Two for flinching

So this past Saturday was a busy day. Not only did Monkey throw away her pacifier, she wiped out on the playground and is now sporting an ugly sore about an inch long where her upper lip should be. Ow.

M had Monkey at the playground and they were having a fantastic day. I was at home hanging stereo speakers. They came back in the house and Monkey was a mess. Because in a fit of brilliant quick thinking, Daddy had purchased a lime popsicle from one of the vendors in the park, letting Monkey suck on the popsicle both for distraction and to help reduce the swelling.

Once I got her into the tub to clean off the sugar (lime popsicle), dirt and blood, I could see that she had done a really good number on her lip. Poor thing. You could see shreds of skin hanging down (her inner lip) when she smiled, and even her nose had a scrape on it. Monkey doesn't understand the concept of swishing and spitting, so I couldn't get her to rinse the cuts inside her mouth out with either a salt gargle or diluted hydrogen peroxide.

We cleaned her off and put some neosporin on her outer lip and hoped for the best.

On Tuesday morning, when it was Monkey's first day back at school after Memorial Day, we walked into her daycare and were almost immediately greeted by her lead teacher, Veronica. Veronica is a nurse, and a wonderful teacher.

However, when Veronica bent down to greet Monkey (who was still strapped into her stroller at this moment in time), when she saw Monkey's face she flinched.

It's never good when a nurse flinches when looking at a wound.

Because it is her upper lip, which gets a lot of use with all the singing, talking, yelling, eating, drinking and smiling that Monkey does, the scab keeps splitting open and bleeding. It isn't infected, and it does keep getting better, but still - even today on the way to school I got a double-take from some grandma who leaned in close to look at Monkey and babble babytalk.

I think I should take a picture of her, all beat up. (Oh, and she has a bright red bruise/hickey like mark on her jawline, too. Who knows how she got that one!). I usually take photos of Monkey that try to capture her breathtaking beauty (yes, I am biased. It's my right, dammnit!). But this one I should preserve as well - its proof that our little girl is a trooper. She can tangle with the pavement and still keep on going.

Out of the mouth of babes

Out of the mouth of babes come the darndest things! Also usually known as the truth...

So last night we had a severe thunderstorm. Actually, I don't even know if it qualifies as that, since it was maybe 5 minutes long. But it was the most severe rain I've been in for decades. Rain coming down so hard you can't see. Wind whipping the rain, and dirt, and whatever else it can fling into the air, sideways. Cranes, signs, lampposts and trees creaking in the wind and whipping back and forth. Simultaneous thunder and lightening. And then, after 5 minutes, it was gone. Poof.

Well, during those choice 5 minutes to be outside, I was walking Monkey back to the apartment in her stroller. In a white linen suit. Nice.

We were walking on the west and north side of the Columbia University campus, which meant that there were no stores to duck into, no doors to take refuge behind - it was mostly walls and locked doors. So when the rain struck, we ran. Or rather, I ran while Monkey cried in her stoller and yelped with fear when the lightening struck.

We took some refuge in Teacher's College, but honestly by that point I was so soaked that it was better to just keep going.

So we got to our building, and the rain magically stopped. Our neighbors came out and kind of giggled at the sight of me. I let Monkey out of her stroller, and she took one look at me and said "uh oh" with a frown.

Sure enough, not only had my mascara run all down my face, it had dripped onto my white linen suit. I was a wreck! Monkey kept saying "uh oh" until we got upstairs and I washed off my melted face.

God bless our garbageman! He's a regular little mother's helper....

This past weekend was a momentous one. Not only did M and I install (incorrectly, and then correctly) our new set of surround sound speakers without swearing or getting mad at each other, but Monkey THREW AWAY HER PACIFIER!

Let me repeat myself. Monkey willingly threw away her pacifier. It is gone. As in literally in the garbage, in the garbage truck, now in some godforsaken landfill...the point is, it is GONE FOREVER. Yes, my abuse of caps indicates how proud I am of my little girl. Ahem - my big girl.

