Life Lessons Learned

Yesterday morning, my little mini-me ALMOST had me convinced she listens to me. I thought that we had come to an understanding, that she had finally started to get our rules, and more importantly, follow them. I thought I had made a breakthrough as a mom, and she had made a breakthrough as a daughter. Looking back, I might have over thought it.

I had to take the boys to school, and it's a long trip. My four-year-old woke up just as I was leaving, and I told her to potty, and I would be back in a little while to feed her breakfast. She started crying, and said she wanted to go with me, and I told her that we were running late, and to wake her dad up if she needed anything.

Almost an hour later, I get home, walk in the kitchen, and see a corn cob sitting on the counter. It was alone, with no plate, but it already had the little corn-cob holders attached. I checked downstairs to see if the honey was awake (nope) then went in search of my oldest double-X-chromosome child, mainly to find out if I had finally lost my mind, or had she gotten a corn cob?

I found her in the living room, digging through her pants, and it distracted me enough that I side-tracked straight into WTF? and I asked her what she was doing. "Well," she whispered, "is Daddy awake?" Daddy is a little more strict about the whole "pottying in her pants" thing than I am. As my mother told me after my first kid, She'll figure it out before she goes to school. (This isn't exactly true, as this "mom-ism" was later disproved by my second son.)

So I whispered back to her, "No, Daddy's sleeping. And why are we whispering?"

"Well, I had an accident, and I need new pants. Those," she whispers back.

"I'll get you some pants," I whispered (why stop now?) and got her the specific pants she wanted (pink with brown leopard spots, because anything other than the pants she wants results in quiet crying. Pick your battles, I tell myself. Often. Especially with pants. And I really think that should probably go on a T-shirt: Pick Your Battles, Especially With Pants! I would so wear that EVERY. SINGLE. FUCKING. DAY!!!

As I gave her the pants, and I asked her whether or not she had gone potty when I told her to, and she told me, "But I did not feel like to go potty!" (Yes, that's what she said, it's not a typo.)

Well, that explains why she had an "accident," - because she didn't go potty when I told her to. "But that's why Mommy tells you to go potty anyway, so that you don't have an "accident" and have to change your pants," I told her, as I mentally screamed at the top of my lungs. Ok, I feel better now. It's the battle cry of every mother: "Why won't you just do what I tell you to do? This could be so much easier!"

After she was dressed, I asked her about the corn cob on the counter, and she said she was hungry, and got it out of the fridge. "But where are the rest of the corn cobs, pumpkin?" I asked her, because the last time I saw the corn cobs in question, there were about seven. I had looked around on the floor and in their room, but I didn't see anything, so you could say I was very curious as to what had happened with the other cobs. Wouldn't you be?

"Well, there was only one," she told me, and I believed her, mainly because I didn't find anything to indicate otherwise, not because she's a truthful child. Trust is earned, not given, and whoever said children are inherently truthful didn't have kids. Or perspective. And was full of shit up to their eyeballs.

The honey must have made them for dinner last night, and left one in the fridge for me. So, I told her I was not happy that she got food out of the fridge, but I was very happy she ate it in the kitchen. I finished changing/filling various items (diapers/pants/sippy cups,) and told my mini-me that she could have corn on the cob for breakfast. She acted like it was the best thing since sliced bread. "Are you upset, Mommy?" she asked me.

"No, pumpkin, I'm just glad you didn't take food out of the kitchen. By the way, did you put these holders here?"

"Yes, didn't I do a good job?" she asked, preening. I asked her to show me how she put them in. "I just put it in this side, and that side, and it was done!" Fucking fabulous! I thought. I can barely get those things in the cob.

"Ok, well, be careful, honey. Next time, how about you not use the corn holders, alright?" She agreed, and although I wasn't happy about her having corn on the cob for breakfast, I had to reward the fact that she had followed the rules, or at least THE rule, the MAIN rule, about not taking food out of the kitchen. Color me content! We have turned a corner, I told myself. She understands rules, and maybe now she won't get into my make-up! Or the rest of my shit. Hey, a girl can dream, right?

Daddy fed them lunch a few hours later, and I laid down for some sleep since I had to work last night. My alarm woke me at 4:30 pm, and I hit the snooze. Yes, I hit the snooze. It's a 7-minute snooze FCS! Seven minutes isn't going to make or break dinner. I thought I saw my little munchkin dash around the couch, but I listened, and didn't hear anything, so I laid down for seven more minutes. When it goes off (seven minutes later) I jump up, and hear a crash from the kitchen. I leaned around, and took a look into the kitchen - where the crash came from - and there was my four-year-old under the table, with the peanut butter container out on top of the table, spoons scattered everywhere. Motherfucker!

"What exactly are you doing, child?" I ask her. "And why are you under the table?" as I'm rubbing sleep out of my eyes, trying to find my glasses, and wishing I had gotten up SEVEN FUCKING MINUTES EARLIER! Stupid snooze button!

"Well," my little demon-o-mischief tells me, "I was hungry, and the doggies were hungry, so I fed us peanut butter!"

"What?" I'm awake, damn it, I'm awake! "The dogs have food of their own, why would you ... What are you ... When ..." OK, stop a second and take deep breaths, I told myself. This isn't helping anything! "Diana, why do you have six spoons ... Why are you under ... The gate isn't even closed ..." Ok, more breaths required. "I'll be right back," I told her, and I went to the bathroom (after securing the gate, of course.)

After I had refreshed myself (AKA peed, brushed my teeth, and splashed some water on my face) I felt better, and I went back to the kitchen. "OK honey, listen: I'm glad you ate in the kitchen, that's a very good thing. But you don't feed doggies people food unless Mommy says it's ok. They have their own food already out, and they have plenty! And why do you have so many spoons out?"

As it turns out, she got a new spoon with each spoonful of peanut butter. Great, psychotic AND OCD! This child will be fucked up before she's 10! So one by one, I went through the remaining questions on my list satisfactorily, and just decided to fix them dinner. Because what was the point of stressing? At least she didn't take the food into her bedroom.

They had peanut butter for dinner, because there was only a tiny bit left in the container, just enough for a half a sandwich, which is (coincidentally) how much the baby eats of her main course. I made my four-year-old eat what was left on the spoons (catch that, s-p-o-o-n-s, plural, as in more than one spoon?) and she sounded delighted. (At least until the fourth spoon) Regardless, she ate them. And I thought (while she was licking her third spoon) of how nice it was going to be soon, because she would stop taking food in her room. Maybe this was the harbinger of things to come, and she would stop getting into "no-no" things entirely. I can't remember when my older ones stopped getting into stuff, but by God, this day would live in memory (mine) of a Life Lesson learned. I have taught my child SOMETHING!

After dinner, I went to the bathroom again.

I'm not sure how I missed could have missed them before, except that I wasn't quite awake, and I didn't have my glasses on. I suppose I could make all the excuses in the world, but regardless, I happened to check under the counter next to my scales, and there I found them. I think I heard my heart break.

I was so sure I had finally gotten through to her! Alas, there were three more spoons with peanut butter on them. @#$%^&*() And next to the spoons, a candy wrapper. Double-fuck! She had to have taken them in the bathroom when my first alarm went off. No wonder she took off like a bat out of hell!

A life lesson learned, indeed. It's just not her learning it, it's me! I learned that it isn't over until it's over. All I can do now is protect my make-up!