Spencer, I Want to Go to the Bathroom by Myself!

I'm not sure I ever anticipated "Spencer, I want to Go to the Bathroom by Myself!" ever being a title on this here blog of mine, but, alas, it is.  I also don't think I ever anticipated ever needing to say those words to Spencer, much less having to say them multiple times a day, but, alas, I do.

I'm not exactly sure when this whole thing started, I'm thinking that it might have some roots from the potty training days when I would show Spencer how "big girls" use the the potty.  But for the first couple months after she was fully trained, she always wanted to use the bathroom "by myselvvve!" as she would say.  Spencer didn't give a second thought to when I went to the bathroom and I never gave a second thought to the beauty that is bathroom privacy.

It's not an exaggeration in any way when I tell you that every single time Spencer sees me getting up and walking towards the bathroom, she races like an Olympic sprinter in the gold medal race to get to the door before I shut it.  Actually, it's not only the bathroom, it's any room in the house, it's just that the bathroom is the only place I really care about being all by myself.  I know a lot of moms use their bathroom time as a personal refuge, a place to be by themselves for a few moments and collect their thoughts, maybe read a magazine or examine their face to see if any wrinkles have sprouted since the last time they checked; that's not me.  So I would almost understand why Spencer would want to go with me every time if I did that, especially if she thought I was doing something like putting on makeup.  I'm in and I'm out. (is that TMI?) I also might understand if I never let her in the bathroom while I was using it- maybe it would seem like she was missing out on something, but that's not the case either.

When Spencer realizes that a) I'm already in the bathroom before she noticed, or b) didn't make it to the door in time before I shut it, she stands at the door and sticks her toes and fingers underneath the gap between the floor and the door.  And her little toes are so cute and then I feel an odd combination of love and guilt and I let her in. So even when I'm in the bathroom alone, I'm never really alone.  And I miss it. 

Spencer hasn't gone through a clingy phase in awhile and I wouldn't say that she's in one now, per se.  I mean yesterday at Kohl's, she ran away from me and in a sing songy voice, taunted "ha ha, you can't find me!" But for some reason, whenever we're at home, she becomes my shadow.  This morning, I started walking to the bathroom and she immediately began her sprint to the door.  I turned around and said, "Spencer, I want to use the bathroom by myself!"  To which she replied "please don't leave me," completely breaking my heart.  I had no idea why she would say that, I mean, I'm by her side more than any parent I know- we are never apart.  So I began racking my brain trying to think of why she would say that to me- why she was feeling this way? Then I remembered something seemingly benign that happened a few weeks ago, which I guess wasn't as benign as I thought.

A few weeks ago I was in the laundry room doing some morning chores before Spencer woke up and I didn't hear her get up and start looking for me. I was only in there for about five minutes, so I know she couldn't have been awake for more than a couple of minutes, but she was hysterically crying because she'd gone to the window and hadn't seen my car in its usual parking space and she thought I'd left her.  (My car was pulled further up the driveway than it usually is and from the window you couldn't see it)

Now generally, Spencer would immediately realize that she wasn't being supervised and use that time to do something completely destructive, like get into my makeup bag and give herself a makeover, cut her hair with scissors, try and pour her own orange juice, basically anything that I wouldn't normally allow her to do.  So I was a little shocked when she was sitting there sobbing because it seemed really uncharacteristic of her.  After a few minutes of crying and hugging and reassuring her that I would never leave her, she was fine, and everything went back to normal.  I didn't really think about it again until this morning when she told me not to leave her.  The idea that Spencer thinks I might actually leave her alone breaks my heart.  I hate that she's feeling this way and as much as I want my privacy, I want even more for her to feel secure and safe.

The weird thing is that she's not this way anywhere else.  In fact, yesterday we went over to my aunt's house for the afternoon, and as soon as we got there, she begged me to go to leave so she could play "alooone" with my aunt.  She also has no problem using the bathroom alone, she likes to go by herself.  I'm kind of at a loss about what to do here.  Has anyone else experienced something like this?  I would love some ideas or any advice in general about what you've done, or heard others have done, in this kind of situation!

Stranger Danger

  Image Source

Last week was my Mema's birthday and as per usual, Spencer, my mom, and I went to the cemetery to put flowers on her grave.  Because Spencer had ballet lessons that evening, we were meeting my mom there afterwards. En route to the cemetery, we're sitting at a stoplight when I glance up at the rear view mirror to see that Spencer is waving at someone and then she started saying "Hi, my name is Spencer."  I turn my head in that direction and see she is "conversing" with a middle aged Hispanic man in a construction van.  

I really hate stereotyping and it's something I find completely unacceptable in others, but in that moment, I thought the very worst about this middle aged construction worker man in his van.  Why was he trying to talk to my three year old daughter?  Why was he motioning for her to roll down the window?  Was he just being friendly to my overly gregarious daughter or was there something more sinister going on?  I plastered a smile on my face and through clenched teeth told Spencer not to talk to the man because he was a stranger. (This has to be the longest stoplight in the history of the world)  And that's when she said something that sent shivers down my spine:  "He's not a stranger, Mama, his face looks too happy to be a stranger!"

