Chatty Cathy Lives Again

After preschool yesterday, Ellerie explained how things work in her classroom.

"You have to raise your hand quietly and go like this." She put her right hand in the air and then put her index finger of her left hand over her closed lips to indicate quiet.  "Then, you get to be the one that picks the song for song time."

"Oh," I answered.  Then I thought for a moment and followed up with one question.  "So Ellerie, have YOU ever gotten to choose the song for song time?"

She smiled and replied, "Nope!"

Classic.

Chatty Cathy lives again.

It is going to be a long road to graduation.

My Kid Has a Peanut Allergy

Dear Moms and Dads,

Your whispers and eye rolls did not go unnoticed.

I saw them.  I noticed them.  And, I even understand them.

You see, five years ago, I was you.

I sat in a classroom listening to another mom in my oldest daughter's class plead for the life of her son.  Her son had a peanut allergy and any exposure to peanuts or a peanut product would cause him to go into anaphalactic shock.   The mom begged us not to send in any treats that contained nuts so that her son could be safe.

The thing is, I can clearly remember thinking, "Oh, give me a break!"   Her words echoed in my head, "He could die from a peanut."   The actual idea of it just sounded so ridiculous. A peanut?  Really?  I thought about how Abbie would not be able to bring in her favorite treat, peanut butter cups, for her special treat day.  I thought about the fun tradition of making fall haystacks with chow mein noodles and peanut butter and chocolate that we would not be able to share at the classroom Halloween party.  In short, I thought about how no peanuts would affect me and my own kid.

I was selfish.

Never once did I think about that other mom or her fears for her son's life.

And now . . . I am that mom.

My kid has a peanut allergy.  And just last week, I had to stand in front of you parents and explain how my Ellerie, my little full of energy, sprite-like ball of smiles, could be taken down by just one little peanut.

I emphasized.

I pleaded.

I even begged.

But, even in this day, when there are many kids that have life threatening allergies, I saw you roll your eyes at me as if to say, "Oh no!  Not another kid in my kid's class with allegies. . ."

I get it.

I really do.

Because I was you.

I was selfish.


But now. . . I am not.


Now, I am depending on you. . .

to help keep my 3 year old baby safe,
to keep my girl peanut free,
to keep my Ellerie alive.

In short,  I am entrusting her life to all of you. . .

And I am praying that you have an unselfish heart.


Humbly,

Annie


********************linking to Shell's PYHO***********************

come join me on twitter    @annieinsanity

The Days of No More . . .

I am a little torn here.

Ellerie starts preschool today, and I don't know how to feel about it.

Part of me wants to do the happy dance at the thought of 2 hours that are mine, all mine, each day of the week.  Picture Daffy Duck with his duck arms laden with gold shouting obsessively "Mine! Mine! MINE!  All Mine!!!!"  Yep.  That would be me.



Daffy Duck in Ali Baba Bunny . . . Looney Toons . . .



But there's another part of me that will miss my little imp.

No more will I get to have a lunch date with my girl where we share a ketchup and dip our fries in at the same time so that they touch.

No more afternoon butterfly kisses or backyard picnics with 72 barbie doll babies.

No more choke hold hugs of excitement when I propose an afternoon walk or bike ride.

No more Ellerie to color my afternoons.

Sigh.

I am smack in the days of no more and it's enough to make me curl up in a ball and cry under my blankie until I remember . . .

No more will I discover permanent marker tattoos on her booty when I have to wipe her bottom.

No more will I find her "sharing" her afternoon pudding cup snack with the dog.

No more will I walk into the bathroom to find her plastering panty liners to the wall and declaring it artwork.

No more will I find crayola marker pictures on my floor to ceiling mirrors.

No more will I ever find Ellerie in a sea full of bubbles just after she poured bubble soap down the heating vent.

Yep.

No more afternoon hurricane Ellerie.

I think that I could get used to this.

And I better line up one great gift certificate for her teacher. 

She is going to need it.

