The Bracelet

I swear- I can't make this stuff up.
Hayden's pre-school was having a Valentines Day Potluck dinner. I'm not going to lie. I was excited. This was her first school event. They were going to have the children sing love songs. I mean, come on, how cute is that? So, like any working Mom who barely has time to accomplish anything- I had to make the decision- Do I a. Go find Hayden the cutest outfit in the whole world or b. Attempt to make a potluck dish that would astound all the other parents?... It was a difficult decision, so I did the one thing any multi-tasking Mom would do. I found the perfect outfit (complete with giant pink flower for her hair, pink legwarmers and an adorable Valentines necklace/bracelet)... and I ordered a catered dish from my parents restaurant. I made it a point to memorize all the ingredients so that if anyone asked me how I made it, I could easily lie and tell them. (One time I lied about making stuffed clams, someone asked me where I got the shells and I told them that Hayden and I gather them at the beach... Epic).
The event was cute and sweet. Granted, all the students sang their songs. Hayden was singing too... Not necessarily the same song as all the other kids, but that's why I love my child. She's independent. I call them her "remixes". She'll take all the songs she knows and mash them together... For example, this was last nights ballad- "Ol' McDonald had a baa baa black sheep, have any you any wool? And if you're happy and you know it squeeze your nose"... all to the tune of Lady Gaga's Romance song. It's not uncommon for her to tell me to sing her "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" but demand that I incorporate the term polka dot into it.
She kept taking her bracelet off. I warned her several times not to do that because she would lose it. So, of course, she lost it. She squealed that she had lost her bracelet. I gently reminded her that it was her own fault. She was distracted by a balloon and forgot about the bracelet.
Fast forward thirty minutes and we get in line for the bathroom. All of a sudden, Hayden screams that the girl in front of us with her mother has her bracelet. I immediately tell Hayden that it IS NOT her bracelet and that she had lost hers earlier. Then I look. She's right. The little girl totally has her bracelet. It was a matching set and not a common look. Please keep in mind, we are discussing a $2 plastic bracelet and necklace that is made to look like those Valentines Day heart candies. I don't know what to do. Part of me believes that it's Haydens own fault for taking it off and leaving it God knows where- the other part of me wonders if I should ask her mother for it since Hayden is now in full tantrum mode over the stupid thing. So, I say loudly- "Hayden, maybe that's the girls bracelet. You lost yours an hour ago". The little girl in front of us starts crying. Her mother looks down at her says what's wrong, I hear the child tell her "I don't want to give it back". The mother turns to me, looks right at Hayden's necklace and turns away quickly.
Now, I can't speak for other Moms, but if it was me in that situation, I would have ripped it off my childs arm and given it back to the rightful owner. Not this Mom. She swept up her kid and rushed off to another bathroom. She looked so normal too. I followed her to the other bathroom and went into an adjacent stall. Hayden wouldn't quit. "SHE HAS MY NECKLACE MOMMY- IT'S MINE. PLEASE MOMMY, PLEASE". My child is the definition of persistent. Now, I'm in an awkward position. Hayden was wrong for losing it. But clearly this woman knows her child has my kids bracelet. I don't know a lot of Mom's at this new pre-school and I certainly don't want to burn any bridges. After all, this is a dumb $2 bracelet.
I finally grow some balls, and stand by the sink and wait for them to come out of their stall so I can say something. Granted, I don't know what I'm going to say- but I had to say something, right? She didn't come out of the stall. I swear to God. I heard them whispering in the stall and they just didn't come out. After a few minutes, I realized this was way too complicated and embarassing. So, I loudly told Hayden I would buy her a new bracelet the next day and left.
Now, here's something you probably have figured out by now- I have a big opinionated mouth. So by the time I had gotten home, I had already told three other Moms.
So here's the real question- Do I drop it (which I probably will do) or do I approach her next time I see her? I mean, she hid in the bathroom with her kid to keep a plastic bracelet. I told you, I can't make this stuff up.