Maybe it was one too many episodes of Dateline, but when she told me that I about had a heart attack.  It was at this point the light changed and we drove off, only for this man to keeping driving beside us, all the while still waving to Spencer.  This went on for the next mile!  I'm pretty sure that's when my mom's uber-paranoiac voice entered my head and told me to keep driving straight, and not go towards my destination, until the van turned off the road we were on. (She's definitely seen one hundred Datelines too many)  So that's what I did and a few minutes later he turned.  Relief surged through my body.

I turned around and drove back towards the cemetery and I started replaying what had just happened.  A small part of me told myself that I had completely overreacted and another, larger, part was saying you can never be too careful.  I again tried to tell Spencer that we don't talk to strangers, only for her to keep telling me that "strangers aren't happy people and the man was such a happy person."

It can be difficult for a parent to admit they've made a serious parenting mistake.  I don't have any problem admitting that my parental skills are lacking in the eat-all-the food-on-your-plate, no running inside, sharp 8pm bedtime, and no jumping off the sofa departments.  It's easy to own up to those parental shortcomings because they're fairly insignificant in the big scheme of things.  No parent wants to think they've done, or not done, something that could result in real, actual harm to their child.  But in those few moments, I realized I had made one of those big huge mistakes and I needed to fix it, pronto.  I completely dropped the ball on teaching Spencer about Stranger Danger.

When I was a child, my mom was so totally, completely over the top about me and strangers.  On the extremely rare occasions that she'd let me out of her sight for more than a few seconds, she'd always make me repeat all of the Stranger Danger rules, plus a few of her own.  (and by child, I mean from ages 3-12!  Each year she'd add a few more.)  These were rules like don't trust someone who tells you they're a police officer if they don't have on a uniform, never tell a stranger your name or where you live, don't get in or go near a stranger's car, if someone grabs you and tells you not to say a word- start screaming "Help! Stranger!" as loudly as you can, never take candy, money or gifts from a stranger, and if a stranger asks for your help to find their lost dog, tell them no and then find the closest person you can trust. And I was always reminded that these were people who looked very nice, like they could be trusted.
 
We had code words for any potential situation that might require me to trust someone who was a stranger to me, ie., if a person I didn't know tried to pick me up from school because there was an emergency- that person had to know the right code word.  (This was in the day before schools had super strict rules about that.)  Before we would go out shopping, she'd always remind me that if we got separated, I should immediately find someone who worked at the store and if I couldn't find an employee, look for a mother with kids. 

Honestly, that's just the tip of the ice berg of my mom's safety rules.  From the ages of three to five, I was very scared of any person I didn't know and would tell anyone who tried to talk to me that I couldn't because they were a stranger- even those at my church.  After all, wasn't the danger in "nice" people?  I frequently had bad dreams about being taken away from my parents and I was always very nervous when one of them wasn't with me.  I guess the fact that I'm still here is some testament to her methodology, but at the time, it really bothered me.

Since I was never in a situation where I actually had to use any of the rules, aside from the two years of telling everyone they were a stranger, I don't know whether or not I would have in a situation that necessitated it.  I have a sneaking suspicion that I would done what she'd taught me if I felt threatened or afraid, but not if I hadn't.  After I started kindergarten, I realized that none of my friends had all of these rules and I started to think my mom was wrong.  She saw danger lurking on every corner, and as I got older, I saw the opposite.  I "yes Mom"ed everything she'd tell me, but I thought she was just being crazy over protective.

Somewhere along the line I decided that when the time came, I would do things differently when I had children.  All of those rules had just scared me and given me nightmares and I wasn't going to do that to my kid.  It's not that I haven't told Spencer about strangers, she knows she's not supposed to talk to them, I just haven't made it a real emphasis. Part of that is because I thought she was too young to really understand what it meant and part of it was that I didn't want her to be nervous and fearful the way I was, only to do a complete flop and become trusting of everyone.  I wanted to be able to teach her in a way that she'd always have a healthy respect for strangers. 

But this whole experience has taught me a lesson and it's that I can't be too careful where Spencer's safety is concerned.  I can't worry about her not being wary of strangers when she's seven because I made her too afraid of them when she was three.  Not that I now plan on making her overly fearful of strangers, but I can't let the possibility of that happening then, stop me from making sure she knows what to do to stay safe, now.  And one of the first lessons were doing is that a person can look happy, and have a happy face, but they are still a stranger.

I'd really love to know some of the different ways you all have taught your younger children about stranger safety.  Any ideas or suggestions for me?

It Came Upon an Afternoon Not So Clear

I woke up this morning feeling like a seven year old on Christmas.  After months and months of saving my money, today it would be here!  Of course, this day would have happened much sooner if not for the Great Electronic Deaths of 2009- when both my TV and my laptop had to be replaced.  (The TV lived a long happy life, unfortunately, a Great Force of Destruction...Spencer... armed with orange juice killed my laptop two weeks before Christmas. 

