I came across this awesome video from the facebook page Lolly and Doodle. Must Watch!
This little girl is laying down some serious knowledge here. I love her no-nonsense point of view on this, and especially how clearly and concisely she’s explaining her feelings, and of course her sneaky subversive little genius sense of humor of putting the boy’s tops she likes in the “girls” section and how much fun she’s having with it.
I HEAR YOU DAISY!
It’s safe to say I’m pretty girly and go for pretty traditionally feminine clothes and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, but a lot of times it feels as if unless my daughter is dressed in pink sparkles from head to toe, that people will ask me if she’s a little boy or a little girl, or just call her a boy, and what bothers me is not that they might think she’s a boy, but that there seems to be only one way to be a girl.
I hear similar complaints from friends who let their little boys hair grow long! Can we puhleease grow up and get over this? My little girl certainly has her fair share of frilly outfits, but I absolutely am always seeking out tops and prints that are more than meets the eye. One of my favorite tops ever is a little girls top I found for her at Osh Kosh B’Gosh with hearts and DINOSAURS on it. You just never see stuff like that and I bought it immediately. Girls like science and adventure too! Girls need to get the message that they are more than their looks and boys could stand to get some style lessons. Ok thnx bye!
A couple of nights ago our country and my toddler had a BIG NIGHT. My toddler got to stay up 2 hours past her bedtime to attend her Godmother’s birthday party. She got to eat a dinner of crackers, strawberries and plain white rice (which sounds like a prison diet but I assure you, it is her favorite meal). She also got to eat cake, or I should say, she got to eat frosting, which is her main focus when it comes to cake.
I got to eat a lot of good food too, for anybody wondering.
Our country though, got to watch our two major party candidates debate on live television. The timeline of these events was eerily similar.
Donald Trump started about as strong as it is possible for him to start a process for which he was woefully unprepared and so did my toddler. Donald talked a lot about trade, and my toddler was tolerating if not warm to the few family members that arrived early like we did. She played with Mardi Gras beads (for those who think I’m overprotective- see exhibit A: completely fine with this obvious choking and strangulation hazard in the name of getting to stand around eating shrimp for five minutes) and a stuffed dog that I think, but am not certain, may be stuffed with the actual ashes of a dog no longer with us- that’s fine right? Meanwhile, I was able to make polite small talk with relatives.
Hillary gave clear concise opening statements and kept her cool throughout Donald interrupting her and attempting to talk over her, a lot like me, holding off my clingy toddler’s inevitable meltdowns, ready with the next cracker as soon as my toddler’s fear of strangers and separation anxiety kicked in.
About halfway through the night Donald really started unraveling and losing his cool, just like the overstimulated 19-month-old as she neared “pumpkin hour.” He gave nonsensical rambling answers to questions, he lied, doubled down on his racist “birther” position, claimed not to have said things that he did actually say, criticized Hillary a lot for among other things her “lack of stamina,” her “horrible decisions,” including the one to actually prepare for the debate, and that her ads, which consist mostly just of video clips of Donald’s own statements, were “not nice” to him.
My toddler similarly melted down and among other things, knocked over a big box of Mardi Gras beads, subsequently tried to carry every single one of them around the room at the same time and completely lost her shit when I attempted to pry them from her tiny sticky little fingers that somehow still have a superhuman death grip that makes me think I gave birth to a mutant.
Sidenote: I often irrationaly think (and I don’t think I’m alone here) that one of the reasons I didn’t get further in my life is because I was actually meant to be the mother of somebody who does get really far in life, that like, the mental and emotional tools I was given are really more suited to supporting and nurturing a really smart capable young woman (no pressure kid) who will do amazing things through my unconditional love and ability to nag and manipulate her into being a super genius who saves lives or becomes president, than they are to like, actually getting myself anywhere career-wise. So NATURALLY, I also sometimes think that maybe the reason I never became one of the X-(Wo)Men, is because my superpower is actually a recessive mutant gene that I can only pass on to my children, but will imbue them with supernatural powers. I’m super normal guys. Totally together. Don’t worry about it.
After the debate finished, Donald Trump himself, in an unprecedented move by a presidential candidate, went directly into the spin room and started throwing temper tantrums.
As soon as one of the other parents of small children at this party started getting ready to leave, the rest of us IMMEDIATELY seized on this opportunity to make our exits as well and it was NOT a coincidence as the childless among you may eventually find out. When my toddler got home, she also went into her spin room (she just goes in a room and starts twirling- which I am not making up for comedic effect, this happens all the time, I have it on video) and started bouncing off the walls. Any time I mentioned bath time she would start spinning and saying “nope, nope, nope, Mickey, nope, no more bath, watching tensis.” “Watching tensis,” is her way of saying, I want to delay bed time by saying this phrase that I know you think is cute so you will let me lay in my Amma’s bed (Grandma’s bed) and turn on the Tennis Channel while I wiggle around and goof off.
It seems to me that much like cake and staying up late are a recipe for a grumpy whiny toddler, facts and scrutiny make Donald Trump dissolve down to his own true colors. My kid gets pissed that I insist she take a bath and get some rest, and Donald gets pissed that he has to answer for the bullshit he serves up.
Maybe I’m just a boring over-protective mom, but that’s the way I see it.
