Four

Yesterday was a big day. And I let it pass without acknowledging it. I would say that I just plain forgot (which is true) but that doesn't make me look any better.

Four years ago...

I was a bundle of nerves. I was clueless. I had spent 17 hours on a plane. I hate flying. I don't understand how a huge hunk of metal stays in the sky. I am not a scientist. I hate flying. But I barely noticed. I sat in a cramped plane. I tried to sleep. But it was useless.

I waited for the plane to land. In a foreign country. I have been in a foreign country before. I went to Tiajuana with my grandparents -- just for a day. I have been to Canada -- east and west coast. I landed in Mexico a few times on a cruise. But that is it. This time I was in a real foreign country.

I flew to Rome. Rome! Culture. Food. Romance. I have dreamed of going to Italy for years. I studied Spanish but I wanted to go to Italy. But I did not even get off the plane. Because Rome was not my final destination. So the plane took off again after refueling.

The second time we landed I landed in Ethiopia. Ethiopia! There is nothing I could say that could accurately let you know how I felt. However, I can say that I felt like everything in my life had lead me to this place.

I made it through customs. I got my visa. Amazingly, all my luggage made it to Ethiopia with me -- I have bad travel karma. Eventually I walked into the airport lobby and some guy walked up to me. Holding my picture. Okay, I should have been prepared for that but it was till a little freaky. He was my lawyer. He led me, my mom (yes, my mama came with me), and the other couple who had traveled with me to the airport parking lot and a van. An old, 70's VW type van. My parents had one when I was young. We loaded the luggage in the van. We loaded ourselves in the van.

And then nothing. The van had died. I told you I have bad travel karma. The lawyer and the driver worked for about an hour. We were approached by beggars, taxi drivers, and armed guards. And then the van roared to life. We jumped in as quickly as possible and we were off.

We drove through town. I have never seen live goats ride through a large city standing on top of a van. But I did that day. I had never been more scared of the driving. And that is saying a lot since I hate getting in a car that my father is driving. We finally arrive at a gated compound. I have no idea how we got there. And I have a good sense of direction. We unpack the van into our rooms.

I am sharing a suite with my mom. Twin beds with mattresses that are no thicker than a slice of bread. A window in each room. And by a window I literally mean a hole in the wall. No glass. No screen. And a bathroom. Fairly western.

The lawyer comes back and tells us to settle in. Lunch will be available soon. And I will be able to meet my daughter (yes, my daughter!) the following day.

The following day? Why. I flew 17 hours. I wanted to meet her now. But I am not going to upset the plan. So I swallow and accept the news. Then the lawyer went to inform the other couple. Luckily she cried. Luckily the lawyer had no stomach for a crying woman. So he made a call and the orphanage agreed to allow us to visit for 1/2 hour that evening.

We drove there a little later. We honked at the gate. They opened. We drove through. We were shuffled into the office. And I waited. Oh my!! Is this really going to happen? Is this possible? What idiot is going to hand a child to me? And then the other "mom-to-be" whispers -- here she comes. I turn around. I look. And a very tiny Ethiopian woman is walking toward the office holding a very tiny Ethiopian girl. She is decked out in a pink jumpsuit. And she looks scared.

She is passed into my arms. She is tiny. She is nearly 21 pounds. She will be 21 pounds by the time she has her first doctor's appointment in one week. She is 28 inches tall. And she wants NOTHING to do with me. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. She looks like a caged animal. If I could read her thoughts -- which aren't even in the same language as my thoughts -- I am pretty sure she would be thinking "I don't know whose idea this was, but I am having none of it."

Four years ago my life changed with that single moment. I had no clue how much. And if I knew everything I know today, I would do it again in a heart beat.

Mean Mama

change of plans

The plan for today was ... NOTHING! I mean I wanted to do nothing. Well, I needed to do some laundry, and grocery shopping, and sleeping late, and naps. NOTHING. One day in a new school and Ladybug was likely to be getting sick. And even more likely -- I would get sick. So I wanted to have plenty of rest.

The little one got up early. I gave her a bowl of cereal and crawled back in bed. But I didn't sleep. So I read. It's not a very good book but I was so close to being done that I wanted to read. Ladybug came in a few times. Once to show me a tiny book she made. And I wondered how much glue was on the living room floor. She came up to give me a kiss. She came up to see if I would be willing to take her swimming.

And then she came up and stared at me. I asked what. And she presented her hand to me. And opened it slowly. Inside her little hand there were 3 beads -- 2 pink and a clear. Where did they come from?? Oh, I knew the answer. I was in denial. But I knew the answer. But I asked anyway. And she pulled one of her twists from the back of her head and presented me with a neatly snipped, beadless twist.

Did we not have this issue before. When she was three she snipped a piece of her hair. I told her if she wanted to have short hair I would cut it for her. But she couldn't cut it herself. Okay, actually, I threatened it. I told her if she did it I would cut off all her hair. And she cried. Because she didn't want to be a boy. But she didn't cut her hair again.

Now, a few weeks ago she cut the barbies' hair. But at least she didn't cut hers. Yesterday I noticed a little patch of short hair on her in the front. It was about 1/2 inch in length. I know her hair is prone to breakage but I have been careful. I would have noticed. So I asked. She played innocent. Rather convincingly actually. And she swore she didn't cut it. She said a kid at school did. I didn't believe her. But I was tired. I didn't want to parent at that moment. So I just let it go.

And that is how I got myself into the situation this morning. If I had freaked yesterday would she have cut her hair this morning? Would she? But I don't want to explode at her. I don't want her to feel my anger. So I ask her to go get the scissors. Calmly. And she does. And then I send her to her bed.