Monkey has been addicted to the paci (aka the "please") for a while now. She was doing really well without it, and then got that nasty upper respiratory infection that required us to gas her with a mask three times a day. She (and we) were so traumatized by this that we let her have the pacifier whenever she asked for it, and lately, she asked for it all of the time. Literally it would be the first thing she asked for when she woke up. Before mommy, before milk....it was the please. And, since she wanted it in her mouth all the time while talking, it had to go. We didn't want her language to be delayed because she was talking around a pacifier.

Last Friday M and I went into Monkey's montessori daycare for a meeting on how to ditch the paci. We met with her lead teacher, Veronica, who told us this wonderful crazy story about how Roman (Monkey's favorite classmate) had given his pacifiers to the garbageman, and since he's obsessed with garbage trucks this worked brilliantly for him. I thought it was a great story, but M and I were going to just have Monkey collect and throw all her pacis into the garbage, then bring the garbage to the basement. No showy theatrics with the garbage truck for us. And besides, we didn't know what the garbage collection schedule was.

We'd been telling Monkey that her paci was going to go away for a while now, so this weekend wasn't a surprise. She's not a fan of surprises, and likes to know what is going on - routine is a toddler's friend, I tell you.

Saturday morning Monkey asked for a bagel for breakfast (I told you she's a New Yorker!). There weren't any in the apartment, so I threw on a sweatshirt and baseball (yes, Yankees) cap and out we went to the deli. With a paci.

On the way back, I noticed that the garbage was being collected. I decided what the hell - let's go for it!

We walked up to one of the garbagemen, and asked if we could throw away her pacifier. The guy must have kids, because he gave me a wide smile and said "whatever you need...". They even paused what they were doing to accomodate us.

Monkey gave the pacifier to the garbageman and said "bye bye paci", he made a big show of throwing it into the back of the garbage truck, and then they flipped the switch and crushed the garbage in the back! Something crunchy was in there because it made a lot of noise and splinters came flying out. It was awesome. I was SO proud of her! And god bless those garbagemen, pausing in their thankless job to help us out. They were wonderful.

We went upstairs and collected the rest of her pacifiers with daddy's help. Each time she threw one in the garbage bag we whooped for joy and clapped, and told her what a big girl she is. Then we ran back downstairs and got lucky enough to find another truck going by. Monkey threw the bag in the back of the truck and we were done!

She's asked for it since, but each time we remind her that she threw them away. And you know what? She's been just fine. My little girl is such a big girl!

Summer lovin', happened so fast.....

Tell me more, tell me more, did he drive a nice car?

This past weekend we went to San Juan, PR, and really enjoyed ourselves! M was there for a work conference, with colleagues in from around the world. Monkey and I just went for the sand and the surf....and the pina coladas! We stayed at the Caribe Hilton, where the pina colada was invented. And yes, there was a swim up bar. (no, sadly, we did not take advantage of that option....Monkey declined to get in the pool. More on that later.)

No, I don't have a tan. My dad's nose was just carved up to remove skin cancer, so I was blanketed in sunblock. Monkey, too. I've had several colleagues at work ask me when I'm leaving for San Juan....and look puzzled when I explain I'm back already. What, they thought this pale white skin would suddenly be a deep bronze? Sheesh. I was too busy watching Monkey to even turn my face to the sun 99% of the time!!!

The Caribe was lovely. There were several pools, including one for kids only two feet deep. You'd think that we would have spent all of our time there, right? Nope. Every time we got close to the pool, tons of kids would swim over, with much splashing and laughter, and holler "hola bambina!" and Monkey would say "no!" and walk away. I think the water was too cold and the commotion was too much. So no pool for us.

Thankfully, the Caribe had a lovely beach. The sand wasn't the superfine sand that looks like confectioner's sugar, but it was still heaven on earth as far as Monkey was concerned. We spent quality time building and tearing down sand castles, and throwing rocks into the ocean (Monkey liked the splashing). They had clearly engineered the beach to be super-friendly for kids, as the incline was such that you would be 15 feet out in the water before it was even mid-thigh....so Monkey could walk pretty far in, without getting in over her head. And, while there were waves, they were really gentle and enjoyable.

At first, I didn't think Monkey would go in the ocean. I thought we'd be destined to spend the entire time playing in the sand. And that would have been ok. Just not as much fun.

