and then there were four…

She awoke to the sight of the birthday cake on the kitchen table. She had been given a small slice the night before, but she wanted more. She ate half of her banana (her breakfast of choice these days) and drank her milk.

“I’m hungry, mama.”
“You can finish your banana, and then we’ll see if you are still hungry.”
“But I don’t want my banana, I want cake.”
“Cake is not for breakfast. If you eat your lunch you can have some.”

But they were all lies. Mama ate cake for breakfast, hidden from view, and felt a little guilty about it, but knew that cake was no good for growing girls (or mamas who are still trying to lose the baby weight). Unfortunately, the girl was too smart for Mama, and she saw her sneak a bite.

“I want a bite too, mama.”
What could mama do? She gave her a small bite, promising more if she ate all of her lunch later. Then Mama vowed not to eat any more until then because that was just mean.
Lunchtime came, and the little girl was asked if she wanted ham and cheese for lunch.
“No, I want cake.”
“Cake is not for lunch, it is for after you eat your lunch.”
Still, mama had to admire her chutzpah, and chuckled to herself as she spooned a couple of green beans on her plate.

The little girl played with her cheese, ate her olives and half of her ham. But mama knew she was playing with her food and had no intention of eating it. After thirty minutes of this, the little girl claimed she wanted to get down.

“Okay, you can get down, but you didn’t finish your lunch, so you know what that means.”
The little girl nodded solemnly, and claimed she wanted to climb out of her chair. Mama did not heed this request, and picked her up, which caused the little girl to scream and thrash a bit, saying (over and over and over again):
“But I want to get out myself, but I want to get out myself.”
Mama ignored her, changed her diaper and clothes and told the little girl she needed to take deep breaths, calm down and tell her what she was feeling.

“I-I-I-I w-w-w-waaannna go back and f-f-f-finish e-e-e-eating so I can get c-c-c-cakeee” She said between sobs.

Oh how mama’s heart broke. She was not strong enough some days for this beautiful brown eyed girl who tugged at her heartstrings with enough force to rip it out of her chest.

“Okay, you can go finish your lunch, but you need to calm down.”
The little girl sniffed, wiped her big brown eyes and her snotty nose and nodded. Mama watched her tear out of her room, back into the kitchen and sit in her chair, seemingly to psych herself into finishing the 5 green beans and one piece of ham still before her.

Mama was sitting out of view of the little girl, and realized after a few moments that it was quiet. TOO quiet. Sneaking a peek at her little girl, mama had to stifle laughter.

Arm on table, head down, her little girl was asleep. Mama tried to gently pick her up to take her to bed, the little girl awoke and cried “I want to finish!”

Mama smiled and gave her little face a kiss: “You did a good job, baby. You can have a piece of cake when you wake up from your nap.”

The little girl sleepily nodded and lay her head on mama’s shoulder.

I was able to take a shower this morning.
I’m never able to shower in the mornings. It was nice.

My (almost) 2 1/2 year old said “Happy Birthday Mama” and gave me the biggest bear hug an (almost) 2 1/2 year old can give.

Sophia took a longer-than-usual nap this morning, allowing me to rest after getting up in the middle of the night with her teething, feverish butt.

Bill got off of work early, which means I was able to get ready for dinner without interruptions. Until, that is, Olivia came in and handed me a card that she had written MOM on as interpreted by her. It looked like this: lll o lll: she can’t close up her “M”s yet, but still, very impressive for an (almost) 2 1/2 year old. Inside she had drawn a picture of me with balloons all around me, and then signed her name, drawing an O, L, I, V, I, and an A but not in that order. Sophia lent her hand and Bill had her scribble soft little scribbles around Olivia’s. It was absolutely the best gift I have ever gotten. It made me melt into a puddle of Natalie. I shall treasure it always–even if the card did have a fart joke on it (courtesy of the card company and Bill’s wicked sense of humor).

We went to an early dinner at my favorite Sushi restaurant here in town. I tried a new roll that was beautiful, but something I probably won’t be eating again. But, I like trying new things, and I’m glad I did.

We came back home and Bill had bought me a beautiful (and tasty) red velvet cake, PLUS he had gotten candles, because I had promised Olivia she could help me blow mine out and he remembered (he’s awesome). Olivia sang “Happy Birthday” with daddy’s help and then we blew out the candles.

My birthday rocked.