Not Afraid of the Dark

Well, here’s the good news- Hayden is not afraid of the dark.  Actually, I’m wondering if she’s part vampire lately.  It’s common to hear a child cry because its nighttime and they can’t see.  I even have a friend whose daughter is afraid of shadows at night.  To me, that makes sense.  It’s easy to be afraid of what you can’t see.  Not my Hayden. 

We have one of those night vision video monitors in her room.  Yes, we are the insane parents who still watch their child sleep at the age of almost three.  Please keep in mind that her room is exactly eight feet from our bedroom.  We can hear her perfectly well if she coughs, yet as nervous, inexperienced first time parents, we were sure to purchase the most expensive video monitor Buy Buy Baby had.  (For the record, we did have our 20% off coupon when we bought it… and here is your Parent Tip of the Day… Buy Buy Baby which is part of the Bed Bath and Beyond family will take anything back… Seriously, anything.  My mother has returned pasta makers after using it for three years, no receipt, she’s not even sure if she bought it there… So after a full year with our video monitor, we brought it back in a Ziploc bag, claimed it didn’t work ((which it didn’t)) and they immediately replaced it with a brand new updated version.  Kick ass.  I cannot say the same for Toys R Us/Babies R Us which would rather you die from Leprosy than accept a return).

Anyway, I’ve spent hours watching Hayden in the night vision monitor.  I’ve watched her sit up in her bed and individually talk to each of her stuffed animals.  Sometimes it’s hilarious, “Orange, you’re my best friend, I love you so much… even more than Daddy”… Sometimes it’s alarming “Jingle, I hope a monster doesn’t come and eat you tonight.”  Regardless of what she says, I can’t get over the fact that she has no fear of the dark. 

The one thing we have been lucky with is that she rarely will get up out of bed on her own.  Somehow, she hasn’t figured out yet that she actually has the option to get up out of bed and no one can stop her.  Even if she has to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, she’ll call for me to come get her.  Of course, whenever this happens, I jump out of a dead sleep because I have the monitor six inches from my head on full blast. 

A funny thing happened the other night though.  I was passed out after working the late shift at the radio station- and despite the glaring lights and sounds from the monitor; I failed to hear Hayden embarking on a little adventure.  I rolled over to hear Paul mumble “What the hell is she doing?...” and watched him stumble off to her room.  The clock said 3:23 am.  I heard giggling, then Paul say calmly “Hayden what are you doing in the closet?”.  The child had filled her potty with pee, then decided that instead of getting back into bed, she would simply go lock herself in the closet.  She did all this is pitch black darkness.  How she managed not to pee on the floor and get it all in the toilet, I will never know.  Again, she may be a vampire.  And her response as to why she was in the closet, “I wanted to go downstairs but I couldn’t”.  Logical.  I’m just thankful it was Paul who went in to investigate the small noises, because if I would have walked in to an empty bed and an empty bathroom, I would have screamed Jon Benet, freaked out and called the police immediately. 

I think this would be a good time to point out that my brother has rigged his kids vido camera’s so he can watch them on both his television and computer while they sleep.  I use that as justification that he is crazy and I am not.  Feel free to judge.

Mommy Owned and Operated

Mommy Owned and Operated

I strongly respect local Moms who have taken risks and opened their own businesses.  I think it’s amazing that they have the knowhow and more importantly, courage, to go out on their own and make their dreams come true.  I was thrilled when I found a local children’s dance center that was Mom owned and operated.  (For the sake of their business, I will never reveal where it is… unless you ask me personally in passing- then I will quickly throw them under the bus.)

Anyway, I remember calling and being thrilled that they had a Mommy and Me 2’s program.  I almost jumped out of my skin in excitement when they informed me that they teach the children ballet and that there is a mandatory uniform.  I could envision my little princess with her tutu on, ballet slippers in place, performing perfect plies’ with the bar.  I immediately called my three closest Mom friends and gushed that we MUST send our girls there.  No arguments from them, we were all signed up and had “fittings” scheduled within a week.