But, then Joey showed up. Dun dun dun! Joey F, a gorgeous Italian-American 10 year old, the son of one of M's colleagues. Joey was all that and a bag of chips, as far as Monkey was concerned. She had a bona fide crush on him! A graceful 10 year old, Joey was fun and funny. He'd put sand and seaweed on his head to make Monkey laugh. And once he went into the ocean? Well, in went Monkey!

Every time Joey showed up for the entire weekend, Monkey's face would break out into this gigantic smile. She'd chant his name and ask where he went, when he swam away. I kept humming the "Summer lovin'" song from Grease in my head as I watched their interaction.

I don't know how much of this vacation Monkey will remember. And I don't really have any pictures, since M was busy which meant I was on my own at the beach - not a good time to be trying to handle an expensive camera...when your toddler is heading into the ocean and doesn't know how to swim! But, what I will remember is the pure joy that Monkey exhibited when Joey came around, and how much fun she had tumbling in the sand and playing in the ocean. Pure heaven.

My blankie, my water, AND.....

I have noticed a new, somewhat odd yet endearing, trait of Monkey developing over the past few weeks.

It used to be that (most nights, but not all) she would cry and fuss when we put her into her crib for bedtime. She fights bedtime SO fiercely - there are other things to do Mama! Daddy, let's read at least 10 more books! You know the drill.

But lately, she has started asking for specific items to accompany her to bed.

1.) The blankie. Natch. But this has always been so, and is nothing new to report.
2.) Her sippy cup. Ok, I get this. She got used to having it in her crib just in case she wakes up thirsty at night. I've no empirical evidence that she's ever used it this way - but it is reasonable to want it handy.
3.) And this is where it gets interesting. She wants books. And not just one, but two or three or more. I get the feeling she would take as many books as I would give her! She asks for them by name. These are specific books that she wants to have by her side as she drifts of to sleep!

And after I close the door, she flicks on the light (I've written about this before) and I swear this is true - she reads to herself, outloud! Now, what she is mumbling and what is on the page might be wholly unrelated. But still, how crazy cute is that?

I feel like I should get her a flashlight, and show her how to read under the covers like I did as a kid. Yup, this apple didn't fall far from the tree.

To sleep, perchance to dream...

Monkey had an extra-early start this morning. About 4:55am she was restless in her crib, and by 5:05am she was crying for milk. (By the way, this is a big deal - asking for "milk" instead of a bottle! She now drinks all of her milk out of a real cup. Laundry has increased, but she's a big girl now!)

I got up to wrangle her, and M got the milk heated in the kitchen. After Monkey gulped down the milk I brought her back to her room and snuggled into her rocking chair/glider with her under her blankie, hoping she'd go back to sleep. A few times I tried to put her into her crib, but she fussed so I just ended up holding her.

I'm exhausted, because I didn't go back to sleep. But do you know what I got to see? I got to see Monkey dreaming.

She was in my arms, snuggled against me, and she started giggling - in her sleep! She was smiling and giggling, at whatever dream was flitting across her retinas....

Tonight I'll regret being up so early, as I will be extra tired. But I wouldn't have missed watching Monkey dreaming for anything in the world.

We always say she's a happy kid. She even dreams happy. I like that.

A rose by any other name

So yesterday was mother's day. My second mother's day as a mom. And I loved it.

M and I had a lovely day with Monkey. We brunched at Community Food & Juice, rolled in the verdant green grass, admired flowers, read books, and went to Monkey's first-ever street fair. She loved it! I have some great photos of Monkey eating Italian Ice and roasted corn on the cob. Mmmm, street fair food is the best.

But what I really want to write about is Monkey's name for me. When she was just learning to talk, she called me Mama. Which I adore. It's so sweet, so Monkey. And it was never what I called myself when talking to her - I'd always say "hand the ball to Mommy" purely out of habit, I guess because that is what I called my mom when I was little? Who knows. But I always treasured Monkey's chosen word for me. It seemed, yes, this is sappy, special.

