Eva is brilliant at doing impersonations. Sometimes I have to do a double-take because it's as if Abe Lincoln himself just passed through my kitchen eating a banana. At only 2, she is quite perceptive and talented; traits I’m sure I passed on to her.
Here’s Eva as:
Edith Ann
Mr. T.
An Ewok
Her father
Her mother
Wait.
What?
Eva and I spent the past week at my sissy’s house in Coeur d’Alene. If you’ve never been to my sissy's house in Coeur d'Alene, you really should go. She makes delicious food, is a great conversationalist and has a pack of wonderfully wonderful children. (When they’re not being turds.) You’ll leave wishing you didn’t have to and you’ll contemplate moving in with her permanently; despite your husband’s objections. And there’s a Maverick just down the road from her house. And they have nugget ice. It’s perfect.
It was a great week. It was blazing hot outside so naturally we had to spend quality time at the lakes. Eva’s favorite part was the discovery that she was allowed to pee in the lake. I won’t name names, but I wasn't the one to teach her this. On one excursion, I asked Eva if she needed to go potty before we went swimming and she replied, “No, I go pee in the water.” I worry that this attitude will carry over to swimming lessons this Fall and I’ll be the parent of the disgusting pool-pee-er.
We also went fishing at Farragut State Park which used to be a naval training camp. My grandpa was there for boot camp back in the 40’s and I got to see his name in the book and the picture of his company. I thought that was exceptionally cool. The bonus was that everyone who was fishing caught a fish! Well…almost everyone. Sorry, Kate.
We also picked 100 pounds of peaches from a cute little orchard. I’ve never had a peach picked from the tree and it was so delicious I nearly passed out. We all strolled among the trees moaning while we ate peaches. We hadn’t intended on picking so many but I was overwhelmed by the experience and insisted we needed a hundred pounds. It’s not that many.
But it actually is.
We made peach jam, dehydrated peaches, peaches n’cream, and my sister gave some away to friends. What a deal at only a buck a pound!
Thankfully my Papa donated his Cabela’s points so we could get a dehydrator. He’s the best. The dried peaches were really tasty. Thanks, Dad!
Eva had a lot of fun playing with her cousins and referred to them as “her friends” all week.
There was trampoline jumping:
Movie watching:
And popcorn eating:
I certainly was sad that the week passed by incredibly quickly. I’ve been going to Coeur d’Alene every summer since my sister moved there. I think it’s been 8 years now and it’s the highlight of my summer. Now I’m home doing boring things like laundry, scrubbing the toilet, and smelling the dog’s gas.
Boooooo!
I think we’ve spiraled out of control with Dora the Explorer. On the one hand, it’s increased Eva’s vocabulary and has helped her to understand succession. Dora has also taught Eva how to discern the number of objects in a group without counting out loud. She now knows a handful of Spanish phrases and words. Every morning Eva bursts into my bedroom and shouts, “Buenos Dias! I found you!” I think it’s adorable. These things makes me feel like letting Eva watch Dora is actually an investment in her education and not just a waste of time. Therefore, I shouldn’t feel guilty about how much TV she has been absorbing lately.
I’m also very delighted that the promise of Dora will make Eva do anything. And I mean anything. She cleaned up her bedroom and the living room without squawking when I told her she could watch Dora. She’ll get dressed in a flash and sit quietly while I comb her hair. She’ll give me a kiss and a big hug. I’m actually a little worried about how strong of a motivator it is for Eva. Shouldn’t she want to pick up her toys just for the intrinsic satisfaction of cleaning up her own messes? Should she not crave making messes in the first place and take pride in being a tidy child?
These are very positive aftershocks of Dora. However, there are a lot of negatives lurking about also. I can’t stand Dora’s shrill voice. No matter how quiet the volume on the TV is, I feel like her voice is clawing at my brain. I recently had to carry Eva out of a public place while she was kicking and screaming. She drew even more judging eyes our direction by shouting, “Abajo! Abajo! Abajo!” It was a very weird fit. This morning Eva called me a sleepy sloth. I was offended and knew Dora was the culprit; the little jerk.
There’s a long ramp leading up to the side door at the YMCA and Eva insists on going “arriba” every time we walk by. She runs up and down, up and down, up and down while I stand there losing my desire to workout. Every stinking day. Eva also wants to run through the covered parking area that she calls the twisty tunnel. Dora has added at least 10 minutes to my commute time from the car to the YMCA entrance. It’s maddening.
Eva will also cry and have a spastic episode whenever I shut Dora off. It doesn't matter how long she’s been sitting in front of the TV drooling, she’ll freak out when I say time is up. She can never satisfy her need for Dora. I’ll turn it on for her while I do my chores and suddenly it’s afternoon and Eva is still in her pajamas. It’s a terrible crutch.
The reality is that I can never get rid of Dora now. She’s weaseled herself into our family and I have no choice but to accept my destiny. I must embrace Dora the Explorer.
It’s too bad you can’t strangle a cartoon.
A fistful of lollipops for lunch.