When Duct Tape Would Have Come in Handy . . .

As we dressed to get ready for the beach, Ellerie made one of her classic 3 year old observations. She pointed at her grandfather and remarked, "Pap Pap?  You have hair on your belly!"

My dad laughed and explained, "Well, when you get old and grow up, you grow hair in weird places sometimes."

Ellerie thought about this for a moment, and then her eyes lit up. Clearly, something had registered, and she proceeded to share, "Yep!  When my mom grew up, she got hair on her pee pee!"


Nice.


I just know that her preschool teacher is going to love Ellerie and her observations this fall.

When You Live With Data From The Goonies . . . Life is Never Boring

"Mom?"

"What Ellerie?"

"Ethan won't wake up."

"He won't?"  I smiled.  That boy loved to sleep, just like me. "What have you tried?"

"Well, I went in his room and yelled, 'Chicken noodle doo!'  RIGHT IN HIS FACE . . . but he wouldn't wake up."

Chicken noodle doo?

What?????

I thought about this for a second, and then translated, "Ellerie. . . do you mean 'Cock a Doodle Doo'?"

And without missing a beat Ellerie responded, "THAT'S WHAT I SAID!"  It dripped with her 3 year old exasperation.  Then for emphasis she repeated, "Chicken. . .noodle. . . doo!"


Incidentally, does anyone else out there feel like they are living with Data from The Goonies. . .

Or is it just me???

Dear God . . . What Do I Do About Ellerie ?

Dear Lord,

It's me.

Annie.

I know we have spoken about this before, but I am here again, with my same fervent plea.  And in light of the fact that Ellerie has once again stripped naked  and paraded her little birthday suit around the back yard yesterday, despite the fact that we were having company, I am now re-voicing my prayer for Ellerie's future.

Just in case you forgot, I will remind you of my specific intention from last year.

Keep me posted God.

And please,  quit laughing!

Love,

Annie


Originally prayed in January of 2010 . . .

Dear God,


It's me.

Annie.

I realize that you only give people what they can handle. But seriously, after my day yesterday, I am beginning to think that you hold me in high regard. Thank you, sincerely, thank you for the flattery, but I have a question for you. Do you think that I am a superstar or something? Is it possible that maybe, just maybe, you may have me confused with someone else? Someone who has buckets of patience, for instance. Just asking.

Yesterday, when Ellerie decided to run around the house in her usual birthday suit, I was OK. I was even OK when she colored all over her naked body with a blue sharpie marker that she found in her sister's school supplies. (By the way, blue is definitely her color. ) When she peed on the floor two times instead of in her designated potty, I didn't bristle. I just looked at it as an opportunity to shine my floors. But, when she tried to stick a carrot from the refrigerator on her, you know . . . hoo-ha, and then said, "Wook mom! It's cold!" that, that put me over the edge. ( I suppose it could have been worse, though. At least she didn't channel Linda Blair.)

So, dear God, I am writing to let you know that I can not handle a daughter that has a future in Girls Gone Wild videos. I am a strong woman, but not that strong.

In the future, please direct my little angel to keep her veggies on her plate, where they belong. I will continue to do my part to keep her in clothes.

Thanks.

Annie


***********************I am linking to Mama Kat's workshop today.  The prompt was "What do you think your children will be when they grow up?"  Clearly, I am praying that I do not have an exhibitionist.************************************

Mommy is Pooped . . .

Dear El,
 

Mommy loves you, and mommy loves that you can go to the potty all by yourself.  You are such a big girl!  What mommy doesn't love is when you try to wipe yourself.  Mommy doesn't like our bathroom to look like this. . .

pic compliments of wikimedia

Using 17 rolls of toilet paper so that our bathroom looks like it has been t'pee-ed by a bunch of drunken teenagers,  stopping up the toilet with the mounds of paper, and then still (remarkably) having marks of poopie evidence on your Dora panties . . . does not make mommy happy.

So, please, please, please give mommy a holler when you are ready.

