lots of vomit. More than I vomit when I’m sick. I freaked. I haven’t seen her throw up like this, well, ever. My sister and I jumped in my car and I rushed to the pediatrician office. I didn’t know where to go so of course, I went where I knew. I was told that walk-ins were running about an hour. We took our seat in the corner while Hayden bawled her eyes out. In their defense, they did give me a bucket for her to puke in. I guess the screaming and wailing was too much for them because they called our name within 30 minutes. Hayden continued to scream while they weighed her and I clutched her while they took her temperature. 103.3- Imagine what it was before I gave her the Motrin. Doctor came in and examined her for what seemed like forever. She didn’t have strep throat, but had while ulcers all over the inside of her mouth. Finally, Hayden passed out in sheer exhaustion. I was getting nervous because she never falls asleep in my arms. Never. I was told to bring her back tomorrow. We left, two hours later. No answers.
As told, I returned the next morning with a little girl who was still miserable and still had a high fever. We saw a second doctor who simply said it was just a virus. Had to keep her hydrated, it had to run its course. We left and I had a feeling that there was more to this. Could it be possible that my little diva just had a little virus? For the love of God, she had a fever over 103 for almost 72 hours at that point. So, I turned to the only person I really trust when I need information quickly and accurately. Google. Sometimes I think I should send my co-pays to WebMd and Google instead of the pediatricians. After an hour of reading, I knew that Hayden had hand, foot and mouth disease, aka Coxsackie. I prepared myself and of course, yesterday blisters started showing up all over her body, around her mouth, on her tush, on her hands and of course, on the soles of her feet.
All I want to know is how do you see two different doctors who thoroughly examine your child and both claim it’s a simple virus and both are wrong? I mean, yes, coxsackie is virus but can you imagine the scare I would have had if I didn’t research and I went to pick her up out of her crib covered in blisters and I didn’t know why?!
So, that’s my vent. Here’s the problem- If I leave the practice, I leave all the amazing technology they have available, the convenience of location and the comfort of knowing what I’m involved in… even if not always good. I’m afraid that if I go to a smaller practice it may be the same thing… without the technology. Oh, and since I’m crazy, I only want a female pediatrician for my daughter because I want her to grow up knowing she can be anything she wants to be- even a doctor. (and I had a male pediatrician growing up and I always hated when he examined me. Not that he was creepy or anything, just felt weird as a little girl)-
It’s really always something, isn’t it?