Hypnotized by TV.
Naked breakfast in front of Pandora.
I might be confused on the definition of competent parenting.
Myke and I have decided to start playing racquetball together a of couple nights a week. This will accomplish two goals: Myke will actually have a form of exercise besides typing and we will have some alone time without our cranky toddler. Wearing plastic goggles and smacking a rubber ball at a wall might not be romantic for some people, but it’s free babysitting and that’s worth a lot to me. Babysitters are dadgum expensive. I was only paid 2¢ per hour when I was a young lassie but kids these days demand real money. It’s nearly minimum wage. How absurd! You can understand my attraction to the free child watch at the YMCA.
We started our racquetball dates this week and I am terrible at the game. In fact, I’m so terrible I don’t think you can categorize what I’m doing as “playing racquetball.” I mostly dart around like a dog chasing a laser pointer. A dog with a racquet in his paw. And plastic goggles obstructing his vision. Michael is not athletic but somehow he excels at racquetball. He’s quite good. (Well, I think he’s good but I’m comparing his skills to mine; he may actually suck and I would never know.) The arrangement is working out well for Myke because not only does he win every game, but he gets to witness his wife flailing around like a dervish.
By the end of the evening we both reek of body odor and have aching joints from all the racquet-swinging.
Romantic? Oh, yeah.
Hi, have we met? I’m the one who hates waking up early. This is precisely the reason that I am full of rage this morning.
I am in the Young Women’s Presidency in our ward. This means that once in a while I have to cover for the President at meetings and such. This morning was one of those occasions. She asked me to fill in for her at a meeting this morning; a meeting that began at 7:30 AM. The only problem with this, besides the obscene hour at which it begins, is that Michael also attends this meeting for his calling. That meant finding something to do with Eva. My friend graciously agreed to let me drop Eva at her house on our way to the meeting.
I awoke at 6 this morning in order to get everyone ready on time. 6 o’clock on a Sunday. It’s preposterous! I dragged my lazy arse out of bed, I showered even though it meant sacrificing sleep time. I actually combed my hair so I wouldn’t look like the disgusting ape that I really am. I had Myke dress Eva and he let her choose a dress that is way too short for her. I didn’t even scold the two of them for embarrassing me. I was pleasant and on time. I was feeling accomplished.
We drove to my friend’s house at 7:20 and I raced to her door so we wouldn't be late for our meeting. I knocked. No answer. I rang the doorbell. No answer. I rang the doorbell again. No answer. I checked my watch. 7:25. Crap!
Now what? Do I kick open the door? Do I simultaneously knock and ring the bell over and over until she answers? Do I break the glass like they do on TV and reach my hand in to unlock the deadbolt? Do I just walk away and miss the meeting like a chump?
Chump it is.
I dropped Myke off at the church and came home to seethe. Not only do I look like a nincompoop for missing the meeting, I had to wake up at 6 for nothing. ABSOLUTLEY NOTHING! STUPID! YOU’RE SO STUPID!
Since the trauma of the morning is still fresh in my mind, I’m considering dropping this friend. If you can’t get up early and be miserable with me on a beautiful Sunday morning, I don’t need you.
Except that I do. She’s pretty great.
No recourse. Dang it.
Do you want to hear something gross? Of course you do. You’re disgusting.
I caught this little princess eating her boogers yesterday:
I was horrified. Through my dry-heaving I calmly told her not to eat her boogers. I said it’s vile and no one will love her anymore if she continues to nosh on her mucus kibbles. I also told her that when we jam our fingers into our nostrils and swirl them around in search of nuggets, it’s called “Digging for Gold.” And it’s completely unacceptable and sordid behavior.
This only happened because of my sister. She recently posted on her blog about her gremlins eating their boogers during their family camping trip. As I was reading her post, I became nauseated and thought, “Her kids are such heathens. I’m so glad that Eva will never crave boogers.” And, BOOM! Eva craves boogers. I blame you, Rachel, and your disgusting offspring for telepathically giving my sweet, perfect daughter sickening ideas.
Is this an instinct that kids are born with? Is it always there, just waiting to manifest itself in the very moment you think your kid is immune to the grossest of all behavior? I’m disturbed by this. I’ve always looked down on booger-eaters. Even as a child I recognized it as repulsive. I mean, I did partake of a few boogers in my day…just to make sure I was right about how gross it is…and I was right. I’m appalled that my beautiful angel is a lowly booger-eater. I may never recover from this.
The worst part is that I told Michael she was eating her boogers and he replied with an indifferent, “Well, that’s what kids do. I used to eat my boogers all the time.” What?! ALL THE TIME? I wish Michael would have divulged his past propensity for the booger-buffet before I agreed to marry him. Now he’s passed on his mutated gene to our daughter and there’s nothing I can do about it. I have to overlook my family of gross-o’s and keep loving them anyway. Do you know how many things I already overlook with those two? I don’t know how many more items can be added to my list.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to put on a jacket. There’s a bit of a cool breeze up here on my high horse.