All I could think about was my own childhood dance memories.  I danced at a place called Center Stage Dance Studio in Stamford.  They are still there.  Still Mom owned.  Still awesome.  They, unfortunately, did not have a 2’s program.  I strongly attribute my serious dance skills (whether it  be zumba or just shakin’ it at the local bar) to the amazing teachers I had from such a young age.  I couldn’t wait to give this to Hayden too.

At the fitting, I started to get the feeling that maybe this whole “mandatory  uniform” thing was kind of a rip off.  The tutu’s were very overpriced.  They were required to only wear their clothing.  And they pretty much insisted I would need a ballet bag.  I politely, but sternly said no, I could very easily transfer her ballet slippers in a Walmart bag.

First day of class- coloring.  Now, I don’t know about you, but when I envision a ballet class, I think music and possibly some dancing… not puzzles and coloring.  I didn’t pay a ridiculous amount of money that I can’t even admit to husband for her to color.  Next the Mom (owner) sat with us and explained how she wanted to send her youngest to the most expensive “elite” pre-school in the area but she wasn’t sure about spending the money since it would be her fourth child she would have to send there.  I wanted to tell her to get her ass up off the floor and teach my child how to dance since this is how I choose to spend my money. 

Here’s something you may not know about me.  I wear my heart on my sleeve.  That can, and usually does, get me into trouble.  I didn’t like this woman, and she knew it.  She made a few comments on the size of Haydens tummy (insinuating she was heavy for a toddler) and then as far as I was concerned, I would bad mouth her company forever.  I would like to point out that she, in fact, was fat.  Again, not something that would normally come across my mind, but grown women in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones at small girls. 

Another time, she announced in front of the class, that Hayden’s hair was unacceptable.  That all children should have their hair tied up in a bun for her class.  I had Hayden’s hair half up.  No one ever told me about this rule.  She would prance around the class singing while the kids ran wild and become annoyed that they would run off.  She had absurd flowery things hanging from her windows and literally almost had a heart attack when one of the children pulled one down one day-  I knew that I had led my Mommy friends wrong.  The girls did not belong in this establishment.  I applaud her efforts to run a “professional” dance center for children- but all I could think about was those poor Russian 11 year old gymnasts who will never get their period.  I could never let Hayden have that type of experience.

At my parent’s restaurant one night, I saw a beautiful young girl come in with her recital outfit on.  I eagerly asked her parents where she went and they told me about another local dance center that they very much liked.  Then, to my shock, they immediately warned me about the very place I had sent Hayden.  I laughed and shared my stories with them.  I’ve learned a lesson- Just because a place is Mom owned and operated, doesn’t mean it’s a good place.  Needless to say, none of us returned to this dance school and we joke regularly about how often they call/email us in hopes that we will return. 

I’m not taking any chances.  I don’t care that it will take me 30 minutes each way to get my daughter to Center Stage which is where I went.  I need to guarantee her a good experience so she will grow up with the same love of dance that I have.  Best part?  No uniforms.

Time.

According to Hayden anything that has happened in the past happened “yesterday”.  So, imagine the awkwardness when I overhear her telling her teacher that she went swimming at the beach yesterday… and it’s clearly the middle of January. 

I’m having a hard time explaining to her the theory of time.  If you really think about it, it’s not an easy thing to explain to a child.  How do you have them understand the difference between five minutes and five hours- or even harder, last summer versus last fall? 

At first she would say things like “Mommy, five more minutes before bed… okay?” and I happily agreed.  Figuring, okay, she understands that five minutes is a little bit longer.  But then, after five minutes she would scream and protest.  Then she would keep asking for “forty-three more minutes”…  Well, she gets that 43 minutes is longer than five… That’s good right?

So, in true Mommy form,  I had to come up with a way to teach her time.  So, for a lack of a better plan, I started relating time to her favorite television shows.

Remember yesterday, when Mickey Mouse traveled to outer space?  That was YESTERDAY.

Remember when that annoying show that Mommy hates started?  Dino Dan?  That was LAST YEAR.

Your friend will come over in half an hour, that’s one episode of Dora.