And I read. I was hoping that it would help me to calm down. She didn't help with that because every 30 seconds or so she would call out to me. I didn't answer. And then I hear her say, "Oh great! This is boring!" But I continue to read. Maybe it wasn't a good choice. Because my book is a spy thriller. Violence, suspense, killing. Not really the type of thing that will calm me down. But I finish the book.

Ladybug: 1 Mama: 0

I tell her to brush her teeth and get dressed and then sit on her bed. I shower, get dressed, and get on the computer. I need a hair place. I need a hair place that is open on a Sunday. I need a hair place that works on children. I need a hair place that works with African hair. I find 3, probably not so good, options. So throw her in the car and I drive to the first place. It is just about 1 mile from my house. I am so focused on not talking to her (not yelling at her) that I don't notice the giant hole in the entry way to the parking lot. But despite the fact that the website says that it is open on Sundays from 8am-5pm ---- it is locked up and closed.

Ladybug: 2 Mama: 0

So we get back in the car and drive again. And as I am heading in the direction of the next option, I realize that I don't really know where I am heading. Mapquest is helpful but only if you print off the directions. I didn't. Partly because I don't have a printer. Partly because my own anger made it so I was focused on getting her hair cut and not where. But as I drove around I found the street. Which is a dead end. No hair place in sight.

Ladybug: 3 Mama: 0

I have one more option. 1. Oh so this is why people like smartphones. So I head out to my last option. I know it is in a shopping plaza. I know which shopping plaza. I know where the shopping plaza is. Kind of. At first I can't find the plaza. After 15 minutes of searching -- and drving up and down streets I find the plaza. But then I can't find the actual salon. I drive around. And around. And then I realize that they have expanded the plaza. Back behind all the buildings that I thought was the back. So I drive back there and find it. And it is open.

Ladybug: 3 Mama: 1

I go in and ask the important question. Do they have anybody who has experience in working with African hair. An African American woman peeks around the corner. So I start taking the beads and twists out of her hair. I am almost done when it is finally our turn. She hates having her hair washed. Hates it! Always has. But she suffers through it without much trouble. And then the combing starts. And she is brutal. BRUTAL!!!! I mean, people say that I have a heavy hand it is no wonder that she screams at me. This woman had her screaming and crying and literally trying to jump out of her chair. And there is not one little thing about watching her in pain from this hair cut that makes me feel good. Not one little thing.

She finally finishes combing her out and asks how much to take off. And I am getting ready to chicken out. I had told Ladybug that it would all of her hair. I can't do that. I can't. So I tell her to take off 2 inches -- enough to notice.

Ladybug: 4 Mama: 1

And after all those beautiful curls are on the floor and I am trying not to cry, she begins to braid the hair. Large cornrows. Short cornrows. And Ladybug starts to cry and scream again. And I am sad. Because I already miss the hair. And she is crying.

Ladybug: 5 Mama: 1

And when the braids are done, I realize I don't really like it. I don't. I want it undone. I want her hair back.

Ladybug: 6 Mama: 1

And then the hairdresser puts it pretty barrettes and ribbons.

Ladybug: 7 Mama: 1

And then Ladybug looks at herself in the mirror and announces that she loves it.


Ladybug: 8 Mama: 1

As we are walking out the door Ladybug looks at me and asks if she can have a pet.

Ladybug: 9 Mama: 1

Any idea who won this war??

Mean Mama

First day of kindergarten

It has arrived!!! I have been warned. It is emotional. It is a right of passage. Expect to cry. My baby is growing up.

Yeah, I don't feel emotional. My baby is growing up. That is a good thing. That means she is normal. And all I can think is I will no longer need to pay $823 per month in day care costs. If I am going to cry this is going to be tears of joy! Alright, I still need to pay for after school care but $196 per month is a far cry from $823. Kindergarten is wonderful.

I live right next door to the elementary school. Literally. Well, not my townhouse. But the complex is right next door. Only a row of trees separates the school from the complex.

We are up early. Christmas in August. Showered. Dressed. Fed. Reminders. Bags packed. Still early. Pictures. Yes, I have been told I must take pictures. Still early. We have enough time to walk to school instead of dropping her off int he carpool lane. So we walk. Slowly. Because we are early.

About half way to school she looks up at me and innocently says, "Mama, it is like I am going off to college." What??? I know they say the years fly by fast but I went from first day of kindergarten to first day of college in the blink of an eye. Literally.

I walk into school with her. Room 709 is what I am looking for. We take a left. Then a right. Then a right. Then a left. Then a left. And then I find her classroom. Are you kidding me. Why? Why would they not put the kindergartners in the front of the school. I will never be able to drop her off in the carpool lane. She can't find the dishwasher in the kitchen. How will she find the classroom?

I unload her stuff. I take a few pictures. I notice that I am the only one taking pictures. As a matter of fact I notice I am the only parent who stayed longer than 30 seconds. Actually, I notice that most kids were just dropped off. So I leave. She is fine. She has been going to school for years.

I picked her up at her after school program when I get out of work (oh you know, that half day that I mentioned in an earlier post when I got out at 5pm???). She loves school. She had a great time. She loved riding the bus to her after school program. And she loves loves loves her after school program.

Kindergarten is a good thing for all involved. Apparently!


Mean Mama

Idiot Mama

So many stories that make me look like an idiot mama... Here is just one.

Mama: Why don't you help me by starting to clear the dishwasher.
Ladybug: The dishwasher?
Mama: Yes please.

I was busy putting the groceries away. Ladybug walks into the laundry room.