So, I’m feeling a bit better. I’m positive that tomorrow, barring any relapse in symptoms, I will be well enough to enjoy the sushi & cake.

That doesn’t mean the rest of the gang will be.

I was going on and on about how I didn’t want to be sick, so when Sophia woke up at 4 a.m. with a 100.8 degree fever I thought “didn’t see this one coming.” Luckily, if you didn’t know she had a fever, you wouldn’t have a clue she was ill. She is still very happy and cheery, fussy at the appropriate, normal times and doesn’t seem too bothered by the fever. I am wondering if she’s teething and that’s what has caused the fever. Soon after she pooped this morning, her temperature went down (coincidence?). Then it went back up…then down, and now it is sitting at 99.8. Much more reasonable and provided it doesn’t spike, I hope to not spend my birthday at the pediatrician’s office. But, if I do, that’s okay too.

I’m still getting a cake ;o)

Not again. I am hoping that these are just allergies and this horrific sore throat/ear/draining sinus deal will not hinder my ability to go eat sushi and cake.

I don’t ask for much.

I already got my kickass birthday present from Bill earlier this month (in black). I probably should have held out and waited until my actual birthday, because now I’ll have nothing to open and that made me mope around the house for a few moments until I realized that at (almost) 28, I should grow up (but only a little). Besides my mom said she had something to send me :o)

I’ve got 39 hours: I WILL NOT be sick on my birthday…Allergies, actual cold, I don’t give a PHUUUCKKKK–“I must break you.”*

I WILL NOT be sick on my birthday.

If I say it enough, it’ll come true, right?

*Yes, I realize that Ivan Drago got knocked out by Rocky, but that line is classic.

The winds are blowing. Bill and I are both having major allergy attacks. I feel like crap. I want a cheeseburger. I worked out for 45 minutes today, while feeling crappy. That counts for something, right?

Sophia engaged in hand-to-hand combat against her evil nemesis, the reflection in the glass door. I thought Sophia would win, until she kept banging her head on the glass, so I intervened. I’ve determined it was a draw.

Olivia and I engaged in the battle of naptime, and while it took an hour, I finally came through, triumphant. I don’t understand why she bucks it every day (and night). She knows what’s coming. Why oh why won’t she just submit to my will??? Ha!

Alas, my daughters are as fiercely independent and strong-willed as their mama. I suppose there are worse things. Like these allergies. They suck.

For now, I’m going with Me Likey for the “feature” name. It’s less crass, obvious enough without being bland, and goofy. Like me.

So, for today’s Me Likey, I give you a variation of this recipe because when do I not change stuff around?

Here’s what I did:

• 3 cups penne pasta
• 1/4 cup butter
• 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
• 1 3/4 cups milk
• 2 cups shredded Cheddar cheese
• 1 cup cream cheese
• 1/4 cup chicken broth
• 3 tablespoons spicy brown mustard
• 3 pinches ground nutmeg
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 2 cups chopped cooked chicken
• 1/2 cup Italian Breadcrumbs
• 2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
• 2 teaspoons butter, melted

Follow the same instructions. Originally I had used Panko breadcrumbs, but I am going to try it with Italian when I make it again. I also am going to add some garlic and maybe some onion powder, because it needed an extra oomph and we think that might do it. You could also play around with what type of cheese you used, though I would probably stay away from your more bitter cheeses, and keep it in the same general arena as cheddar, but it is basically a macaroni and cheese with chicken. It’s freaking good. Olivia ate it and she normally dislikes pasta (we’re still not sure why).

I am also going to tell you about Old Navy’s big baby & toddler sale going on right now (in store only, I think). Ya’ll know how thrifty I am, so you know this has to be good if I am buying stuff brand new. Almost all of their baby stuff (anything under 2T I think), is $5. I got Sophia this sundress and a cute little gingham summer top for $5 each. She didn’t need much else, since I have all of Olivia’s hand-me-downs and other stuff I found on consignment/thrift, but if you are having a baby or know someone who is having one, this is a terrific deal. Olivia chose three different summer dresses (she got the that last one in different shades of blue–which is apparently sold out online) for $10 apiece. I justified spending that much on summer dresses because Sophia will hopefully also be able to wear them one day. I promise, Old Navy isn’t paying me to tell you this–it was just a pretty good deal. Some of their quality has gone down, but for kids clothes, you can’t beat those sale prices.