Otherwise, mommy may have to purchase stock in Charmin.

Love,

Mommy

PS  On a different note, how does a three year old have such big poops, anyway?  Just curious.

Getting Naked with the Lowes' Guy

Dear Lowes' employee from aisle 5,

Thank you for not laughing out loud when you spied my 3 year old daughter, Ellerie, peeling off her clothes and getting naked next to the rubbermaid storage tub display.  Your silent, shoulders shaking laugh was much appreciated.

If I wasn't trying to wrangle Ellerie's pants back onto her naked fanny while manuevering a cart and an 8 by 10 area rug, I probably would have offered you a tissue for your tears of joy.

Sincerely,

Annie

Honoring the "Fallen"

This morning the temperature dipped into the upper 30's, so when I went to wake up my sleeping bear, Ellerie, she decided to be very two, and bury herself under the comforters.  I snuggled my way in after her, and as I hugged her tightly to my chest, she posed the following question.

"Mom?  Where are your boobies?"

I didn't really understand what she was asking me, so I rephrased her question, "What do you mean where are my boobies?"  I hugged her a little tighter to me so that she could feel my chest.

Then, I heard her giggle.  "Oh!  There they are!" 

Her exclamation and laugh made me laugh too . . . until she dropped the bomb.

"They are right down here.  They just fell down."


So, there you have it.


My boobs fell down.


They have fallen.


And,  they can not get back up . . . without surgical help, that is.   First, Ab called them dangly, and now El says they have fallen down.  It is just too much for a Monday morning.  And, it is just one more reason why I would like to invest in my plastic surgery fund instead of the kids' college fund.

A girl (and her fallen boobs) has to have her priorities, after all.

Celebrate! Celebrate! Dance to the Music!

Break out the champagne! (Or at least a cold beer, in my case.)

It is time to celebrate!!

Why celebrate, you ask?

A momentous occasion, my dears. A positively momentous occasion!

After 8 long years, there are no more diapers in my house. Ellerie has poopied on the potty!

Whoooeeeee!

No more Pampers, Huggies, or Luvs. No more sweet smelling baby powder butts that turn toxic quicker than a blink of an eye. No more picking up a kiddie to sniff a butt to determine its freshness (or lack there of). No more $10 a week necessary grocery trip.

I am dying I am sooooo excited.

And with that extra $40 dollars in my monthly budget, I am thinking pedicure people.

Either that or a new pair of shoes a month.

Whatever!

I don't care.

No! more! diapers!

Someone quick. Get me a beer! It's time to celebrate!

My March Madness

I need some advice. Or sanity. Or both.

My problem?

Simple.

Ellerie will not sit in her car seat.

Now, I know that some of you out there will just say, "Strap her in! " I, too, am OK with that approach if it weren't for the fact that Ellerie can undo the buckles. And, not just any, run of the mill seat belt buckles, mind you. These are tough for me to get undone without some concentration. The girl could probably figure out a rubik's cube if it meant that she could get out of her car seat. She is a flipping Houdini, I tell you!

Maybe she has a future in magic?

Hmmm.

At least I know that she won't be into bondage.




Any ideas to help? Duct tape?? Bungee cords??? I am pretty open to anything.

Dear God, It's Me . . . Annie

Dear God,

It's me.  Annie.

I realize that you only give people what they can handle.  But seriously, after my day yesterday, I am beginning to think that you hold me in high regard.  Thank you, sincerely, thank you  for the flattery, but I have a question for you.  Do you think that I am a superstar or something?  Is it possible that maybe, just maybe, you may have me confused with someone else? Someone who has buckets of patience, for instance.  Just asking.

Yesterday, when Ellerie decided to run around the house in her usual birthday suit, I was OK.  I was even OK when she colored all over her naked body with a blue sharpie marker that she found in her sister's school supplies. (By the way, blue is definitely her color. ) When she peed on the floor two times instead of in her designated potty, I didn't bristle.  I just looked at it as an opportunity to shine my floors.  But, when she tried to stick a carrot from the refrigerator on her, you know . . . hoo-ha,  and then said, "Wook mom!  It's cold!"  that, that put me over the edge. ( I suppose it could have been worse, though.  At least she didn't channel Linda Blair.)