And now, lately, she has started calling me Mommy. And for whatever reason, it almost breaks my heart. Because my little girl is growing up. She's shedding her babyish ways, right in front of me, and with each utterance of the word "mommy" (or complex phrase like "where did it {squirrel} go?") she gets a bit older, a bit wiser, a bit more independent. And I am so proud of her.

But still, my heart aches to be called Mama.

Time Out

So Monkey is 21 months old now, and she throws temper tantrums and hits when she is mad. So, we give her time outs.

Time outs are conducted in the big arm chair in the living room. No books or toys are allowed, and the tv can't be on. After all, she's supposed to sit there and not have fun!

When she does something bad, like getting sulky when refused crack cocaine sprinkled on her cheerios and trying to hit me, (kidding about the drugs, but not about her taking a swipe at me), her behavior prompts an immediate response. I would tell her no, scoop her up into my arms, scold her again, and tell her she is going to get a time out. Usually this precipitates much crying and writhing in my arms, she'll say sorry, act a little sulky, but then cheer right up and stop the bad behavior. And, when she was put into the time out chair, she'd cry and cry and cry. In general, this approach was working. The time out chair was something she wanted to avoid!

So, we moved onto using the time out chair as a threat. If Monkey was drawing with crayon on the floor we'd tell her no, and ask her if she wanted a time out. She'd say no, and stop drawing on the floor.

Unfortunately for us, she has now decided that she LIKES the time out chair. When asked if she'd like a time out (posed as a threat), she stops crying, nods, and says "yesth!" And when put into the time out chair, she rolls around on her back, wiggles her feet in the air, sings and generally enjoys herself.

She's killing me! Outwitted by a 21 month old.

Pigtails

Monkey has some long-ass hair. It is now so long that if her diaper is hiked up on her back a little bit too far? Her hair can tuck into it. Yes, it really is THAT long. (and yes, photos will get on here...eventually. been busy!)

Most days I put her hair into pigtails, with a ribbon barrette in the front to keep the wispies out of her eyes.

Lately, Monkey has started playing with her pigtails. She'll twirl them around and around with her hands, kind of absent-mindedly, which is awfully cute.

Until you realize that her hands are covered in garlic tomato spaghetti sauce. Yum.

Pantless Zombies

This morning, as I left Monkey's school, I happend to see one of Monkey's favorite classmates - Roman - arriving at school with his mom. Roman is the single-most adorable little boy in her classroom, and this is saying something, as the other little boys really give him a run for the money in cuteness.

I confess that I have a special place in my heart for Roman because on the days that I drop Monkey off and he's already there? When I say bye to Monkey? He'll run to the door and say "bye bye" to me.....even if Monkey is ignoring me! You know, because she's busy and stuff. As if! And yes, I have a magic crystal ball and just witnessed my daughter when she's 13. Oy. Payback's a bitch. Sorry mom and dad! Really! I repent!

But this morning, Roman was curled into a small ball in his stroller, literally balled up, and sound asleep. I commented to his mom that he looked adorable. And her response? "This is stress."

In response to my puzzled look she confessed that he had been throwing temper tantrums this morning, and as a result, he cried most of the subway ride there and thoroughly exhausted himself. Awww, poor guy.

I asked what the tantrum was about, because normally Roman is the "good kid" in the class - the one the teachers always use when explaining role model behavior to the other parents (of non role-model children, like my own insane toddler....).

So, apparently Roman refused to put his pants on this morning, and wanted to come to school in a t-shirt, diaper, shoes and socks. But NO pants.

It was all I could do to keep from bursting into laughter. And think that if this was a zombie movie, Monkey would be Zombie #1...you know, the first one infected with the virus, that runs around like mad biting everyone else and infecting them.

What a great B movie title: Attack of the Pantless Zombies!

Pantless in America

Monkey is developing an attitude about what clothing is allowed upon her person. She has VERY strong opinions about her shoes, shirts, socks and pants.

Matter of fact, she has strong opinions about MY clothing, too - this morning she cried grievously when I declined to wear my Sock Monkey t-shirt under my suit. (Full disclosure - if the sock monkey had been sufficiently covered I would have worn it, just to make her happy...). And yes, I have a sock monkey tshirt by Paul Frank - what, you don't?

