One Big Eye Roll

Dear Laney,

Yesterday, while I went to an appointment with a real doctor, your dad took you to lunch at Wheat Montana:

Mom: How was it?

Dad: I did not have a good time.

Mom: Why not?

Dad: Because there was this table of old ladies that kept staring at us like I was doing everything wrong.

Mom: That's weird. Well, what did Laney have for lunch?

Dad: A grilled cheese...and a pickle...and a strawberry smoothie...and some chips...and a bite of my sandwich.

Mom: Maybe that's why they were staring.

From The Genius Who Brought You "Buckethead"

Dear Laney,

Your dad has a knack for inventing new games for the two of you to play. His latest masterpiece?

"Fencing."

I don't know all the rules, but Fencing seems to involve the two of you wearing my mesh colanders on your heads and poking each other.

Then, like all great warriors, you have to hit the kitchen for a smoothie break.

Love,

Mom

A Change Of Heart

I do not like this thing called "snow."

I do not like it, don't you know?

It's no fun - I know - I've tried,

To barrel down an icy slide.

I do not want it on my ball.

I do not want it here at all.

I don’t like sweaters, socks or shoes

I’ve got the "I Hate Winter" blues.

Because Tattling Is Wrong.

Dear Laney,

Today, you and I went into town and had a great time at the library. You're moving so quickly these days that I can't take my eyes off you for a second. In the time it takes me to reshelve a book in the 747s (Remodeling), you're already two rows over in the 641s (Gardening and Canning).

In the Children's section, we met a little boy who wanted to read you a book about the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, which you thought was pretty cool. In fact, you thought it was so cool that you kept patting the boy until I think he started to suspect that you weren't right in the head. I wanted to explain to his mother that we live out in the boonies and never see other people, but I didn't want her to think that I'm the crazy one.

Because we both know it's really your dad.

Then, we went to the Children's Museum. Because tattling is a really terrible habit, I will just say this: When it was time to leave, ONE of us protested by screaming, then throwing herself in the middle of the Museum's entryway and banging her head on the ground in the middle of a big crowd of people waiting to enter. And then She-who-will-not-be-named was picked up by her mama, who put on a big fake smile and said "I'm so sorry you feel that way," because that sounds so much nicer than hollering, "MOVE ALONG! THERE'S NOTHING TO SEE HERE, PEOPLE!"

But I wouldn't want to name names.

Love,

Mom

If You Wonder What We Do All Day...

Dear Laney,

Something like you trying to put on my bra can kill a good thirty minutes of our afternoon. I happened to catch the start of this sequence with my camera, and I thought it was a hoot.

For any of our male relations who might be uncomfortable with seeing my undergarment in action, you will at least enjoy the soundtrack to this reel: "Who Put The Turtle In Myrtle's Girdle," as recorded by Sid King and the Five Strings in 1954. Ah, the good ol' days.

Love,

Mom

You Put Your Right Foot In. You Put Your Right Foot Out.

Send In The Antidote, Stat.

Dear Laney,

Anyone who thinks I haven't been updating the blog enough lately can hush. Hush, I say. Because here's what's been happening at our house:

After briefly visiting two day care facilities last week, you came down with a cold. Previous to this, you had not been sick a day in your life. Not so much as a sniffle. "She's a mighty fortress!," I would brag, "Just like her mama!" Seriously, I am (almost) never sick. I last took a sick day from work in the year 2000, and that was because I was working in Maine in the winter and it depressed me so much I took to my bed.

But I now realize that's it's probably less a vibrant immune system than the fact that you and I basically live in quarantine out in the boonies that has kept you so healthy. Like the Native Americans circa 1500, we were sitting ducks for smallpox. Or in this case, the common cold.

First, you came down with it, and it was awful. You had a runny nose, but you wouldn't let us pry your pacifier away, so it was a constant effort to keep your nose area goo-free. Then, you developed a cough that reminded me of the old Westerns where Doc would say "Ain't nothin' we can do - she's got the consumption."