Mama: Um? What are you doing?
Ladybug: You asked me to help with the dishwasher?
Mama: Yes?? The dishwasher! Dishes??
Ladybug: (light bulb goes off) Oh the dishes!
Mama: Yes, just clear your things and I will do the rest.
Ladybug: Okay.

She heads to the sink. Right general direction. But....

Ladybug: Mama, none of these things are mine. (Wrong light bulb went off)
Mama: (Really??? Walk over to dishwasher, open it up, point to the dishes). Dishwasher!
Ladybug: Oh!

How did she make it all the way to kindergarten without knowing what a dishwasher is? Is that an unreasonable expectation? Okay, I admit we did not have one in the first house she lived with me. But nearly a year ago we moved into an apartment that had one. And now this townhouse has one. And she helps with the chores all the time. How can I have been so neglectful that she doesn't know what a dishwasher is?????

Mean Mama

Another half day Friday

And somehow I managed to get out of the office at .... 5pm.

5pm!!!

What is wrong with this picture?

Mean Mama

Regression in full swing

Kindergarten starts tomorrow! I am excited. She is finally excited. I am not one of those mothers who hopes my baby stays young forever. I want her to grow. I want her to experience new things. I want her to learn. I want to stop paying for daycare!

I have been working hard at getting her emotionally ready since the beginning of June. She can't leave her school because her teacher will miss her too much. She can't leave her school because she knows where the bathroom is. She can't leave her school because the teachers and staff rely on her to help. She can't leave her school because she doesn't need new friends. But she is now excited and can't wait. Oh I think we will have an early wake up time tomorrow -- just like Christmas.

But it is not all smelling like roses. Literally.

On Sunday morning Ladybug woke me up because she was hungry. She has been hungry non stop. As she walked out of my room I noticed she had on her pj top and panties. Not her pj bottoms. So the next time she walked into the room I asked why. And she admitted it. Peed the bed. Great! Well at least it is laundry day. It has been forever since this has happened so I guess I shouldn't complain.

On Monday night I was tucking Ladybug in bed. I crawled in bed with her to read her stories -- like almost every other night. As I sat down I swear the bed was wet. But how could it be? But it nagged at me -- for about 30 seconds. Then I asked if she had peed the bed again the night before. And her response -- No, Mama! My next question -- Then why is your bed wet? Her response (almost convincingly) -- I sweat a lot last night. So the bed is stripped. And washed. And put back together.

I tell her -- she has got to tell me these things when they happen. She can not wait to bedtime. And she can not sleep in a pee soaked bed. She can not.

Tuesday we come home from school and I decide I must clean the stuffed animals. Because she sleeps with, not one, not two, but 5 stuffed animals. Three large teddy bears, a huggable kitty, and a unicorn larger than her. Some must have gotten into the pee. So we wash some and soak some in febreeze.

On Wednesday morning, she wakes me up. Mama, I peed the bed. No. No. NO. NO!!!!!!!!!! And it is about an hour before my alarm will even go off. But she told me??? As she was instructed. So I tell her to strip the bed. Which of course she is not interested in doing because she "hates cleaning." But she does it. And then she comes back into my room. "Mama, the mattress is wet, too."

Now how is that possible. I spent the extra cash to get a waterproof mattress pad. Waterproof!! So I ask if she took the mattress pad off and she says yes. So I haul my ass out of bed and go check it out. She is right. But I have an extra defense. I had bought the bed off of craigslist. It is an Ikea bed. It has a built in mattress pad!!! Yes!! I am smart.

I moan. I groan. I unzip the Ikea mattress pad and take it off. And the mattress is ... soaked. Soaked! Seriously. Blanket. Sheets. Waterproof mattress pad. Second mattress pad. And mattress is still soaked. Did she drink from the Niagara Falls before bed?

We wash the sheets and blankets. I soak the mattress in febreeze. I mutter. I complain. And I thank her for telling me. She did the right thing. But if she does it again I will put her back in pull-ups for bed. I will. And I won't feel guilty about it.

Mean Mama

Job update

Just a quick update....

Had the interview this morning. Got up. Showered. Got dressed. Work attire. Jewelry. And even a little make-up -- something I never do. Walked outside. POURING! Was this an omen? Dropped child off at school and headed home again. Telephone interview since the agency is about 700 miles away. Got stuck in traffic because people around here freak out about driving in the rain. I know, I know -- hydroplaning. But really! It is water. Not a flipping blizzard.

Cleaned the kitchen. Which really needed it. One would think that with my little critter issue (killed an ugly, mini, scorpion looking thing) I would keep it really clean but I am also lazy. Not really lazy but a little. I mean I had like 3 or 4 things to stick in the dishwasher and turn it on. Needed to be done but my place would not be condemned if I didn't.

At precisely 9:00 am my phone rang and it was my interview. We talked for an hour. They seemed to like me. It was easy to talk. I did get stumped with one question and let them know. I had to admit my lack (complete) of experience in one area. But I think I was articulate, concise, and half way intelligent. I decided to ask about the legal trouble the agency is having and I mostly impressed with the response I got. They acknowledged it and answered my concerns.

So I think it went well. I am still interested. I wait now. They have more interviews to do this week. Then they do second interviews. I assume second interviews will be in person. And then we will see. Might not even be a part of the second interview process. But I might.

Mean Mama

Hair update

So the coils didn't survive. One night and they were gone. How disappointing. One of the problems is that she refuses to wear a night cap. And by "refuses" I mean she will put it on. She will go to bed. She will take it off. Sometimes in her sleep. She is a very active sleeper. So she got up on Sunday and the coils were loose. Loose to the point that they were no longer attractive.