Since I'm about six months removed from those incidents, I can now think about them without having my blood pressure sky rocket into the stratosphere.  In fact, I can even see the bright side.  If I hadn't been saving my money for this large expenditure, I wouldn't have had the funds to replace the TV and the laptop, which, to be quite honest with you, might have been the death of me.

So these were pretty large set backs that brought me to tears more than once, but I never lost hope.  It's been 11 months since I've had a hair cut by someone other than myself, eight months since I've left the greater Richmond area to see any of my friends, eight months since I've eaten at a restaurant with anyone other than family, seven months since I've purchased a magazine, and six months since I've bought myself anything without a gift card (thank goodness for my Swagbucks and those Amazon gift cards!)

Basically, this self-deprivation has been going on too, too, too long. And just when I thought I would never have enough money, The Fates took pity on me and felt bad for all they had put me through.  I received an unexpected gift in the mail on the same day that Amazon sent me an email alert telling me that the object of my affection was going to be available at a discounted price for the next week.  The combination of those two events gave me just enough money!  Not being one to ignore "the signs," I acted with all due haste and the order was made.

These past few days I've felt just like I used to when I was a little girl counting down the days to until Santa would deliver a plethora of elfin-made toys under my tree.  I compulsively used the tracking number to check the status and location of my order and then last night "it" told me she had arrived in Richmond- which meant today would be The Day.  In true Katie Fashion, luck was not exactly on my side, and the UPS Man did not ring the doorbell until 5:05pm, just as the clouds began to darken and the rain started to gently fall. (Even though it got to Richmond LAST NIGHT!)  I signed for it, shut the door, sat my butt down right there on the floor and opened her up.

I am now the proud owner of a brand new Canon 50D, body only.  I wanted to take pictures right away, but that was not to be; I had to charge the battery. UGH!  And then life things/obligations happened- dinner and bath time for Spencer, etc., followed by the previous sprinkling of rain turning into a large thunderstorm that had to start just as the life things/obligations were over.  So I haven't had much time to learn and play around yet- in fact,  I only took 14 pictures!  But from what I have done/seen/read, I have a lot to learn and then some. While a few of the features are the same as on my Rebel Xti, there's a bunch that's new and different.  It's going to take me awhile to really get to know all of the ins and outs, but I am A-OK with that!

Now it's dark and Spencer is sleeping, okay, that's not true, she's fighting sleep with all of the strength she possess, and I'm realizing that I'm going to have to wait until tomorrow morning to really take any good pictures.  I've waited this long, I think I can make it another 10 hours, haha!  Here are a few of the pictures that I took this evening. They are SOOTC (straight out of the camera), which means there's not post-edit work. 

 

The Day I Almost Cried in Target

Friday afternoon Spencer and I took a trip to Target.  She's been pretty well behaved the last couple of times we've been, so I wasn't expecting anything different.  Everything started off fine and dandy until we got to the toddler clothing section.  You see, Spence has her own ideas about which clothes she'd like to wear and they don't usually jive with what I think she should wear.  She picks up anything and everything that's magenta and/or has sequins and/or an animal print.  If she had her way she'd be dressed like one of those New Jersey Housewives 24/7.

So after I took one of her selections from her hands and put in back on the rack, she smacked me.  I took her hands and held them, leaned in close, and whispered in my fiercest-I'm-not-messing-around whisper, "DO NOT hit me!" She looked at me and promptly yelled at the top of her lungs "DO NOT HIT ME MOMMY!"  As soon as the words left her mouth all eyes were on me to see if I had in fact hit my child in the Target toddler's clothing department.  I don't think my face turned red, I'm pretty sure all the blood drained out of my head because I felt light headed and I started stammering something like "I didn't hit her, I never hit her, she hit me..."  I pretty much wanted to disappear.

To be sure, it was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.  It was also one of those instances where I had no idea what to do to discipline Spencer.  I still don't know what I should have done.  What I did do was high tail it out of the store and I put her in time out when we got home.  I told her why she was in time out, but it was like 30 minutes after the fact, which I'm pretty sure is too long to make a connection between the "crime" and the "punishment."  Most of the time I try to learn a lesson from these types of experiences, but I'm not sure what I learned from this latest debacle. For now, I'm just glad that from my house there are like five Targets in a 15 mile radius.

Sundry

Yesterday was not the best day.  I had to take my anatomy test at nine in the morning and it was insane!  We just had a huge test three weeks ago, four chapters/175 questions, and I incorrectly assumed this one would be shorter and not as brain numbing since it was only on two chapters.  So it was not to my delight when I saw that there were 222 questions with a two hour time limit!  About five minutes before my time was up, I still had over 30 questions unanswered and I about had a meltdown.

Thankfully, my teacher took some pity on me and told me not to worry and that I could have as much time as I needed.  I guess I looked at her strangely, because she then informed me that of the 10 people who had already taken the test, the average grades were between a 40 and 50! (We take the tests by ourselves at a scheduled time within a couple of days window)  I was definitely glad to have the extra time, but it freaked me out that everyone had done so poorly.  When I was finally finished with it, my brain actually hurt.