Then, I had what I'm going to call "a weird skin thing" happen (because to detail it would completely skeeve out all of our readers who aren't nurses), and it compromised my immunity and I got the damn cold, too. So you and I have been locked in a house together for days: angry, congested, ornery and infected.

We take Tylenol on the same schedule. I take deep cleansing breaths. You throw forks at me.

I think the fact that we haven't killed each other yet bodes well for your teen years.

Love,

Mom

ADDENDUM:

FOR NURSES / HARD CORE READERS / FANS OF DERMATOLOGICAL HUMOR ONLY:

So I had a cyst on my back. Completely benign. I usually forgot it was there. Then Monday, it ruptured. Got big and red and hot and infected and it hurt to move. So this morning, I went to the walk-in clinic conveniently located in the mall so I could get some antibiotics, return a scarf to The Gap, and be on my merry way. Instead, I spun the wheel and ended up with a doctor who perhaps completed medical school by taking some online courses in between keg stands.

You know how in every romantic comedy that involves the star couple having a baby, they go to the hospital to discover that their normal doctor is out of town, but don't worry! We've got this kooky character actor and hilarity will ensue! Yeah, this was that guy.

Here's an excerpt from our appointment:

Brooke: It's hot and red and I have a fever and I'm exhausted, so I assume it's an infection.

Doctor: Well, I don't think so. If it were infected, it would be warm to the touch. And red.

Brooke: Rolls eyes. Secretly suspects her selective-hearing boss is playing the role of the doctor.

Doctor: Let me draw you a picture of what we're looking at. Gets out pad of paper. Draws a circle the size of a nickel. Crosses it out. Draws your standard extra-large egg. Scribbles it out. Finally splits the difference and settles on a circle the size of a quarter. So, you've got two choices. You can do nothing, or we can cut it out.

Brooke: Looks around the room, remembers that she is in a walk-in clinic AT THE MALL with a guy who may or may not be licensed to practice medicine outside of Panama. I think I'm going to opt to do nothing for now, and see my regular physician as soon as possible.

Doctor: Audibly sighs with relief. Yeah, I have like a 30% failure rate with this kind of thing.

Brooke: Really? It doesn't seem like it'd be difficult - like removing a conjoined twin or something...

Doctor: Shakes head, indicating that's EXACTLY how difficult it is. Well, if you change your mind, you can always come back. My assistant loves to help out with surgical things like that.

Brooke: Around 70% of the time, right?

Doctor: Laughs - you got me! Right.

So I Bought You A Doll...

Dear Laney,

I don't want to share too much about you and The Baby yet, because there will probably be a highlight reel to follow, but know this:

This doll represents the best $9 I ever spent.

Love,

Mom

Okay, I Take That Back

Dear Laney,

When I branded this "The Most Awfulest Time Of The Year," I neglected to mention its one redeeming quality: when winter rolls around, your dad puts himself in charge of The Wardrobe Committee.

Fun for me. Not so much fun for you.

Love,

Mom

First Driving Lesson

"Laney, first you put your foot on the..." HONK!

"...then you make sure you're in the right ge..." HONK!

"...and you keep your hands on the wh-" HONK! HONK!

"...and then you look both w- " HONK HONK HONK!

"...and then you slowl-" HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK!!

Dear Laney,

I think you're going to be a natural at driving. In Los Angeles.

Love,

Mom

Pinky and The Brain

Dear Laney,

There used to be a great cartoon that aired every afternoon called "Pinky and The Brain." In every episode, Brain would come up with some diabolical plan to rule the world, and Pinky... well, Pinky was just happy to be there.

You are The Brain. Gus is your Pinky.

Yesterday, I saw Gus follow you into the bathroom. "Strange," I thought. When I heard a slurping sound, I went in there to discover that you had used your opposable thumbs to lift the toilet seat for Gus so he could drink out of the toilet.