So I combed out her hair. Which was easy because of the coils. And I parted. And parted again. And parted again. For some reason I have lost my ability to part hair. Front to back. Straight line. How hard can that be??? Apparently impossible. But I finally settled. And I did large twists. I love twists. Easy in. Easy out. And cute. Just 11 twists. And she is so flipping adorable in that style.

And then I looked at my hair. On Saturday night in the soft light of the living room lamps I loved the color. I still love the color in the photo. It had that Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman feeling. And I felt pretty. So pretty. On Sunday morning in the harsh lighting of the bathroom... not so much. And then we ran errands. In the sunlight I began to feel more like Bozo the clown and less like Julia. The color may need to change.

Mean Mama

Hair

I have been told I must post about a hair update. And this time I can post about not only Ladybug but me too.

Ladybug and I have been fighting when it comes to hair. She screams. She cries. She yells. She has no tolerance for me doing her hair. So this wonderful mother/daughter bonding time maybe end up being our undoing.He hair is getting long. So just about any style we do requires a lot of time. I try to do things that will last a while so we don't have to experience the trauma again too soon. But the ones that last a long time also take a long time to be put in. How I wish she liked puffs. But she doesn't. I dream about cutting her hair short but then I remember myself as a kid.

My sister always had short hair -- by choice. I always had longer hair -- by choice. I cut my hair short once. ONCE! And I regretted it. If my parents had forced me to cut my hair I would have been traumatized. And I don't want to do that to her.

In the mean time --- I need to survive hair days.So she wants sister locks. I like them. She loves them. And she asks me every day when I will take her to get them. We looked through photos. She is confident she will love them. We met a woman at the Farmer's Market who had them. And Ladybug wants them even more now. And it would mean no more hair days for me. Which is a bonus.

And then I did my research. It will cost a small fortune to have them "installed". Correction. A not so small fortune. I am not saying that they are not worth it. I am saying --- I don't have a small fortune. I tried talking to her about money. She agreed it was expensive. And she wants them anyways. She is only 5.

So in the meantime I need to do hair. Today was hair day. Tomorrow will also be hair day. I decided to try a hair style that will allow her to keep her hair down. Not sure if this will work. So today I did coils. Tomorrow I will need to finish. Here are a few pictures of the style half done.


In the meantime, I decided to do something with my hair. What do you think of my new color -- not that you know what my old color is.



Mean Mama

Knees shaking

I have a job interview on Tuesday. Really!

Scared? Yes. I hate selling myself. I am not a salesperson.

Problem #1: I don't think I am qualified for the job. I mean I can do aspects of the job but there are other aspects I have no experience with.

Problem #2: The company does not have the best reputation. Some local newspapers writing front page articles about the problems. I am not from the area but I know anyway. Do I ask about it at the interview?

Problem #3: It may not be in the town I want to be in. The company has offices in 2 towns. One I want to be in. One I don't.

Problem #4: I know there was a 4th problem but it has escaped my head.

Mean Mama

Processing

In February of 2004 my family took a cruise. By "my family" I mean, my parents, my grandparents, my siblings, my aunts, my uncles, my cousins. It was my first. And so far my only. I loved it. Despite getting a severe inner ear infection that made me black out any time I turned my head -- for months.

But there was a shadow over the cruise. At some point my grandmother asked me for my ring size. I didn't know it. So I told her I didn't know it. But she persisted. I needed to tell her. I repeated again that I didn't know it. I mean -- I am single. I buy a ring -- if it fits. I never bothered to ask my size. I never had to tell that someone special the size of my finger. I didn't know. I compared hands with sisters and cousins. It is hard to do that and come out with an accurate size. Finally I asked why she needed.

She wouldn't tell me. I told her I couldn't help her. Finally she explained that she wanted to have rings made for all the grandkids. She wanted it to be a surprise but I made that impossible. I tried to apologize but I could not tell her information that I did not have.

Somehow that tense conversation stayed with us both through the whole cruise despite the fact that in general we had a good relationship.

About 6 weeks after the cruise I was at work when my phone rang. It was actually my last day of work. I had decided to quit work so I could go back to school time. I had been going part time but it was taking too long. I worked on a crisis line. Most of the time I was in the office handling calls and clients. But sometimes I needed to run errands (for work) outside of the office so I transferred the phones to my cell phone and went mobile. I was mobile when the phone rang. I was sitting at a red light.

I answered my phone as if I were answering a crisis line without looking at the caller ID. So I was surprised when I heard my father on the other end. He cracked a few jokes but I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He never called during the day. Never! And then he told me that my grandmother had died that morning.

I don't know why it was such a shock. She was the sickest alive person I know. I mean, she had some serious health problems. She had lupus and a major heart problem. She had almost died in her 40's. She always said she was living on borrowed time. The fact that she made it to 76 was a miracle. But since she was always sick, I just assumed she was just always going to be sick. Not dead.

So the last time I had seen her was on that cruise. And it wasn't good. And now I needed to process her death knowing that there were unresolved things between us. I spent months when I would just break out crying. And even now it causes me pain and brings tears to my eyes.

I write this all because it is connected to what is about to happen in my life and I am not sure how to handle it. And I am not able to articulate it all yet. There is too much information and not enough organization rattling in my brain. One step at a time.