So, dear God, I am writing to let you know that I can not handle a daughter that has a future in Girls Gone Wild videos.  I am a strong woman, but not that strong.

In the future, please direct my little angel to keep her veggies on her plate, where they belong.  I will continue to do my part to keep her in clothes.

Thanks.

Annie

Merry X(rated)mas

He is known all over the world to both kids and adults, and  he goes by many names.  He answers to St. Nick or Kris Kringle.  He is the Head Elf, the Man in Charge, the keeper of the North Pole, Mr. Santa Claus himself.  Use any one of those names, and you will bring a smile to pretty much any face.

But if you live in my household,  the jolly fat man is not known as Santa.  In my house, Ellerie has christened the toy bringer, Santa Cock.

That's right.

Good old, Santa Cock!  He sees you when your sleeping,  he knows when your awake, and he may very well just bring you some X-rated toys to play with . . . that is, if you've been very good this year ( or maybe it's if you've been very bad?!?  Very, Very bad?!?!  Hmmmm!)

I haven't brought the kiddies to visit Santa at the local mall yet, but this year  . . . it could be interesting!

Thanksgiving Week Catch Up

Oooooh!  

So sorry to have been gone so very long.

Did you miss me?

I certainly have missed all of my bloggy friends.  My past week has been crazy.  Insane crazy, you know.  Crazy more than my normal daily insanity, crazy.  

For instance, I traveled round trip for 8 hours with 3 kids in the car. If you do the math, that equates to 247  Are we there yets?,   approximately 10,000 orange barrels, and 2 cranky parents.  Now, normally my thanksgiving trek is around 6 hours, but backed up traffic and 17 thousand pee breaks makes for a longer journey.  Note to self . . . bring ear plugs next year.

I also woke in the middle of the night to shop my first ever Black Friday!  I woke at 3:30 am threw on some  sweats, made myself some coffee (You didn't think that I would leave the house without coffee did you?  Heaven help those other shoppers if I had!), and I was off.  I was accompanied by one of my more experienced Black Friday shopping girlfriends.  She was waiting on her porch at 4:45 when I arrived.  She had all of the ads and circulars with notated post it notes sticking out here and there.  The girl is one serious shopper.  I am in awe, and naturally, I love, love, love her!

So, after getting almost all (Yes!  I did say all.  You are jealous, aren't you?  It's OK.  I'd be jealous of me too if I didn't know what was coming.)  my shopping completed for Christmas.  I trudged home, ate, napped and got busy with some Christmas decorations.  A pleasant day all in all until the most insane thing happened.

Ellerie.

It was bedtime, and I was trying to get Ellerie undressed and then dressed again for bed. (Never an easy feat!)  I pulled Ellerie's shirt over her head, and when I did, she giggled and then she took off running.  Her shirt was over her head and resting on the back of her neck, and  her arms were still in their sleeves and pinned quite tightly to her sides.  As she ran, she turned and looked over her shoulder, and when she did, she slipped on the area rug and fell face first.  Hard!  Her hands and arms were pinned by her silly shirt, and she was unable to catch herself when she went down.  Immediately, she started screaming.

I knew I was in for it, because Ellerie does not scream.  I have seen her fall down a flight of stairs, get up, and say, "I OK Mom!"  The girl is usually indestructible, so when she was inconsolable and continued screaming, I knew she was hurt.

She was.

According to the Emergency Room docs, Ellerie probably has a broken foot or ankle.  Apparently, it is pretty hard to see broken foot bones in a 2 year old's X-rays, but based on their physical exam of El, they are pretty sure that it is broken.

Her appointment with the Orthopedic Doc is tomorrow.

So, this weekend has been full of an angry, hurting  two year old who can not move.  Initially, I thought, "Great!  This will slow her down a bit."