I've written about her obsession with her feet...how she screams as if I am branding her feet with hot irons when I try to put her converse hightops on? How she LURVES the ever-so-slightly-tacky hot-pink and silver lame sneakers she picked out? And how she likes to take her socks off and inspect for toe lint? Yeah, I've mentioned that before.

What is new, however, is her thing with her pants. Lately, she's taken to...taking them off. I am choosing to think of this as a good thing - it is one of the signs that tells us she's moving towards potty training. It is an indication of her maturity and ability to take care of herself. Yadda, yadda. Unfortunately, it also means that sometimes, things get interesting.

Like this past Sunday. M put Monkey down for a nap, and she wasn't tired ONE BIT. She'd napped for 35 minutes in the car, when we drove back from brunch in Brooklyn with our friend Kaster. So when he put her down to continue her nap, she declined. And cried in her crib for a good 30 minutes. She cried and muttered and yelled "HI!" and "HELLO!", which are her code-words for get my ass out of this crib now! (That's how she summons us in the morning when she wakes - pretty funny).

I was out for a run, so M finally broke down and went to see what Monkey was up to....and discovered her in her crib, sans pants. Also sans diaper! And.....bien sur mes amies, she'd peed all over her crib. Nice. By the time I got back, Monkey was in clean clothing and the crib was remade, so I missed this insanity. (M is such a rock star dad!)

But then, when I put her down for nap attempt #2? And listened to her cry, talk to her stuffed animals, and yell "HI!" and "HELLO!" for another 30 minutes? I went back into her room and discovered her crying "PANTS!" repeatedly. Why? Because she had taken them off, flung them to the floor, and now she wanted them back. I had to struggle not to giggle...she looked so forlorn, crying for her beloved pants!

At least I'm not the only one with an insane toddler obsessed with her pants...check out my friend Renee's blog for a great laugh! Apparently there is a wave of pantless toddlers sweeping the nation...so far it's hit the East Coast and the Midwest....Mountain States and West Coast? Watch out, you're next for the Pantless in American brigade of insane toddlers!

Card-carrying Republican? OH NO

Tonight Monkey M and I were hanging out in the living room playing with blocks. After Monkey had dismantled our towers eight gazillion times, her attention wandered.

She moved into her corner of toys, and after strewing things about, came back to where I was and sat down. In her arms was the Fat Cat "kitty hoot" catnip doll of Newt Gingrich. Yes, Newt Gingrich. (here, go to http://www.fatcatinc.com/html_site/cats.shtml and search for Newt - he's "retired" but you can still see the image). We bought it years ago and got a lot of pleasure (and laughter) out of the fact that our cat, Ollie, was kicking Newt's ass. We are proud of our card-carrying Democrat of a cat.

So Monkey sat down with Newt. And then, unprompted, she brought Newt up to her chest and patted him, like a baby.

I think the neighbors heard M, practically jumping out of his skin to say "NO".....

I think it is funny that M was disturbed by her behavior not because she was cuddling a 7 or 8 year old chewed up cat toy (that at one point in time turned green with catnip juice, Ollie drooled on it so much), but that.....she hugged a Republican. Snort.

Oh, such a sweet girl

Sometimes Monkey is a hellion. And the terrible two tantrums are upon us with full force and brutality.

But other times? She is so sweet you get a cavity just looking at her!

Two nights ago I was reading to her before bed, and it was very important that she have Olivia (the Pig), Elmo, Taz (her Tasmanian devil), and Kitty (a kitty beanie baby) with her. In fact, she cried until M gave her each of these treasured friends to hold.

After a sniffle or two, she cheered up and starting hugging each of these four friends. And then, she asked me to give each of them a kiss. I have to admit, that pretending to plant a juicy kiss on Elmo, Olivia, et al made me giggle. But it was so sweet.

And now, lately, Monkey has started to use the word "pretty." When I put some leggings with lace around the ankles on her the other day? She pointed to the lace and said "pretty." Her favorite sippy cup (a vibrant jeweltone red) is also deemed pretty. Flowers are pretty.

Now, if I could just convince her that her pink and silver lame shoes weren't pretty, we'd be set...........