One minute is the length of one commercial.

I didn’t say my method was perfect, but it kind of works. 

The other day she said to me “Mommy, it’s dark outside.  That means Bubble Guppies will be on TV soon”. 

Overall, a tremendous success, I think.  I have no idea who the Academy of Pediatrics thinks they are saying that television is bad for children.  Old school thinking right there.  Old school.  Next, they’ll say they don’t want us to give our children iPads.  Hayden can work an iPhone like no one’s business.  Let’s be realistic here- When she grows up and goes to high school, do you really think she’ll need to know how to write in cursive?  Or will she need to be fluent in operating a Mac and a PC?   She knows what an app is, she asked me the other day what chalk was… and honestly, she doesn’t need to know.  But she does need to know how to tell time… unless they come up with an app for that too.

What Would Michelle Obama do?

Growing up, I was the fat kid.  It’s a weird thing to be the fat kid, because no one tells you that you’re the fat kid until about age eight or nine.  Then some jerky ten year old looks at you and says “You’re fat”- You look down and realize that it’s true.  You look at your friends and they all are wearing jeans and you’re wearing gym pants with an elastic waist.  The cool thing about being the fat kid is that you usually end up being the funny kid too.  That was my experience.  I loved being the class clown.  Even as I got older and thinned out- I kept that sense of humor.  Getting the superlative “Class Clown” in high school was a strange but fulfilling achievement.  I was also named “Loudest” and “Class Dreamer”.  I am ridiculously loud.  I was named “Class Dreamer” because I slept through first and second period religiously every day for all four years. 

Anyway, it’s one thing to be the fat kid and it’s another thing to be the unhealthy/fat kid.  I was the unhealthy fat kid.  Before age ten, my cholesterol was ridiculously high.  Like over 200 high.  That’s horrible for a fat 70 year old man, let alone a ten year old school girl.  I was sent to specialists who taught my mother how to control my high levels.  By exercise and diet alone, I returned to normal.  I remember the first day I could fit into jeans.  My Mom put them on me and took pictures of me before I left for school.  I remember being so proud that day.

I have that similar feeling nowadays.  After getting married, I managed to gain a lot of weight again.  Last year, I got rid of it.  The good old fashion way, diet and exercise. 

As Hayden and I were getting our nails done last week (yes, Hayden gets manicures with me- she loves them) I heard the Spanish girls that give massages talking in Spanish about how big Hayden was.  I have never let on to them that I totally speak and understand Spanish.  It’s more fun that way.  I like to listen to them whisper about all the customers while I get my massage.  Unlike the Korean manicurists, I actually know they’re not talking about me.  At first, I thought they were just commenting on how “big” she is as in “old”- then I realized that they meant “big”, like “heavy”, like (gasp) “fat”. 

Gordita.

For the first time, I turned and looked one girl right in the eye and told her that Hayden was very healthy and she just happened to like her pasta a little too much.  She quickly shut up and looked at me in surprise.

Then it dawned on me.  Not that Hayden is fat.  She’s a healthy kid- but I let her eat crap.  I let her eat pasta for lunch, then for dinner if she wants it.  If we’re out and she wants French fries, I get them for her.  If she’s watching TV and asks for a piece of chocolate, I hand it to her.  I let her eat crap that I wouldn’t even eat anymore. 

What would Michelle Obama do?

So, my New Years Resolution is to change Hayden’s eating habit in a more healthy way.  Will I deprive her?  No way.  She’s just a kid.  But will I eliminate all the junk from her diet?  You bet.  The kid also needs some cardio, so I’m looking into a baby treadmill or maybe just some kind of new cardio-intensive gym class.  Do they do weight training for kids?  I did buy her some one pound weights at the Sports Authority.  She needs to start somewhere.

At the end of the day, I never want her to look at that ten year old boy who just told her she’s fat and realize it’s true.  I guess as Mommy’s that’s what we want to do, protect our kids. 

I want her to win superlatives like "Most Gorgeous, Smartest, Caring".

'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.