Mean Mama

Slap in the face

Sometimes it takes a slap in the face (not literally) to understand the way things are suppose to be. I spent the day working on cases. I have an unusual situation right now in that I am working on 3 cases that are more social work then paralegal. Two -- yes TWO -- cases where the parents are divorcing because one parent tried to rape one of their children. Two cases! And one case where the children have suffered such abuse that one child has been diagnosed as multiple personality disorder. I spent my day typing run-of-the-mill documents and having intense conversations with parents. I spent my day typing run-of-the-mill documents are waiting for the phone to ring with an update on one of those cases. I spent most of the day typing run-of-the-mill documents and wishing that most of my job was about helping the families in crisis. I ended the day by realizing the universe could not be telling it any clearer. I want to go back to social work. I need my masters. I am a social worker. I am.

And then I got another slap in the face (again, not literally) tonight. This one led to a crying jag that has left me with a runny nose and puffy eyes. But I have not wrapped my head around it all yet so that post will have to wait.

Mean Mama

Losing it .... Again!

Back on the HHCG train this week. I had the gorging days. I don't think I did very well at that. I tried. I ate a lot. But I did not feel uncomfortable like I did last time. I ate a lot. High fat! And I gained weight. I bounced up to 278 in 3 days. Three days!!! I have gaining weight down to an art.

Monday I started the "starvation" part of the of the diet. And I was hungry. HUNGRY!!!!! When it was time for lunch I was not willing to wait until the other girls went out to get theirs. A few of the days I might have been willing to chew off my arm by the time dinner rolled around. I wanted food. I tried to remind myself that this is what it was like last time. But my belly -- or was it my mind? -- did not care. I wanted food.

And I cheated. A lot. I mean, not a lot of food. But I cheated every day. A little. I had a roll at dinner. I had cheese as a snack. I had corn for dinner. I had green beans. I cheated.

Oh and I had Arby's. I don't normally go to Arby's. Actually, I never go to Arby's. I think I might have gone once or twice before. In my life. And I mentioned this to Mama Loca and she was stunned. And annoyed. She threatened to drop me as a friend if I did not promise to go during the month of August. And since I can not afford to lose even one of my not-so-faithful followers, I went. And I have to say that Arby's is a place that ... I have no intentions of visiting again. It was just not all that impressive. Or even appetizing. I ate it. I had more calories then allowed. And it so wasn't worth it.

So at the end of the week I am down to 273. Not as good as last round of HHCG but given my lack of committment I so can not complain. 5 pounds in one week is good. And I will take it. And if I can lose 5 pounds a week I can still hit my goal of 40 more pounds. Ooops!!! Now I only need 35 more pounds. Before Halloween. That is so possible.

Mean Mama

Ladybug Photography

During our last vacation Ladybug became fascinated with my camera. Every time I took my camera out she immediately asked if she could take photos. I wanted to take photos. It is my camera. But I let her hijack it at times. As a result, she got some pretty good photos. Enjoy the amateur photography of a 5 year old.









I think she will be getting her own camera for her birthday or Christmas -- at least so I can regain possession of mine.

Mean Mama

Mean Mama rises again

It has been a few days of good. Mostly. I could feel her edginess rising. I had talked her off the ledge a few times. It is like she is looking for a way to get into trouble.

So this morning she runs into my room (still sleeping) and announces she is hungry. She wants me to get up and make cereal. Easy enough but I feel like a truck has run over me since I stayed up way to late reading my book. I just want to sleep. I pull her close to me and cuddle. After about 30 seconds she has had enough. She wiggles. She whines. She cries. But I don't let go. One of the things we have been working on is using her words. I remind her to ask nicely and I will let her go. She leverages her body against my and pushes and whines more. I remind her again. I hold on tight. Eventually she relents. She asks nicely if I will "please" let her go. I release her immediately. After all, I must reward the good behavior.

I crawl out of bed, fix a bowl of cereal, turn on sprout, and find my way back to bed. And fall back to sleep.

I am awoken again by her crawling into bed and announcing she is hungry. Really? But it has only been 5 minutes. Hasn't it. Nope. Closer to about 3 hours. I tell her to get a granola bar and I will get up and fix lunch soon.

She runs downstairs and gets the granola bar. But she can't open the wrapper so comes back upstairs. She hands it to me and I begin to unwrap it. And she proudly announces, "I didn't even have to say please." So I stop. She's right. She didn't say it. She's wrong. She has to say please. She refuses. She tries to grab the granola bar from my hands. I ask her to say please. She crosses her arms across her chest, gives her best dirty look, and says NO! I send her to her room. And on the way out of my room she punches the wall. Really??

I tell her she can come out when she is ready to say please and head downstairs.

I notice a picnic set up in the living room and smile at her creativity. She has dragged down her bedspread, her barbies, and a few other things. But I have to step on it to get to the kitchen. And it is wet. Soaked. That is when I notice the 2 cups. Yesterday she spilled water all over living room floor and I told her no more water in cups without tops. I scoop up the bedspread and take it to the dryer. I ask her to come down and clean up the living room.

I pass by the garbage and notice straight black hair on the floor. Nobody here has straight black hair. I ask her what it is and she shrugs. I open the pantry and find lots of straight black and brown hair in the garbage. Who could that be. Oh! The barbies! I ask. She denies it. I ask her to get the barbies that she cut the hair. She does. I make her throw them away. Mean Mama strikes again.

I get out the steam cleaner and vacuum up the water still on the rug. I ask her to take all her things upstairs. I get out the vacuum and start cleaning the carpet -- okay, I admit that it needed to be done anyway but I am finding hair everywhere.

I sit her at the table with the granola bar and have a talk. I know I was mean but I don't want her to just destroy her toys. It is not okay. So I remind her of Toy Story. I ask her if she liked Sid. She says no -- which I knew. And I tell her what she did was what Sid does to the toys. She doesn't want to be Sid.