Then I had to pick up Spencer from my mom's house and my mom was not happy that I'd been gone so long- since I had told her it would be about two hours.  I was like, are you kidding me?  It's not like I was out shopping or hanging out with friends and lost track of time- I was taking a test.  A TEST!  She didn't seem to understand the difference; I told her two hours and by the time I got back to her house it had been almost three and half hours.  So this did not put me in a good mood. Not. At. All.  And then, after my brain was telling me it needed a nap, I couldn't, as I had another test last night in my sociology class!  That one went swimmingly, but still.  Today has been much better, although I'm still kind of wiped out. 

So now that I've had my little rant/pitty party, I will move on to other things- like Easter!  This Easter was much better than last year, by about a gazillion.  Spencer didn't have any meltdowns and she was pretty happy almost the entire day.  Well, she was a little upset and confused about why the Easter Bunny didn't leave any baby bunnies for her, but she got over it, ha!  She kept telling everyone on Saturday that "A wabbit is coming!"  On Sunday morning she was very happy with her all of the treats in her basket, but she kept asking me "where's the wabbit?"  When I showed her the stuffed animal rabbit, she shook her had and looked at me like I was not the most intelligent being.  She then very adamantly told me "No, mommy, where's the weal wabbit?"  I didn't want her to have a temper tantrum before church, so I did what any good parent does and I waved the chocolate bunny in front of her and all was right again.

Then we went to church and they had an egg hunt for all the little kids.  She started off doing really well, running around and grabbing eggs left and right.  Then she saw another kid was eating a piece of candy and she it was like she had an epiphany: there were treats in the eggs!  So she plopped her bottom on the ground and began chowing down.  I let her open a few, but then I stealthily took it away and turned her in the direction of the slide, where a few of the kids were playing. You know Spencer and her love for slides, and she zoomed over to it.  I was pretty proud myself- two potential crises averted! 

After the service was over we went home so Spencer could take a nap before Easter dinner.  Oddly enough, she kept sleeping and sleeping and sleeping and didn't want to get up.  After two and half hours I gently woke her and she said, "I don't want to get up, I seepy."  That's the first, and I'm sure the last, time those words will ever come out of her mouth!  I finally managed to coax her up with assurances that "The Wabbit" had left some more surprises for her at my aunt's house.  This was a-okay with her and we made it over to my aunt's and Spence got to do another(!) egg hunt.  When dinner was over she kept trying to find more eggs, so I re-hid a few more so she could re-find them.  I was worried she was going to go into sugar shock, but as soon as we got in the car she fell right asleep.  Which was good for me, since I had a lot of studying to do.

And that was Easter!  Holidays are getting to be much more fun now that Spencer can understand what's going on and that if she's a good girl she'll get some treats/presents.  It's also probably my most effective means of behavior control, haha. Is that really wrong?

A is For Embarrassing

I promised you some Katie Embarrassment and I'm here to deliver.  It all started on Monday night when I had a test in my Sociology class.  I studied for it, but nothing like the way I work my butt off for Anatomy.  You see, I took a government sociology class at W&M, but for some reason the nursing program here doesn't count that as "real." Now I'm having to take SOC 101- which means that even though I'm learning a lot of new information, some of it is also a repeat/overlap of my last class.

So when I sat down next to my "class friend" she was feverishly looking at her 100+ note cards that she made to prepare for our test.  She asked me if I studied and I was all yeah, but not too much. I should've studied more, so who knows how I'm going to do. (Big Mistake)

We take the test and I thought it went fine; I knew most of the answers and I felt okay about it.  After everyone was finished, our teacher went to run them through the scantron machine while everyone chatted about how they thought they did.  Once again, I was all I think I did okay, not great, and there were some questions I didn't know.  I wasn't trying to lie, but no one likes that person; the one who talks about how easy the test was and how great they think they did. 

Our teacher comes back in shaking his head. Out of the 50 student in our class we had managed to make the wonderful average of a 67.  Because he's a really nice teacher, his rule is that the class average needs to be a 75; so in this case everyone would be getting an extra 8 points added to their final test grade. But we'd have to wait til the end of class to find out how we did.  (That's his trick to keep students from leaving after the test- if you're not there when he passes them back out then he counts you as absent). The lecture begins and it's kinda interesting- I'm having no problem keeping myself from daydreaming.

Now here's the thing you have to understand- people in this class don't ask questions.  Most of them just sit there, some sleep, and others play games on their indiscreetly hidden cell phones.  Also, all 50 students where in there because it was a test day- usually only about 25 show up.

And that's when I did it:  I asked a question.

The teacher looked at me and smiled.  Then he said, "That's a great question!  That's the kind of question that makes me teach instead of just talking to all of you who aren't listening."  My face began to turn pink as every pair of eyes turned toward me. (Which was pretty easy to do, as I was sitting directly in the middle of the room)  I tried to shrink in my chair as I could feel the negative vibes radiating in my direction.

It got worse.

Our teacher then said something like this: (I can't remember verbatim, but this is almost word-for-word)   

You're Katie, right? Katherine?