But really, this has slowed me down immensely.

My girl has only wanted to sit on my lap on the sofa.  She is currently there as I type this post.  I am feeling quite trapped by all of this.  I also feel so guilty that this even happened.  Mostly I feel for my baby with her little left leg casted.  She is miserable, and I am too.

So there you have it.  My past week's insanity. 

I'll keep you posted on this week.

She Picked One for You Too

Continuing on the theme from my earlier post today . . .

Ellerie walked up to me and smiled.  It was obvious to me that she had something in her mouth.

"What are you eating, silly girl?"  I questioned her.

She smiled and said, " MMMMmmmmm.  Yum.  Boogie!"

My sanitary, germ-a-phobic self almost passed out at the explanation.  And, it dawned on me that  . . .

1) Piggies will surely fly at my house, and my kids WILL inevitably get the H1N1 flu at this rate. 

or

2)My booger obsessed kids have the strongest immune systems of any kiddies around.  Their little systems look at those big bad flu germs and laugh in their faces!  Flu germs, ha!  They have been taking their boogie vitamins!!!

I am hoping for number 2! 

Happy Birthday Ellerie

To my Halloween baby, Ellerie . . .

born 10/31/2007 . . .

Here goes . . . 

Happy Birthday to you . . .

Happy Birthday to you . . .

Happy Birthday dear Ellerie . . .

Happy Birthday to you!

What a joy you have brought to my life, my dear girl!

I love you.

And as for the terrible two's . . .

Bring 'em on!!!!

A Picture is Worth . . .

. . . at least a few words. Right??

What do you think this one should say?

Caption?

Anyone??

Happy Saturday!

Can I Have a Taste?

Why oh why must little kids be so gross?

Today, while shopping in the grocery store, Ellerie decided to open up one of the freezer doors. Who knows how many germs were on that handle, but what she did next really made me cringe. My precious little devil pressed her silly face up to that cold freezer door, and then she proceeded  . . . to lick it.

No, I am not joking.

Yes, I wanted to run to aisle 5, grab some Chlorox, and disinfect her tongue right there.

In fact, I almost knocked over an old lady in my rush to grab my little imp to get her tongue off of that germ infested door.

What possesses little kids to taste everything?  You may remember that E did something similar when he was a bit younger.  At least El's licking choice was a cool door.  E's was a car bumper.  

On a positive note,  not only do things like this make my day to day life a little more interesting,  they are also great birth control.

Happy Monday!

A Little Bubbly Anyone?

What happens when your almost two year old pours liquid bubble solution down the heating vent?

A living room full of bubbles!

And really, how can you get mad at a living room full of bubbles?  It was just what I needed on a Monday morning.

Really.

It was!

To Shoot the Impossible Shot

Have you ever tried to do something impossible?

Say . . . climb a mountain or run a marathon?

Or, what about trying to get a picture of three squirmy children, when they are all looking in the same direction, smiling pleasantly, and not picking their noses?

No?

Well don't try!  I am here to tell you that taking an acceptable picture of my crew is an

 impossible task!  You will be much more successful if you attempted to climb that mountain or to run that marathon than if you attempted to photograph my kiddies.  They are moving targets!

Just look at the lovely pics that my crew treated me to one afternoon this week . . .

El!  What a ham!  It's amazing that this is in focus.  She rushed me with a huge "cheese"!

This was an attempt at a 3 man pyramid.  Except that El was literally choking Ab, and . . .

E has no balance, whatsoever!  He landed with a thud, distracted El, and Ab was finally free to breathe and smile.

Another attempt at the pyramid produced this gem.  I remember thinking that 2 out of 3 kids wasn't too bad!  And finally, after much perseverance and a bit of colorful language (under my breath of course) . . .

I shot this pic.  While not technically fabulous, they are all looking in the same direction, they all have pleasant expressions, and there is no nose picking.  A miracle to say the least.

Professional photographers earn every penny and then some!