I know I was harsh but I want her to learn to take care of her things.

Mean Mama

Never Give Up

Anybody who knows me knows I am not a religious person. I won't go into my beliefs because I am sure to offend the few readers I have. I do believe is religious freedom -- even if I do not exercise that freedom. Despite that I want to post this video. No matter your religious beliefs this is an amazing story that everyone can learn from.



It brought tears to my eyes. I only hope I am that kind of parent for my child.

Mean Mama

Fresh start

We had a very emotional night. Attitude! Attitude! Attitude! Then she kicked a kid in gymnastics. Took the teacher's remote and hid it. Refused to stay in class. And more attitude.

She refuses to ask. She demands. She refuses to say please. How hard would it be to say, "Mama, can you please change the song?" Instead she opts for, "Change it!"

Apparently I reached my breaking point. I had no more energy to fight it. Or deal with it. So I just shut down. I didn't change the song. I didn't ask her to ask nice. I didn't even respond at all. How have I managed to raise a child that is rude and demanding and mean?

When we got home I sent her to bed. I crawled in bed with her. She was angry (shocker) and crying because I wouldn't let her stay up to watch the dancing. I curled up to her. I told her I was done fighting with her. It wasn't working for me and I needed to stop. I wasn't going to fight. I wasn't going to yell. I was done. I told her I loved her. I told her she was the most important person to me. But all this fighting made me sad. And then like a true emotional wreck, I started crying.

She curled into me. She promised to stop fighting too. And when it was all done I tucked her in bed, turned out the light, and turned on the night light. And by the time I reached the door of her bedroom she was sobbing quietly into her unicorn. So I crawled back in bed with her for a while. I left when I thought she was asleep. There was a part of me that was relieved to hear her crying. True emotional crying. Not whining. Not manipulation. Pure emotion. I mean, I hated that she was sad. But I was glad to get past the anger and get to something else.

About an hour later she came downstairs. She crawled on my lap, wrapped her arms around my neck and put her head on my shoulder. She said, "I thought about it and I want to be happy too. So no more fighting."

Fingers crossed.

Mean Mama -- but hopeful

starvation

I have started the diet. And I am STARVING! Maybe literally.

I know it feels this way the first week. I know. But I don't like it. I want it to end. And I want to be skinny (or just skinnier).

I am loving every little piece of food I put in my mouth. LOOOOVING. Watching me eat right now must be a little pornographic because it takes every ounce of my being to not close my eyes and moan at how good the plain, grilled, lightly salted chicken is. Yes, the same chicken that back in June I swore that if I had to eat another bite I might turn homicidal.

But I have a dilemma. I brought a cucumber as my veggie. It just doesn't taste that good. Very bitter. Under normal circumstances I would stop eating it. But this is not normal. I am STARVING. Do I stop eating? And go hungry. Or do I choke it down and last a few more hours before I complain of being hungry???

Mean Mama

Something positive

With so many negative posts lately let me just tell you something cute.

The other day -- the busy day -- as I was tooling around an unfamiliar town, cursing mapquest for not including a few critical turns, looking for a birthday party my little, sweet, adorable child was sleeping. Let's face it when they are sleeping they are cute. It doesn't matter that they were the devil 5 minutes earlier. Their innocence is adorable -- and you get that when they sleep.

So Ladybug was asleep in the back seat as I tried to figure out where I was and where I needed to be. Then all of a sudden a little voice peeps up from the back seat...

Good Morning, Honey!

And I cracked up. I guess it is safe to say that I must be calling her "Honey" a lot lately. And she has decided that it is a good name for me too.

Mean Mama

will I survive

My child is driving me insane. I love her. Really. But sometimes I wonder if I will survive.

I had a busy day planned for Saturday. I knew it would be hard. But it had to be done.

We (Ladybug and I) started the day by stopping at Starbucks to get the last Iced Chai Latte before the starvation diet was started. Ladybug got one too.
We then went to Target. School shopping time. We got everything on the teacher's list. We got cute lunch bags and thermoses. We got a fabulous pair of brown cowgirl boots (I thought she would want the pink but she picked the brown).
We stopped at McDonald's for lunch.
We went to a birthday party (mermaid and pirate themed). She got an extra long nap in the car on the way because apparently mapquest believes that every twist and turn is not necessary.
She threw up in the car -- see previous post.
We went to the mall. We looked for black dress shoes. Found nothing in her size. NOTHING! Apparently 12 is a popular size. But found a wonderful, cheap pair of flip flops that light up when you walk.
I let her get her ears pierced. I didn't plan on it. But she watched another girl get it done and she wanted it. She didn't even flinch (I practically passed out).
We stopped for pizza because it was late and I had no intentions of cooking after that day.

And as we sat there eating, she started to get mean. She wouldn't look at me. She wouldn't answer me. If she did it was with that dismissive tone I love so much. So I asked what was up.

Ladybug: Mama, I can only follow what my heart says and my heart says that I don't need to be nice to you.

Me: Let me explain "return policies" to you. And don't forget I can take those earrings out.

Mean Mama

visit from the past

I was driving home from a ridiculously busy day with Ladybug the other day when I heard a familiar little voice say something that in the past has caused so much fear in me.

Mama, I have to throw up.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I look back at her. She is gonna puke. As I take an immediate right into an empty parking lot, I see every previous puking episode flash before my eyes.

She had been home for less than 1 month. She was curled in my arms. She was sucking down a bottle, preparing for bed. She looked up at me sweetly and smiled. I smiled, feeling pure love. And she puked. I didn't know what to do. If I stood up puke would run off me and onto the carpet. But I could not sit there and wait for it to dry. And she puked, again. Okay, gotta do something. Scooped her up in my arms, using my skirt as a blanket to keep the puke near me. Hopped in the shower, with child, fully clothed.