I shook my head, yes.   

Class, she's the only one who's yet to ask a question and guess what?  She's the only one who got an A on this test!  And she got an A before the extra points were added!

(Oh, it get's worse.)

Let me ask you a question- I have a theory about these kind of things.  Did your parents pay you for good grades? 

With my mouth agape, I should my head no.

Were your parents the "B is for Bad" type?" 

I managed to squeak out "Yes, sir."

He smiled again and said that this  just re-proved his theory about parenting styles and learning.  Something about how parents who pay their kids for good grades aren't instilling a love of learning into their child. Instead, they've turned it into a chore rather than making it an "intellectual lifelong journey." (he actually said that! "intellectual lifelong journey.") And that your attitude about learning extends into adulthood; I didn't just want a good grade- I wanted to learn something new "just for the sake of knowledge." 

At that point into this tangent I was hearing his words, but that's about it.  Then for the next few minutes he talked more about why we needed to ask more thought provoking questions. My "class friend" was glaring at me, everyone was staring at me with looks of disdain, and I was just sitting there like a deer caught in the headlights.  And we still had over an hour of class left!  Mercifully, after this 10 minute "discussion" about me, my grades, my parents, and my question, he made his way back to what he'd been talking about in the first place.  It was sweet, sweet relief when I finally realized that the stares and glares had stopped (mostly).

You're probably thinking it can't get any worse.  Of course this is me we're talking about, so you'd be wrong.  About 15 minutes before class was supposed to end, our teacher finished his lecture and started getting ready to hand back our tests.  So I'm packing up my things, trying not to draw any more attention to myself, when he calls out the first name; it's me.  As I'm making my way to the front of the room he tells me that I can go home now, but everyone else has to stay!  He wanted to talk to the rest of the class about the poor performance on the test and ways to help them improve their grades and I didn't need to stay for that.

But I'm not sitting down in the middle row this time - now I'm standing at the front of the class!  I can actually see everyone's mean looks at me- and it was everyone. I wanted to put my head down and stare at my toes, but I somehow managed to keep my head up.  After getting my test I tried to fake a smile and I said goodnight to everybody. I've never been so happy to leave a class before!

I was plum full of righteous indignation and was all "how dare they" during the 30 minute drive home. It was just me yelling out loud to no one in particular about how unfair it all was, how people are so mean, how I never should have asked him that question, how I never should've said that I didn't study very much, etc.  And then I started to get mad at myself for being mad at myself.  I didn't do anything wrong!  I made an A on a test, I asked a question about something I really wanted to know the answer to, and I received praise from my teacher.  Those aren't such bad things.

And that's how I'm choosing to think about it all right now.  It annoys me that the other people were so easily able to make me feel embarrassed about something which I should be, and am, proud.  It was an unpleasant reminder that I still care too much about what other people think.

We went over to my parent's house tonight for dinner and I was telling my dad this story. It's Wednesday night- two days after the "incident,"  but it wasn't until he pulled me in for a hug and told me how proud he was of me that I truly started to not feel that embarrassment.  If my dad is proud me, I should be proud of me.  Period. End of story.

And that's the end of this Katie Embarrassment episode.  Since next week is our spring break it'll be awhile before I have to face my classmates again.  I'm hoping that by then they'll have forgotten what happened.  I'm hoping by then I won't if they've forgotten or not.

Twinkle Twinkle- A Cute Spencer Story

Spencer and I were singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star this afternoon.  When we finished we both started clapping and she was yelling  "Yea, yea, yea!"  I gave her a hug, poked her in the belly, and said "You're my Little Star."  She pulled away and lowered her eyebrows, looking at me like I was crazy.  Then she replied, "No Mommy, I Spencer."  I burst out laughing, saying "You're not my Little Star?"

"NO!  I Spencer!  Spencer White!"

Sweet Talk

I don't like it.  Sweet talk annoys me to no end, mostly because of it's fake fakiness.  Which, unfortunately, I've had an unfortunate history of falling for many times before.  I've never been very good at doing myself, and I've certainly never called anyone I don't know "Honey" or "Sweetie."  In fact, when someone who doesn't know me calls me one of those names, my internal bull honkey antennae goes up.

So imagine my surprise when I discovered my two year old daughter has become the master of deceptive sweet talk.  It snuck up on me, and for awhile I was in denial; I tried to trick myself into believing that all of her "I love yous," "Don't crwys," and unsolicited kisses were just obvious signs of her love and appreciation.  But I've had to face the facts.

My very intuitive daughter tells me she loves me right before she's about to do something naughty.  If I get angry with her, she comes and gives me a kiss, says "Your wekome.  All better?"  She looks at me with such earnest eyes as she strokes my face, nods her head and she's all "It's k! k? ok."  Like she's telling me to back off, what she want's to do is perfectly acceptable, and I just need to chill out and let her do her thing.

