It’s probably fine that we let our daughter drink ranch dressing.
I used to let my niece do the same thing and she’s now a perfectly healthy 15-year-old. So…
It’s probably not irresponsible or disgusting or negligent.
Ok. It probably belongs on the list, in the tome of our parenting sins.
I have a part time job at Fred Meyer now. It’s a great arrangement because I can bring Eva to work with me. The only downside is that Fred Meyer doesn't actually know that I’m their employee and, therefore, they aren’t paying me. It’s a small kink I need to work out.
Whenever I’m shopping at Fred Meyer I’ll let Eva look at the toys if our schedule permits – which is always. It’s terribly boring for me to just stand there while she talks to the baby dolls and points out every Disney Princess. As a way to keep myself occupied, I’ve started straightening up the toy aisles. It really is despicable that customers don’t put things back where they came from, and leave messes for me to clean up. I worked a retail job in college as a stock-girl and I developed a bit of OCD about facing merchandise. When I’m standing around waiting for Eva, it really irritates me to look at the disheveled shelves. So I face the toys. And I also check UPC codes to make sure the toys are in the correct place with the correctly displayed price. See – I was also a cashier at the aforementioned retail store in college so I understand the importance of having merchandise sitting above the accurate price tag. Retail is all about equilibrium and I’m a very thorough employee.
As I think about this public service that I am providing for Fred Meyer, I’m alarmed at just how crazy I’m becoming.
Still…they should at least comp my milk.
Last Spring we went up the road a bit to a tulip farm. Tulips have always been one of my favorite flowers and looking out over the rows and rows of tulips was so beautiful and peaceful. It was my second Spring visiting the tulips but the first time I noticed that the farm sells bulbs. And you can pick them up in the Fall at precisely the correct time for planting. I suddenly wanted to plant tulips.
I mapped out where I wanted to plant them in our yard and how many bulbs we would need. My deft math skills produced that 250 bulbs should do it. So I ordered 250 bulbs. Then I lost my map. (It’s a long stretch between Spring and Fall and I obviously can’t be trusted to keep track of silly papers for that long. Don’t ever ask me to look after your treasure map.)
Fall came and we drove to pick up the bulbs. I sat in the car with Eva and awaited our magical bulbs while Michael went in to fetch them. I must admit I had no concept of just how many bulbs I had ordered until Michael came stumbling out of the store with a bag so large that his entire upper body was concealed as he carried it. The snarky, elderly cashier asked him if he was starting his own tulip farm. I told him he should have punched her square in the dentures.
We decided that 250 bulbs could be divided into 50 holes, with 5 bulbs going into each hole. Seemed perfect and easy to accomplish. Shouldn’t take more than a couple hours...or a couple days. Usually during projects I have little patience. It takes me approximately 5 minutes to lose it and become crabby. However, for this project, I felt like I had to keep a cheery disposition since I was the dumbo who thought we needed 250 tulip bulbs. I slathered Michael with encouragement and worked along side him like a good little helper. I didn’t complain once and I even brought the guy ice water. It was a tedious job but we did it.
Then we watched and waited. And waited some more. Spring sure takes its time.
And then they began to sprout!
And now they are BEAUTIFUL!
250 bulbs was exactly what we needed. I was right all along. (Again.)
My last crumb of dignity has vanished and I don’t expect that it will ever return. I’ve seen and done too much to be redeemed.
In the past 2 weeks I have danced and clapped over urination. I have praised and swooned over poo. I have spent my husband’s money on Chinese-manufactured toys to bribe a 2-year-old into using the bathroom. I have touched soiled underwear so often I feel like my hands will never be clean. I’m driving a car that smells like urine because my daughter thinks her car seat is a toilet. I can’t stop thinking about bodily functions. I fear going into public with my unpredictable time bomb full of contaminants. I used to hold intelligent conversations with people; now all I talk about is poo.
Potty-training? More like Parental-demoralization.
We’ve officially begun potty training at our house. When people told me it was one of the worst parental responsibilities, I thought they were probably incompetent and I wouldn’t have any trouble. It’s my standard reaction to any advice I receive from other parents.
Turns out it really does suck.
Eva is actually doing a great job but I find the whole process tedious and annoying. I’ve been trapped in the house for two days because I’m terrified to go into public and have her contaminate her pants. Also, because I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing, I’ve been bribing Eva by letting her watch Tangled in exchange for sitting on the potty. I can’t get the soundtrack out of my head and her IQ has probably dipped by at least 100 points.
Heaven help me.