As a quick aside: I went to the GAP outlet this weekend and found a cute little striped shirt for Sophia marked down from close to $20 to $9. I scoff at that price: I bought the same damn shirt in January from the thrift store—for $1, and you couldn’t tell it had been worn ( it couldn’t have been very old–it’s still in the outlet).

So yeah. Me likey.

Sophia has been scooting around here for the past month and a half, looking like she’s got two broken legs, dragging them around behind her. It’s been a very effective method of travel for her, she gets to where she wants to go. She would also get up on her hands and knees, rocking back and forth, but then flopping to her belly and scooting.

However, for about a week, she’s been rocking back and forth and taking a couple of (steps? knees?) forward movements in a crawl. I would get so excited, but she never did more than one or two before flopping to her belly.

“That doesn’t count, does it?” I kept asking Bill. He says he thinks it counts as soon as she started belly scooting. I disagree. So today, when she crawled halfway across the living room, I decided that it was official. She’s a crawler.

She’s been getting into everything for the past month and a half, so nothing is changing: she’s just getting there faster.

I’m guilty of oversharing. I’ve gotten better as time goes by, but I was always one who laid it all out there for everyone to see. Don’t get me wrong, everyone has their secrets, as they should, but for the most part, I am an open book.

One of the main reasons for this is because of how my father’s illness was treated. The situation always seemed to be hushed, the truth swept under the rug because it was awkward and uncomfortable to talk about. Besides, you just don’t talk about such things in mixed company. I don’t blame them for being that way. I understand.

But I can’t be that way. I always felt that had we been more open about the truth, as uncomfortable as it was, we would have been better able to work on it, fix it, make it easier for the world to understand. Then maybe I wouldn’t be sitting her, typing about how I still haven’t figured out my feelings on my father’s death…Over 8 months later.

He really was an enigma to me. Which means, ultimately, half of who I am is a mystery. I think part of what bothers me is that it was such a fucking waste. That gets thrown around a lot, whenever someone dies young. My dad wasn’t young, but he wasn’t old and he could have had a lot of years ahead of him. I also feel like he just took 10 years to die, because what he was doing after his attempted suicide certainly wasn’t living. I get really angry, but then feel relief at the same time.

Angry because I was never able to really tell him how I felt, but relieved I’ll never have to tell him. Angry that he hurt me and my sister and was never ever held accountable for it, but relief that he will never have the opportunity to apologize. Angry because he will never know his granddaughters, but really relieved that he will never know his granddaughters. Because now I don’t have to explain to them what’s wrong with him. Although on the flip side, when they ask, I’ll have to explain anyway (one day).

I’m angry that people treated us like trash because of something we had no fucking control over. Angry that they looked down on my mother when she didn’t create me out of thin air. Just fucking angry.

But I can’t let that bring me down. I can’t wallow in the deep end of poor-pitiful me. I’m an adult and should have moved on. It’s hard to reconcile, though. No matter how many times I try to remember that what has happened to me has made me who I am, I still get angry because no child should have to deal with that. Then, I just get sad.

I am beginning to wonder if I am a Kip. I don’t like being phased out of people’s lives for no reason. If I had an explanation, I think I would be able to move on and think of the person and our friendship fondly. When you ass me out for no reason it just eats at me.

I begin to wonder: did I do something that pissed them off? If so, what? Do they dislike me because of A. or B.?

That’s just lame, and no one should be worth that amount of time and energy. But I’ll admit there are a few of you who constantly refuse to return messages, or send any on your own. I’m not asking for anything major. A “hey, I’m alive” will suffice. Yet I continue to lament on it because we were such good friends and I miss that.

I understand: I’m married, I have two kids, it’s a bit different.

But, I’m still me. The same Natalie, with all of her faults and qualities you came to overlook and/or adore.

It’s been awhile, but I’m always here. I’m loyal like that.

I have never wanted to hurt a child. Never had a passing thought of hurting a small person.

Until today.

Now, I don’t literally mean I wanted to hurt her, but I wanted to “yank a knot” in her, as my mama would say.

We went to the park today, and both girls were swinging when the mean girl entered. She was somewhere between 4 and 5, clutching a dirty blanket that used to be white, but was now disgusting dishwater gray. Her nanny was behind her, dragging a plastic wagon filled with crap. The nanny stopped and decided to set up “camp” close to the entrance.

“MARIA! I DON’T WANT TO GO THERE, I WANT TO GO OVER HERE!” she screamed at this woman who was much older than me.