Her first birthday weekend with me she got a stomach virus. She puked in my car. She puked at the movies. She puked in my bed. Many times. I changed my sheets no less then a dozen times that weekend. It was the only time I whined -- this is why I need a husband.

The time we were driving through the mountains with my mom going away for Thanksgiving. I looked back at Ladybug just as puke bubbled out of her mouth. I say "bubbled" because it was like watching lava over flow the edge of the volcano. We stopped. In the mountains. In November. Two white women stripping a black child down. And there is nothing that takes the smell out of a car quickly. We drove the remainder of the trip with the windows partially down.

I took my computer into the "nerd club" because it was acting up. I was trying to explain the problem to him as Ladybug ran in circles. Literally. She was hanging on those ropes that they put up so you understand how to form a line (because we have not been standing in line our entire lives). She pulled to hard. The pole fell over. Hit her in the head. She screamed. I scooped her up and sat her on the counter. And she puked all over it. The look on his face still cracks me up. I asked for a paper towel. He told me I had to go to the bathroom. In the back of the store! Really???? You want me to take a puking, dripping child all the way through the store? But he did. So I did. I stripped her down to her diaper. Found a ziplock back in my purse -- oh the things moms find in their purses -- and stuffed the pukey clothes in my purse. Oh the looks I got from the women in the store as I took my mostly naked child out of the store.

I started carrying extra clothes with me in the car. One trip I packed 3 easy to find outfits. She puked the first time but it wasn't much so I easily cleaned it up. She puked the second time and it required another outfit change and to scrub the car seat. She puked the third time and it required a sponge bath, outfit change, and to completely dismantle the car seat in order to clean it. She puked the fourth time and I let her sit in it for the last hour of the ride.

So when I heard... Mama, I have to throw up ... on Saturday, I believed her. As I am taking a hard right into the abandoned parking lot of a former Burger King, I am looking back at her. I tell her to use the cup in her cup holder. It is a McDonald's small soda cup. She grabs it and pukes. I stop the car. She pukes again. I get out and walk around to her door. She hands me the cup. It is full. GROSS!!! I leave it in the parking lot. I use the last couple of wipies. And I go home to completely dismantle the car seat and clean it.

At least it was not projectile.

Mean Mama

I hate visitors

Last night I was effectively avoiding all adult responsibilities. I was sitting in my rocking chair, watching TV, and typing on my computer. Yes, I can multi-task. I was also eating. Why wait until Friday to start the gorging?

I reached back to grab a piece of bread when I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. Ladybug was already in bed. And it couldn't be her. I mean, this was to my right, and she would have had to come down the stairs that were to my left. I don't have a cat or dog or gerbil. I don't have a husband, boyfriend or significant other (despite Ladybug's recent efforts -- but that is another post). So....

I turn my head slowly and .... It was a roach about the size of a football. Fat girls can jump! I hate bugs. I hate bugs. I HATE bugs. I jumped out of the chair so fast that I have no actual memory of it. I gathered my thoughts...and my nerve. When I say that the roach is the size of a football I am, of course, exaggerating. A little. I am pretty sure that if I extended my hand, he would reach out and shake and introduce himself. In actuality he is about the size of a golf ball -- and I am not exaggerating.

I decide that I will pick up the bag that the bread is in and throw it outside. I am willing to sacrifice the bread. So I reached for the bag and the damn thing scurries out of the bag.

Lesson #1 -- roaches are fast little suckers.

I, of course, drop the bag and quickly back away from the table. He (and yes, I am just assuming it is a he -- I did not actually check anatomy) scurries under some straps I have on the table -- the straps that are to my car top carrier that I seem to have lost. I decide to kill him. I am an assassin. I go into the laundry room and look for bug spray. I must have bug spray. Nothing. I look under the sink. Nothing. I am worried at this point. What if the roach walks off while I am looking for the spray? Or, more importantly, what if he doesn't? And then I look in with the cleaning supplies. Yes, I have cleaning supplies. I own them. I try not to use them. And I find the bug spray.

I go back to the table. The thing is black. The straps are black. I think he is still hiding under them. But I am not moving the straps to find out. I am a wimpy assassin. So I point. And spray.

OH! It is not a mist. It is a water hose strength spray. And I hit him. And he turns tail and runs. Down the back of the table. Oh the sucker is not getting away. I reposition and spray. He is now on the rug and running. But I keep spraying. He is looking for a place to hide.

Lesson #2 - roaches may not be as stupid as I thought. If someone had been trying to kill me I would try to hide too.

I keep spraying. He now turns on me. He is racing toward me. I am 5'4" tall. He is about 1 inch tall. No, I did not measure him. He is running after me. He is trying to attack me. I am sure of it.

Lesson #3 -- roaches are aggressive.

I jump over him. He turns around and runs at me again. Maybe he is the assassin. And I am in trouble. But I keep spraying. He is slowing down. He is getting tired. He is dead. I hope. I get the dust pan, scoop him up, and throw him out the front door. I have decided to leave him there. I want all the other roaches to know this is the home of the roach assassin. Don't mess with me!

I look around the living room. I have sprayed the bread...the cheese... a few pictures of Ladybug... the lamp... the filing cabinet... the cedar chest... the rug... the floor near the front door... the rocking chair. Murder is messy.

