Not-the-Mommy

I've been fighting a losing battle with my daughter... you see, at 18 months old, I feel like she should be saying "mommy." Or at least "mom" or "ma" or "mama" or ANYTHING like it. However, she continues to refer to me as "da-yee", which is Addie-speak for "Daddy"-- she uses it for her Dad, but uses it for me too when Daddy's not around.

Adding insult to injury, she periodically says "Tim," referring to a friend of ours who spends a lot of time with Addison. Although I think it's cute (Tim is probably her best non-family friend), it's discouraging for me, who wishes to be addressed by name as well.

A couple days ago, I looked Addison right in the face and said "Mommy, I'm Mooommmmyy" while pointing to myself. "Say Mommy," I pleaded... Addison smiled and burped in my face. Addison 1, Mommy 0.

I tried again today... we were in her room, and she handed me one of her doll babies and said a string of babbles, one of which was distinctly "mom." I smiled and said "Yes! Yes, I'm Mommy!" Addison looked at me sadly, shook her head, and said "Da-yee."

Here's to hoping third time's a charm... maybe another day.

Well-Balanced Toddler

I was checking my email on the computer in the living room... Addison is running around, playing with her toys (i.e. moving toys around from one room to another). After replying to an email I received from my Mom, I looked up to see what Addison was doing-- I knew she was in the room with me, but she was being AWFULLY quiet.

The sight that greeted me made me laugh out loud (as she often does.) Addison was leaning slightly forward, legs spread apart and arms flailing, as she tried desperately to sit on the tiny foot-rest ledge on her high chair. While she did this, she never once took her gaze off of the TV, which was tuned to the PBS show "Martha Speaks."

Another proud moment for this Mommy.

Rest In Peace, my Beloved Frap-Trap

The Starbucks on Shrewsbury Street closes today. Dan and I went last night to get a last coffee-beverage.

I'm in mourning. If the Dunkin Donuts closes, I'm going to set the town on fire.

My Tiny Picasso

One day last week, Dan and I went to Ninety Nine's restaurant for dinner, at which point Addison is given, and falls in love with, a green crayon (she has no shortage of crayons at home-- not sure what it was about this particular green crayon.) We let her keep the crayon as we left the restaurant, and Dan carried her out to the car. We dropped Dan off at school and, as he kissed her goodbye, he joked "Don't draw on the walls when you get home!"

Addison and I got home and I had to immediately run to the bathroom, having consumed multiple glasses of diet soda. I gave no thought to the crayon, not only because Addison never colors on ANYTHING, but also because Addie usually drops whatever she's holding when she comes in the house, seduced by the toys she has left all over the living room.

I finished using the bathroom and came out, only to discover that for the very first time, my little princess decided to rebel. She had scribbled all over the wall right outside the bathroom I had been using. Being of Miller/Rundle descent, the first thing I did was grab a camera (we like to document occasional disobedience, injury, embarrassments, etc... it's in our blood.) Being Addison, she posed proudly beside her artwork for every shot. I magic-erasered the crayon off the wall and put her to bed... I felt that yelling at her would be a waste of time, as she wouldn't understand what she had done wrong, and would only understand that she did something she felt was really wonderful and I yelled at her for it. (To quote my cousin Amy, who is now 18 but was probably about 5 at the time of the quote, "sometimes princesses color on walls.")

When Dan returned, I broke the news of our princess's little rebellion, and he revealed that she had taken her artwork to another canvas-- his white coat. I immediately treated it with Shout and threw it in the wash, as he had to wear the coat the next day to school. Luckily, it came out with no problem.

In unrelated news, when dressing Addison this morning, I found the most unusual print on her leg-- I'm not sure how she had to have been positioned for this to have happened. (**note-- the color levels of the pictures have been slightly altered to accent the pattern on her leg, but the photo content itself was not altered.) What a special girl!

FYI

My blog was locked for several days, while Google investigated whether or not it was a spam blog. So I apologize for the lapse in posting, and will be updating more soon.

Addison topped herself again today... instead of going for the head-bang-on-the-bed-frame, she went for the fall-face-first-backwards-off-the-push-car, putting her top and bottom teeth through her bottom lip. It didn't bleed long, she didn't cry long, so I didn't take her to the hospital or anything, but she has one heck of a scabby, bruised, fat lip. And a pink nose.

She also drew on the wall with crayon for the first time the other day. Coming soon: a picture I took of her standing proudly next to her "artwork" before I Magic Eraser-ed it off of the wall.

The sins of the furniture

Growing up, I came from a family of furniture rearrangers. More specifically referring to my mom, although my dad always got on board (eventually). As a result, I would rearrange my room several times a year, sometimes just because I was bored, and sometimes because I felt things would function better a different way.

Then, I married Dan.

Dan comes from a family that believes "It's fine where it is, don't change a thing." Their house is set up very neatly and functions nicely, so I can see why they would be reluctant to move anything (although the stir-crazy part of my mind would STILL find a reason to rearrange if I were in their shoes, because, as previously mentioned, this is how my brain works when bored). This way of life has engraved itself into Dan's brain, and therefore it is very difficult to get him to go along with me when I want to rearrange, even if he can see the logic in the way I wish to move the furniture.

As soon as I say "I think that chair would look better in the other corner," it begins. Sweat beads burst out all over his forehead. The blood drains from his face and he begins to clench and unclench his fists. I can almost SEE his brain hemorrhaging. At this point, pasty pale, he leaves the room, not to return until the moving is done. He will not stop me, but he would be VERY hard pressed to assist me (and I am equally hard pressed to ask for help, which is why I have broken two entertainment centers). And no matter what, he never says "you know, you're right, I like it this way too" when I'm finished. It's always, "I guess I'll have to get used to it." I take it as a compliment when he can say it without his eyelid twitching.

So today, I committed the biggest sin I could possibly commit against a "It's fine where it is"-minded person-- I rearranged the living room without his prior knowledge, while he is out of the house. Not ALL of the furniture, just a few things.

He has a big test tomorrow. My hope is that his mind will be so involved in studying for the exam, he won't care that I've turned his world upside down in a neat, better-functioning fashion.

The Nerd Gene

My husband is a nerd. I, myself, am more than a little dorky from time to time. And then, there's Addison.

Dan and I were watching TV as Addison was self-entertaining in her play area just outside of the kitchen. We were chatting with one another when I felt Addison's presence at my right leg, and heard a strange sound: "mmum. mmummmummmuummmm."

I thought "hurray! Addison is finally referring to me as "Mom" instead of addressing me with an annoyed-sounding "ih." I look down adoringly at my daughter, only to discover that she was not addressing me at all. The sound was really just the only sound Addison could make while holding a pinwheel sideways in her mouth.

I'm so proud...