Maria sheepishly drug the wagon to another part of the park and sat on the retaining wall while the mean girl took out her shovels and pails and sat in the sand, flinging sand all over the place, demanding Maria play with her.

I ignored her, but Olivia was obviously very interested in this force of nature that had suddenly entered her world.

“I want to go slide, please mama.” (How can you say no to that?)

Sophia, being too young to slide, and being in a very clingy mood today, sat perched on my hip as Olivia slid down the smallest slide over and over again (“I want to do it AGAIN, mama!”). The mean girl, apparently finished flinging sand at Maria, decided she was going to slide down the biggest spiral slide.

“What is that girl doing, mama?” Olivia asked me while the girl squealed down the slide.

“She’s sliding, baby.”

“I want to slide down that slide!”

“Baby, you aren’t quite big enough to go down the big slide by yourself. You got really scared last time, so you’ll have to wait until Daddy comes to the park with us so he can go on it with you.”

This seemed to pacify her. However, the mean girl had heard our conversation.

“I’m going to go down the slide, because it is SOOO MUCH FUN!” the mean girl says extremely loudly, looking in our direction. And off she goes, squealing and saying how much fun the slide was.

Olivia was oblivious to what the mean girl was doing, but I knew. I’ve been around way too long to not know what her little passive aggressive ass was doing, and it was MEAN.

The girl came over to where Olivia was playing and had what looked to be a business card and a pen. “Hmm, this is interesting.” she said and looked at us. I didn’t acknowledge her, but Olivia went closer to her. I decided to be the adult and said “Go ahead and say hi to the girl, Olivia.”

“HI!” Olivia says to the little girl.

That little witch looked at Olivia, gave her an “eat shit” look and then tossed her hair and walked away.

She actually TOSSED HER FUCKING HAIR. I thought you didn’t learn that until at least middle school.

Still, that didn’t deter our little Liv. The little girl had left all of her sand toys out, and Olivia wanted to play in the sand. So I told her she could, but those toys weren’t hers, so she shouldn’t touch them. Olivia said okay, but obviously the allure of the toys was too much. She didn’t touch them, but edged very close to them and looked at them, longingly.

The mean girl came over to where Olivia was and started yanking her toys up and putting them with her stuff.

“Olivia, come back over here, and we can play in the sand.” I said to her. “Mama will get you some sand toys and we’ll bring them to the park soon, okay baby?”

I was seething. I don’t expect people to share with strangers, I am fine with her not wanting another kid touching her toys. That wasn’t the issue. I’m not a perfect parent, nor are my children perfect examples of manners and behavior. However, I would have had my children pick up their toys after they were done playing with them in a public park.

The little girl continued her tyranny and I decided it was best to ignore her. But she would always come near us and say how much fun she was having on the big slide. We were playing in the sand so I told Olivia (loudly) “I’m so glad I get to spend all my time with you, I love you very much and you are so awesome.”

Was that wrong? I felt kind of bad about it afterward, but in that moment, I felt I had to make Olivia feel better, because she kept looking wistfully at the big slide and the girl going down it. She doesn’t understand that people can be mean, and she didn’t really understand why the girl didn’t say hi to her, or why she didn’t want to play with her. I know she has to learn this lesson. I understand that she will get her feelings trampled on and she will cry because people will be mean to her. But, I’m not ready for that yet. She’s still my baby, dammit.

It was obvious this girl was in desperate need of attention and was acting out because of that. Throw in the nanny and it kind of painted an overall picture of ‘busy parents don’t have time for kid’. I feel for her, really I do. Then again, I could be totally off base. Do bratty kids happen to good parents? I honestly don’t know the answer to that. Okay, I’m sure good parents and bratty kids aren’t mutually exclusive, but I have a hard time believing your kid would be that downright MEAN to other people if you put the time and energy into them. Meanness isn’t something that is innate, it’s learned.

This was just a small taste of the “mean girl” syndrome. I’m definitely NOT looking forward to those conversations and tears, because I will want to kill someone, I’m sure.

Also, if my girls even try to pull some of that “mean girl” shit, I will yank a knot in them so fast their heads will fucking SPIN. I’m not putting up with that shit. There’s too much meanness in this world for them to be putting it out there too.

Update: I just relayed the story to Bill. He said “You’re letting a 5-year old upset you?” I hate how rational he is sometimes.