Mean Mama

Another complaint

Okay so I go on vacation -- as you are aware. I have not seen any of my friends and family for months. I certainly have not seen any of them since I started my starvation diet. I ended the starvation diet at the end of June with a 24 pound loss. I understand that at my weight 24 pounds is not significant. I get it. But it is significant to me. It is about an 8% weight loss. Experts (whoever the experts may be) say that even a 10% weight loss can significantly decrease your chances of heart disease, diabetes, and death. I got close to that number. I have kept my weight loss a secret. I shared with none of my friends and family that I was seeing on vacation. I mean, if I failed at weight loss -- again -- it would be worse.

So I go on vacation. How many people notice? Oh that's right. NOT ONE. Come on people. I am down 2 sizes. I can haul my fat ass off the floor. My stomach now only has 2 parts instead of 3. I even wore a bathing suit one day. I lost weight! I need you to notice. I needed the encouragement.

Some of you may think it is just that they weren't looking for it. Most were. They always are. Plus my sister was there and it is pretty much all she talked about -- her weight loss not mine. And not to be mean -- but I didn't notice it on her. I have no idea how much she has lost but it didn't seem like much. And my step mom -- who, in general, I really do like -- said that she was worried that I would die before her if I didn't start at least trying to lose weight.

I AM LOSING WEIGHT! 24 pounds to be exact.

But I kept my mouth shut. This is about me. This is for me. Encouragement would have been nice. But I can do this -- with or without others.

So I am going back on the wagon. Back on the starvation wagon. Back on the HHCG. And I am looking forward to it. I am loading for 3 days -- Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. And starting phase 2, round 2 on Monday. It is about 1.5 weeks early but I am doing it. I currently plan to stay on P2 until Halloween. And then progress through P3 by Thanksgiving and be in P4 through the holidays. Then I can go back to P2 at the beginning of the year.

Goals: Really excited = 40 more pounds by Halloween.
Really happy = 30 more pounds by Halloween.
Willing to settle for = 25 more pounds by Halloween.

It is nearly 90 days of dieting. I can do this! I heard on the radio this morning that good things happen to positive people so I am trying to be positive.

They (meaning the friends and family I will see at Thanksgiving and Christmas) will notice a 49 pound weight loss? Surely they will cheer at at 54 pound weight loss? They will be amazed by a 64 pound weight loss? Won't they?

I will keep you posted.

Mean Mama

Maintenance Required

I was driving home yesterday - 17.25 hours - from a really good vacation. I was at least half way home. Trucking along. Ladybug was in the back seat, watching Toy Story 2 for the 200th time. Occasionally she would giggle. This only made me wonder what could possibly be so funny after watching it so many times. I was making good time and hoped I was going to get home at a descent time. I wanted to get home in time to go to bed so I could make it to work on time today. Then I looked down at the dash and saw a new thing lit up -- Main Reqd.

Oh no! I mean, not my new car. Not when I am half way home. No. No. No. I look up at road side signs and see that the next exit has a gas station. So I exit. And I see that the sign that says the gas station is .3 miles to the right. I go right. I can read. I drive .3 miles. No gas station. I drive another mile. No gas station. I turn around. Did I miss it? Nope. No gas station on the way back to the highway. So I get back on the highway. If there is a sign, shouldn't there be a gas station?

I go to the next exit. Again, I see it has a gas station. I am skeptical -- I learn. But I have to stop and check this out. As I exit I see another sign for a gas station to the right 1.2 miles. I drive 2 miles. No gas station. Then I see another sign that says a different gas station 1.8 miles to the right. I am getting further away from the highway. I am wondering if I will find my way back. I am wondering if my car is going to blow up. I drive 1.8 miles. I arrive at an intersection. I look left. Nothing. I look right. I see a gas station.

I pull in. Busy little place. There are men everywhere. Getting gas. Getting coffee. Getting cigarettes. Some have shirts, some don't. Some have beer guts, some don't. Some have teeth, some don't. I pop the hood. This is the first time I pop the hood on my car. I am amazed how clean it is. There is no dirt, oil, grease, or grime. Nothing. I think I could eat off this engine. I won't. But I could.

The police pull up. And go in the building. I check the oil. I mean, I have no idea what else to check. There is oil. I check the coolant. There is coolant. So what is it? The police come out with coffee and pastries. Cliche. I am a single woman. I have a child with me. I am obviously from out of state. The hood is popped. I looked confused. And how many people check on me? Ask if everything is ok? See if I need help???

NOT ONE!

I get the owner's manual out of the glove box. I look in the index. I find "maintenance". I turn to page 54. It tells me where I will find the Main Reqd light on my dash.

I know that!!!!! Hence why I am looking at the dumb manual.

I look on page 254. It tells me all the things I need to do on a regular basis.

I know that, too. I am a single woman!

I start thumbing through the manual. I find a troubleshooting chart. I find Main Reqd. The problem?

It is time for an oil change. Are you serious??? I knew that, too. But I am half way home. It can wait.

I find my way back to the highway and look at the time. That was a lovely waste of 45 minutes.

I could have gotten home at 10:30pm last night but instead I got home at 11:15pm.

Mean Mama

road construction

In our travels we ran into lots of road construction. At one point we were down to one lane and half of that lane was a shoulder. As I moved into position I was required to drive over the "rumble" strip. You know that grooved pavement on shoulder that wakes you up if you fall asleep while driving and you drift. Well I passed over the rumble strip and Ladybug excitedly yells....

Mama, the car farted!

Mean Mama

Summer Vacation

I was away on vacation and having so much fun that I neglected my blog -- other than to change the background. I am home. Full of fun stories and stupid happenings. Maybe I am not so old that I will have forgotten them already. Will write some stories about our adventures soon.

Mean Mama