In the beginning it was kinda cute, and I probably perpetuated it by being smitten with her ingenious way of manipulating me.  But now, I'm over it. Today when we are on the road, I hear her say "I love you" and as soon as the you was out of her mouth, I heard an unmistakable click.  The click of her unbuckling her car seat!  I start yelling, trying to find a place to pull over and put her back in, and she's all "It's okay, Mommy, I love you!  K? K? ok!"  My jaw was clenched, one hand on the steering wheel, the other trying to keep her in her car seat, and trying to keep any expletives from coming out of my mouth.  This wasn't the first time she's tried to get out of her car seat while I was driving, but it was the first time she's managed to unbuckle it, and I was on a highway!

We were on her way home, she needed her nap, even though she kept telling me otherwise.  So I put her down for her nap, we hug, say our I love yous and it's light out.  Only it's not. I hear another I love you, followed by a thud- indicating she had climbed out of her bed. I finally got her to sleep, but it wasn't easy.  And I've been in a bad mood since then.  Does anyone else deal with this kinda thing? 

Katie Had a Little Lamb

Yesterday, our church had the annual Christmas Pageant. It was supposed to be the Sunday before Christmas, but due to the blizzard that dropped a foot of snow on the ground, it had to be rescheduled. Spencer was a lamb in the nativity scene, although, stage fright prevented her from actually making it into the nativity. But she was a super cute lamb, if I do say so myself!

My Little Bo Peep, or I guess Spencer was her pet lamb. But that doesn't sound as cute, so I'm sticking with Little Bo Peep and not Little Bo Peep's Pet Lamb!

Maybe just a tad inappropriate for a church!





Not that she cared!

And still refusing to look at the camera.

Afterward, we had a little Christmas party, hence the costume change. Spencer LOVE, LOVE, LOVES my brother, and he told her to look at me and smile, so of course she listened to him! I took over 100 pictures yesterday, and this is the only one where she's looking at me and smiling. Oh well, at least I got this one!

Picture Page

My Snow Queen





Loved the toy solider teddy bear, but





She was afraid of Santa Claus...

Until Christmas morning, and then Mr. Claus become her new BFF when she found all of the toys waiting for her under the tree

Although, she still wasn't all too keen on looking at the camera, or keeping her tutu down

But she jumped for joy on her new trampoline

And then finally granted me a look at the camera- in this splendid picture


We had a great Christmas and New Year and I'm ready to tackle to 2010! I put myself on a computer and internet hiatus over our break so that I could just focus all my energy and attention on Spencer. It was a wonderful break, but now I'm ready to get back to bloggy business before school starts again next week.

It's Christmastime!

We had a lovely, albeit stressful, time at my aunt's house yesterday. The food was delicious and we watched Home Alone on repeat the whole day. Spencer didn't take a nap yesterday and she fell asleep on the way home at 7pm and slept the whole night through! I went to sleep almost as soon as we got home, too, and I'm feeling a tad more rejuvenated.

I'm really excited for Christmas! We watched the parade yesterday and Spencer really seemed into Santa Claus- not wailing and turning unworldly shades of red while hiding her face. So I'm taking that as a positive thing :) I've started a little of my decorating outside, a few Christmas trees and such. It takes such a long time to run all the extension cords and make sure everything is safe and secure. Once all that is done, the outdoors setup is pretty easy.

Tomorrow we're going to the PGPs for Thanksgiving with them. Hopefully I'll be able to catch up on some of my school work that MUST get done this week! I'm in full on avoidance, Scarlett O'Hara, mode where that's concerned right now- I'll think about it tomorrow.

I hope everyone had a lovely Holiday and you have a great weekend.

Show Us Your Life - The Pets

This week's Show Us How You Live blog hop is about our pets. Technically, I'm the current owner of two dogs, but in reality, it's just one. But I consider all of my parents pets as mine too, because they were all there when I was growing up and were our family dogs. (I think leaving them was the one of the hardest parts about leaving home, ha!) But I am the owner of my old gal Josie, I rescued her when I was 16.




It's still a bone of contention with everyone in my family, because they don't believe my story of how I found Josie, but it's the truth! I was driving my friend home from cheerleading practice, I pulled into her driveway and she got out. She stood there for a moment with car door open, and all of a sudden this little bundle of fur jumped in and started licking my face. She had no collar and was so sweet, so sweet.

I took her home and my parents were like, Nope, No WAY, NOT Going To Happen! You see, just a few months before I found a crate of puppies someone dropped off on the side of the ride and I brought all them, too. And it took a few weeks to find homes for all eight of them. So they were not looking to take in another stray dog. We hung up signs all around the neighborhood and posted an ad on the public access channel, but no one knew anything about her. Which turns out to be a good thing, since after we took her to the vet a week later, he told us that she's been abused. Two of her ribs were broken by someone kicking her and she'd pee on the floor whenever a man would walk by her. My parents felt so bad after hearing that, and they we'd could keep her.

I love my Josie, but she has some quirks to her! She can't stand feet, probably because of being kicked, and if you put your feet near her she runs away. Josie also doesn't know how to play. The vet said if a dog isn't exposed to playing activity when they are young, they often don't understand it when they're older. Every time we'd try and play with Josie, she'd look at as like we were torturing her. Later, when more dogs came along, she'd watch them play and try to mimic them, but we could tell she had no clue why she was shaking a stuffed animal or bringing us back a ball.