I fed my kid a breakfast of pouches of pre-made baby food even though people keep telling me she’s not a baby anymore because they are A. Already Cooked B. Organic Fruits and Vegetables C. Portable D. Require No Cleaning Up and E. She will actually eat them. I also gave her a cheese stick (non-organic), a cup of milk (organic), some “go-go fish” crackers (non-organic non-food based) and that was that.
I forgot to meditate. It’s a thing I decided I would do, I did for one day, and then promptly forgot about.
I drove my kid to pre-school and I cranked a Fleetwood Mac song the F up on the radio.
I committed to saying F around my daughter instead of just straight up F since she can talk now and repeats e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g I say and she can sing her ABC’s now like a little genius.
I drank coffee and I shouted at the women of The View.
I listened to Nate Bargatze on Spotify who is a REALLY funny comedian from the south that I totally love and did a little updating of my blog, started a facebook page for it, and promised myself I would write a post.
I took a long shower and thought VERY hard about writing a post about the debate tonight and why I’m supporting Hillary Clinton and why I became a feminist at like, 8 years old, and how Hillary has been this lifelong role model for me and a prominent figure in my feminism since childhood and I had lots of ideas and things to say about that…
and then I felt really hopeless because thinking about politics drains me and Donald Trump supporters enrage me and my child is going to grow up with either one of the most defining incredible female role models available to women right now or she’s going to grow up with one of the most vile fascist sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, racist monsters our under-educated pop-culture obsessed society has ever churned out.
And then I thought about how I’m a white lady raising a person of color and how before my kid has even learned how to jump (I mean, like, she does a sort of knee bouncing thing and like, lifts up a foot) she has been categorized into weird sexual and gender roles, how she’s already been subjected to racism and misogyny, except she’s too little to understand that stuff, so I her mother, have been the one to feel and filter through that and I can’t fucking bear it.
And then I DESPAIRED at the fact that there is probably just no changing anybody’s minds about anything, and how my vote doesn’t matter because I live in Mississippi.
Then I waxed my moustache for the first time in like, 2 years. When I was pregnant and when I was in the early early days of motherhood I just had zero space in my life for one more ounce of pain so I stopped giving a fuck about my moustache, and then I worked at an all girls camp for 3 months and then today, I was finally like, I don’t want this on my face anymore and I think I’ve actually had five minutes to come to terms with it hurting, and so I waxed it. I have mixed feelings about the process.
Then I had a minor panic attack because I was like, “Where is my Baby??? Why haven’t I heard her voice, oh my God, what have I been doing all day? Is she alright?!! Was my mom watching her??!!” and then I remembered I took her to school and laughed at myself for 5 minutes.
Then I entered the codes from diaper packages into the Pampers Rewards website so I can get some free nonsense in 12 years.
In a little bit I’m going to put on makeup and clothes and go pick up my kid from school.
Then I’m going to make blackberry cobbler and buffalo chicken dip for my cousin’s birthday party like an effing rockstar.
And I’m going to DVR the debate, or watch it on facebook or something.
And then I’m going to fall asleep exhausted as hell, proud of my beautiful baby and wondering when Jessica Jones season 2 comes out on Netflix.
(originally posted on my old site 10/4/15)
Yesterday my baby turned 8 months old. Today she went to her first pumpkin patch. While we were there, I tried to explain to her the purpose of a pumpkin patch. You see at first glance, she probably supposed it was merely a popular place to do dog photo shoots, as several childless adults were there doing just that. I told her, “When you go to the pumpkin patch, you walk around and you look for the perfect pumpkin to take home and carve into a jack-o-lantern, but that’s not why we’re here today.”
She chewed on some grass. “You see baby, we live in a world now where everybody has to have a picture of their baby (or dog) at a pumpkin patch. It’s a fall tradition. That’s why you’re wearing the one and only skirt you own. Every October, parents get their kids dressed up and bring them to whatever church parking lot is closest and sit their child on a bale of hay. This is a rite of passage and your mom is largely a conformist when it comes to things that are extremely cute. Let’s take a selfie.” She stared off into the distance.
“I know we could pick out a pumpkin here today and justify our trip with more than just cute photos, but I am completely over carving pumpkins. I’m not doing it again until you beg me when you’re like 5-years-old. I’ve had to do it for every kid I’ve nannied for the last six years and sticky pumpkin guts have lost their charm. I bought you some stickers to decorate our pumpkin. You’ll just have to live with that. Also, we have to get some that are small enough to hang out inside on the kitchen window sill, because our neighborhood is overrun with creatures of the forest. In our yard alone, I have seen a posse of 6 raccoons, several lizards, squirrels, frogs, turtles, a snake, a possum with three babies on it’s back, two mangy cats, several birds, and too many bugs to list. Not to mention, we don’t do trick or treaters so we’re not exactly trying to advertise our halloween spirit.”
Elsie mostly seemed confused by this little field trip. Then, when we got home she actually crawled on all fours for the first time, not just scooting around aimlessly. She purposefully crawled into the dining room trying to get to me in the kitchen. Then! She pushed herself up into a seating position with no help for the first time ever. Then she ate two entire jars of baby food (unprecedented) had a bath, read a book with me, and passed out in her crib within seconds at bed time. I am completely overwhelmed and proud and bewildered and I can’t believe how lucky I am. It would be cool though if she could just chill out and stop all this growing because I’m like, “Hey! You’re my tiny little baby. What are you trying to pull?”
I blame it all on the pumpkin patch. I think as soon as she laid eyes on a schnauzer outperforming her, she knew she had to step up her game.