Gorillabuns

who ya gonna call?

Celia has always been an apprehensive child. When she was younger, she would shy away from newcomers, cry when overstimulated, cry when she had a stomach ache, and cry if her dad left her sight.  She's always been real big on crying and yelling. Ask anyone who attended a playgroup with us in attendance (Hi, Kim!)

When she turned 16-months-old, I carted her off to a Mother's Day out program twice a week. This program last us three weeks because she cried the entire time. I'm talking for FIVE HOURS STRAIGHT!!! I withdrew her from the program because I didn't want her to be that child that everyone hated because Lord knows, I would totally hate a child in my care that cried for FIVE HOURS STRAIGHT!!! Finally, when she was a little older, she went back and seemed to fare - okay. Truth be known, I was supremely impressed with her attitude in preschool this year. She was happy to go, made friends and generally seemed to be coming out of her shell. One would even say she was slightly outgoing. Only slightly.

The tables have turned, yet again. Usually she's been one to play in her room for hours with her Barbie's, hide markers reminants underneath her bed and store discarded juice boxes on a whim. Lately, she won't step foot into her room without someone holding her hand. She prefers playing in her sister's room and bedtime has become a total holy mess. She's afraid to sleep in her room. If you ask her why she's so afraid, she'll weave a tale of being afraid of monsters, bats, the moon and the green light on her smoke detector. While you can sweep the room of monsters, remind her bats don't live around us, cover the window from light, have fans and music blaring at all times while removing the smoke detector - nothing seems to work.  You know, I remember being afraid of my room at age five, but I had reason to be scared of being left alone while my mother took a shower or wanting to sleep on the living room floor instead of my bed. My dad had just left us and during one hot summer's evening, a man broke into our apartment.  I still remember vividly the strange and surreal details and pray no one ever has to go through that kind of trauma, especially a child. For years I was scared to turn on a light in another part of the house without someone being with me. I would pin the curtains closed at my grandparent's house because I thought someone was watching me. I know this early experience, among a slew of other freaky ones, made me the neurotic mess that I try daily to overcome.  I try to not let them stop me and at times, I feel like I've totally combated them.  I certainly don't share these occurences with my offspring.

Given my past, one would think I would be the most patient person in the world about such fears so, why is it I'm the most unsympathetic mother in the world when it comes to her freakishness with going into her room? I feel horrible with my impatience when having to sleep in her bed until she dozes off in order for her to feel secure. I'm even more impatient with the 3 am taps on my shoulder. 

Short of an exorcism for her room, I've tried everything to make her feel secure and safe. What would you do? Suck it up and be a better mother than me by playing along? or tell her to straighten up and grow a pair of balls? because basically this is your personality.

the solution

I have finally figured out how to get my youngest to dump a deuce in the bowl.

Screw M&M's and scoff at stickers! What we have here is a larger than life reward system:

I knew my years of hoarding these babies would come in handy.

What? Does she get to eat the WHOLE bunny when she completes her task? ABSOLUTELY!!! WHATEVER IT TAKES!!!

BUT WAIT! Didn't you once say, the Princess doesn't eat? Like, anything all day? Doesn't it seem, well, excessive and irresponsible to feed massive amounts of chocolate to a child for simply doing something she should have been doing more than six months ago? You would be correct on all points or you used to be correct. I do believe a pound of chocolate consumed daily would be considered food, as for the should have been doing it a long time ago question? Obviously, you don't have a clue the great lengths a passive-aggressive daughter will go to torment her mother.

and here, i thought my kid wasn't a genius

Celia is going through a phase of trying to rhyme phrases, words and sweet-ass beats. Usually, I nod and say "yep, you are getting there" and then we go on our merry way.

Today, while in the car with the whole-damn family on a trek to a Pirate birthday party, Celia was whole-heartedly working on her new mad skillz.

"Hey, guys! Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba, Buck-ET.......

Rhymes with Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa, Fuck-IT!"

WELL..... One can NOT argue with this new and amazing discovery.

I only pray to GOD, my dead grandmother didn't hear this revelation. May she NOT send a lightening bolt to strike me down due to my exemplary parenting skills.

with teeth

I'm sure you are wondering why one would humiliate one's self by posting a picture of themselves from 1980 - complete with a fashionable plaid shirt (notice the piping? I know, you can say it, it's FIERCE!), hair carefully parted down the middle with clips that seem to want to take over one's head any minute, a semi-lazy eye and Bugs Bunny teeth that could pounce on a mortal enemy with one full chomp. I post this picture for evidence sake; for proof. My children do not have a snowball's chance in hell of having perfect teeth. Not even a 1% chance, though their father happened to luck out in the void of a chrome '57 Chevy being inhumanely shoved in mouth for alignment's sake.

Why do I bring up the subject of teeth? Let me count the ways.....

To explain, I bring you exhibit a:

Not only were we blessed with a gastronomic system that plagued us with fits of terror during the first year of our life, we suffer daily with horrible allergies, eczema, a possible speech impediment my mother will not acknowledge, and as of last Friday, a major overbite - OF EPIC PROPORTIONS. Like so bad, the dentist thinks in 2-3 years, she'll have to have her jaw broken, pummeled and left on the side of the road for dead.

But at least she doesn't have cavities, right?

Didn't you know I like to live on the brighter side of life? Well, not really but I REFUSE to believe that this little girl who almost died at 17 months after a MINOR surgery is going to go under the knife again. Nope, no sir! NOT IN MY LIFETIME!

So, she better learn to tuck that shit in and pray for divine intervention to fix this problem. Muy Pronto! 'Nuff said. I refuse to believe surgery is a possibility.

Now, let the court be advised of exhibit B (or #2 for those of you counting): This kidlet has the same allergy problem with even worse eczema. She poops quite dainty rabbit turds while having a propensity to a strict vegetarian diet. She sucks her thumb down to the nub while scarring her palate to mimic the mule's jaw from "Hee Haw". To top it off, she has now been diagnosed as being tongue tied. It's no wonder she has a heart-shaped tongue. While this might be a trait widely sought after in the body beautification/modification sector, this doesn't bode well for her future dramatic pursuits.

Actually, I can handle them slicing the underbelly of her tongue to solve this minor problem - what I can't handle is a torture device being glued into her mouth to negatively modify her thumb sucking behavior. 

And to think, I was worried that my children were going to need braces further down the road of their lives. Just like their Mama. Somehow braces seem like a bag of fluffy, sweet cotton candy, consumed on a bright and sunny day.

****A new addition to my posts - A glimpse into my life: Two years ago, today.****

***Now, go title the picture.***

never send a man to do a woman's job

This item,

purchased by a father for a sick child,

would make the baby Jesus weep. pellets.

If you want a brand new pair of womens shoes, whether slingbacks or wedding shoes, the net is a great place for you to check. Sometimes the best prices on Nina shoes can be found online.