Josie is now about 13 years old and very set in her ways. I would have loved to bring her with me, but my dad grew especially attached to her when I was in college and Josie got very used to the other dogs. Whenever one of them as to leave the house for grooming or a vet appointment, they sit at the door and cry for them until they come home. So I knew I couldn't take Josie with me, it just wouldn't have been fair to her. Thankfully, we only live about about three miles away, so I get to see her all time. But it's not the same, and I miss her.

The other members of Josie's dog pack of which she is the Queen Bee:

Shadow the Scottie, and

Gus, the dog we inherited when my Mema died. Gus is six and Shadow is eight.

Spencer and I now have a Great Dane named Vivian Leigh. I've been delinquent in taking her photo recently, so I only have pictures of her from when she was smaller.

She's now 9 months old and 120 llbs, she's a very big, very sweet girl!

And those are "my" pets!

**More Show You How I Live Posts**

School Spirit Pride
Halloween Costumes
Baby Gear Favorite Dessert Recipes
Favorite Go-To Dinner Recipe
My Baby Shower
School Pictures
Favorite Vacation Spot
I Have a Child. The Jig is Up.
Here Comes the Maid Of Honor

A Few of My Favorite Things

Spencer has been going through a very verbal phase recently- she basically repeats everything she hears and is retaining about 50% of that. Which is both good and bad- good that her vocab is growing but bad that she's adding some things to it I wish she wouldn't. So here's a smattering of her current favorite phrases.

• Oh. My. Go Shhhhhhh.
• No No No No No. (And she always says 5 of them in a row)
• It's MINE, not yours
• Stop. Stay right there!
• Help- I'm stuck.
  
  

and my personal favorite: "I Love You" followed by a big kiss!

Katie/Mommy

When Spencer gets mad at me or wants my attention, she calls me Katie.

Katie

And every single time she says it I crack up and try to not let her see how she's charmed me. You see, I've called my mom by her first name ever since college. I still call her mom, but I use her first name frequently- which she hates. I don't do it out of disrespect, just habit. My freshman year of college, as everyone was getting to know each other, many of us started using our parents' first names when talking about them with each other. It was just easier and less confusing. And then somehow I began calling my mom her first name in front of her.

Each time I said it aloud, she would look at me and say something to the effect of one day my (then future) daughter would call me Katie and then I'd understand why she was mad at me. So of course the second Spencer called me Katie, I immediately called my mom at work to tell her all about it. I don't think she was as amused about it as I was- but did give me the obligatory chuckle, before telling me I was going to be that weird mom who let her daughter call her by her first name.

And no, I'm not going to "let" Spence call me Katie. I didn't call my mom "insert her name here" until I was 19 and I didn't do it in front of her until I was 21 or 22 and I definitely don't do it in front of my dad, because he gets VERY mad. But I can't help it, Spencer makes me laugh when she does things my mom warned me would one day happen. And of course I don't respond to her when she calls me Katie and I bury my head in the closest thing I can find, lest she see me trying to hide the upturning of my mouth and think it's a smile!

Has anyone else experienced this kind of thing at such a young age and what did you do about it?

How Spencer Counts to Ten

When I ask Spencer to count for me she gets very serious and squints her eyes. Then her eyelashes flutter as if to say "you are really annoying me, Mom, but I'll do it anyway so you'll leave me alone." And then this is what I hear next.

One
Twooo
Fweee
Four
Fife
Ix
Seben
EIGHT, EIGHT, EIGHT!
Nine
Tinnn
Tweve!

I'm not sure why she likes the number eight so much, why she refuses to say 11, or why she stops at 12, but I think the whole thing is pretty cute!

The Bestie's Story

This weekend has just been crazy! Sara, the bestie, called me on Friday night and told me she was heading to the hospital- her contractions were 3 minutes apart and she was in agony. A little after midnight I got a text message that said after admitting her they were sending her home. Because she had to have an emergency C-Section for Lila, insurance mandated that she had to have other one this baby. When she got to the hospital her water had yet to break, and once again, insurance mandated she be sent home because they weren't go to pay for her go through early labor at the hospital. (Insurance also doesn't pay for C-Sections prior to 7 seven days before your due date, unless it's an emergent situation- it was 9 days before her due date.)


She was miserable and really suffering, unable to sleep and having contractions on top of contractions, with little break in between. On Saturday I had to go to my 8 and 1/2 hour anatomy and physiology class so I couldn't''t be with her. I stopped by after it was over and her face was white with pain, tears in her eyes. It was really hard for me to see her like that and knowing I could do nothing about it. Well, I did bring her a yummy slurpee and her favorite Halloween gum, but what I really wanted to do was go to that hospital, tell them who my dad was, and make them admit for real! But I didn't- sanity prevailed :)


Going to class for 8 hours really takes it out of you and I was exhausted. This morning (Sunday), in the early hours, I got a text message that baby had arrived and both he and Sara were doing great. At 3:30 am, with her water still not broken, she couldn't take the pain any longer and had her husband drive her to the hospital. When they checked her in, she was six (6) cm dilated! Six cm and no water breakage- can you imagine!? She'd been having contractions 1-2 minutes apart for almost two entire days. To me, she is rock star!