Needless to say, you two got evicted and sent back to the living room. While I had my head in the refrigerator, wondering what I was going to fix for dinner, I heard crunching. So I leaned over and saw you holding up your crayons, one at a time, and Gus. Was. Eating. Them.

Sigh.

So I figure that's +5 points for trying to be a good hostess, and -3000 points for feeding your guest colored wax with an E coli cocktail.

Love,

Mom

It's The Most Awfulest Time Of The Year

Dear Laney,

When your dad and I were dating, he would tell me how his house in Montana was beautiful and scenic and blah blah blah. But there's this thing called "lie by omission," which means somebody leaves out a fact that is so important that to NOT share it would almost qualify as a lie. I wonder if I can think of an example...

OH! I know! Here's one: your dad let me move into this house without telling me that for almost 4 months of the year, the sun doesn't hit it. Since we live nestled at the bottom of a mountain, in the winter the sun doesn't rise high enough in the sky to shine over the mountain, and we end up living in perma-dusk.

Your Grandma Sue tried to make me feel better by suggesting, "You can always climb halfway up that mountain over there to see the sun!" Ugh. The only thing I hate more than gloomy winter weather is cardio.

Today, we hit the day when the sun no longer rises above the mountain, and your Mom starts counting the days til March. I'm trying to be optimistic, but it's hard when our yard looks like this. At 3pm. In November.

I don't want to rain on your little snow parade, because you seem to LOVE the cold. You especially like chewing on fleece, so your closet is a winter's worth of treats.

Transitioning to happier news, I'm sorry I ever doubted your ability to walk because you have taken to it like a duck to water. Like a goat to grass. Like a fish to avoiding your dad.*

1 down, 124 days to go.

Love,

Mom

* Nope, those jokes never get old.

Laney Was Here

Dear Laney,

Sometimes, living with you is like living with a quirky little elf with an offbeat agenda.

Here are some things I've discovered this week:

You seem to think the DVD remote could be much much cleaner.

You'd like to store your wipes in the cooking pots, your diaper creme in the coffee mugs and assorted canned goods in your dad's dress shoes. I hope that last one isn't evidence of survivalist tendencies. You never know, this being Montana and all. Since your dad only wears dress shoes about once a year, that tuna hasn't created any kind of scheduling conflict.

We had so many cartons of your soy milk that I had to store a few on their sides. Not only did you figure out how to open the plastic lid, you also removed the foil safety seal, leaving the milk free to pour out on the ground. This one you actually confessed to, by toddling into the kitchen, pointing to the pantry and yelling AAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!! We've learned that AAAAAAAAAAAHHH means "I can't imagine how it happened, dear parents, but it would appear that there is now $3 worth of liquid on the floor of the pantry."

It's moments like this that keep us buying wine by the box.

Love,

Mom

...And I Didn't Cry

Dear Laney,

For a while now, your dad and I have been going back and forth about putting you in day care. Lately, I've been working so much that I feel like I'm not giving you the attention you deserve. And also, there's that sad little habit you have of getting around other children and staring at them like they're an alien race.

So today, you and I went and toured some local day care facilities to see what we thought. Just to dip our toes in the water. Honestly, I thought I would spend the day crying over the thought of my baby packing up and leaving home (for 4 hours a day). But here's what actually happened: you had A BALL. Without fail, we walked into a day care only to have you demand to be PUT DOWN NOW so you could go play. Mom who?

So your dad and I are going to talk about it when he comes home, and we'll keep you posted.

Love,

Mom

Serious Issues At The Polls

Dear Laney,

Your dad and I voted today, and took you with us so you could learn first-hand about civic responsibility. Sometimes, civic responsibility looks a lot like hanging out at the Frenchtown firehouse with a bunch of old ladies who want to pinch your cheeks. Sorry about that.

While your dad and I tried to choose local leaders who will help lead our state through these trying times, the biggest question on your agenda was where to put your "I Voted" sticker.

I like Option #3.

Love,

Mom