They doctors and nurses had to do some serious rushing to get her doctor there and her prepped and ready to the OR (her family didn't even have time to make it!) so that they could section the baby out. He was breech, so this added a little bit more drama to the situation. This morning at 5am their son was born, 7 lbs 5 oz!

And let me tell you, he is beautiful! Such a handsome little man. Spencer and I went up there after Sara had a chance to nap- which was much needed since she hadn't slept in 48 hours. I charged my camera battery and was ready to start taking pictures when I realized my memory card wasn't in there- ugh! I'm still so mad at myself! Her son (no name until I can make sure it's okay with her) is so much bigger than Lila, who was born at only 8 months (just like Spencer) and was a teeny tiny little preemie of a baby.



When I held him I had Sara's husband take Spencer and Lila to play to the little park at the hospital grounds, as she tends to get a little jealous when she sees me holding other babies! As he was snuggled in my arms I caught a whiff of that newborn baby smell and tears sprung to my eyes. It was a reminder of how fast Spencer is growing up and how she's never going to have "that smell" again. I wish someone could bottle up newborn baby smell- I mean every new baby smells just like it- surely they could make the scent a lotion, right? Anyway, I just felt so many different emotions holding the little man, much different than with Lila, since Spencer was still technically a baby when she was born. I didn't have this ache in my heart that my little baby wasn't a baby anymore.


After we left we had to go to their house and feed their dogs- they'd been "forgotten" in the haze of pain and labor. Tomorrow, before we head back, I need to go to the store and buy him a little hat. They only ones they had left at the hospital were pink and Sara wasn't too thrilled with that. Any recommendations on where to find one? Hopefully I will be able to get some really good pictures to post for ya'll tomorrow! But for tonight, I'm just completely zonked out. Two "family" babies born in one weekend and one marathon class have completely rendered me exhausted!

** Addie Update- She is off the ventilator! This is just amazing for such a tiny little baby. She'll have to be in the hospital for at least, the very least, 2-3 months, but every tiny step forward helps. The local Quantum House (like the RMDH) is full, but they've been added to the waiting list. The hospital where they're at (the one that has the NICU best able to treat Addie) is quite a long ways from their home, so they were really hopeful that something would become available to them before Katie is discharged tomorrow. Since it looks like that might not happen, please pray that a spot will open up for them very soon! And for Katie who is recovering from her weeks stay in the hospital plus the c-section surgery. Thank you and please keep the prayers coming! **

bv

Richard Nixon's Nickname

Before telling this humdinger of a tale, I'd just like to warn you that it's, um, slightly blue in nature. Okay? Okay.

Spencer and I were outside this afternoon playing in the backyard. She was picking buttercups and I was watching her squeal in delight. My elderly next door neighbor was also outside enjoying the beautiful day underneath of her patio umbrella. She was talking on the phone and I couldn't help but hear her booming voice- my buttercups and her patio are right beside each other.
I'm helping Spencer make a bouquet of the flowers when I hear this from my 75 year old neighbor- "I only put store bought meat in my mouth, I don't put [insert Richard Nixon's nickname, otherwise known as a slang term for the male genitalia] in there."

A little old lady, just like this!

I don't think anyone would consider me a prude, I'm definitely not, but I think my eyes would have bulged out of my head if it were possible. I tried to reconcile what I just heard with the knowledge of who said it, my mind reeling- it's still reeling as I write this. I was so embarrassed that I had heard her, I know I turned eight shades of red, but at the same time, she had to know that we were there and could hear her!
My first instinct was to try and skulk away, whispering to Spencer that if she stopped picking flowers I'd give her some ice cream as soon as we got inside. I just wanted to escape as quickly as possible. Miraculously, she obliged and ran to the porch to await her Haagen Das vanilla treat. Spencer rarely does what I ask her to do the first time- she usually gauges how serious I am and then reacts accordingly- but today she listened. (Insert the Hallelujah Chorus)

The whole scene keeps popping back into mind, along with an involuntary shudder. I know that I didn't do anything wrong, but I feel like did. Although I am VERY grateful that Spencer wasn't paying attention to her, because she's turned into an excellent mimic, and that's the LAST thing I need her repeating over and over again! Can you imagine??!!
We don't have all that much interaction with this neighbor, but we see her every single day and usually say something "neighborly" to each other. Am I making too big a deal of this, because I've been known to do that before? I'm sure that I might have found it amusing had Spencer not been there, but she was there. And it was just yesterday that she ran around saying "damm it" after I said it when I stepped on one of her magnetic letters that she'd thrown on the floor. I'm pretty certain if she went around saying Richard Nixon's nickname, someone would call CPS.
Before the above events occurred, I did manage to take these super cute pictures of Spencer. I have the overwhelming need to end this post with them.