Heck no, this tooth won't go!

Emma finally lost her first tooth. I seriously thought we were gonna have to break out the ole door-and-string trick. The tooth had been loose for weeks and ended up twisted and sticking straight out of her mouth, parallel to her tongue. The permanent tooth had started coming in behind the baby tooth, yet the original mouth dweller was all "You will not evict me!" and refused to go. (Hmmm...Emma with stubborn teeth? Go figure.) The troublemaker finally fell out with a little help from our secret, tooth-evacuating weapon...cheddar cheese Ritz Bits. (We tried apple after apple, but leave it to the processed food to come to the rescue every time. Just one more reason to distrust healthy foods.) Between our first Tooth Fairy visit and Sophie's birthday, we had an exciting morning last Wednesday. Emma's response to all the hubbub? "When all my teeth fall out, will I be old enough to drive?"

There's a three-year-old in da house!

Three years ago, our family eagerly awaited a very precious gift.

 

Two days later, we got it.

Today, the gift just keeps on giving...and growing! Just like our love for her.

 

Happy birthday, sweet Sophie.

Sophie-isms and Moments From The Week

Lately, Sophie's developed a habit of closing every door in the apartment behind her "so that any bugs don't get in." Then she slowly re-opens it, looks at the floor, and screams, "The bugs are coming! The bugs are coming! RUUUUUUNNNNNN!"

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After helping Sophie pat herself dry in the bathroom, she told me her "bagino" was all clean. 

"Um...I think you mean 'vagina,' sweetheart," I corrected gently. 

"NO!" Sophie screamed in my face. "It is MY bagino, and I can call it whatever I want!" 

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Sophie woke up talking about birds in her hands and explained that a nice fox slept in bed with her and we must save him from the mean witch. We grabbed the (pretend) birds, the (pretend) fox, detangling spray, toothpaste, Kandoo, Dora doll, Charleete, the TV remote, a button that fell off our couch pillow, and a Polly Pocket, and we hid from the witch under the dining room table. Sophie kept looking at me in panic, putting her finger over her mouth and whispering, "Ssshh." Suddenly, she scooted from under the table and told me it was safe to come out.

"Guess what, Ma-ma! The mean witch went to jail and she get in love with the police-es man and now she is our friend!"

Did I mention this all occurred before 7am?

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After raising her voice to me, I informed Sophie that I didn't like to be spoken to that way. 

"But it's not fair!" she cried. 

"What's not fair? Do you even know what that means?" I asked. 

"Yes. It means Emma will hit me."

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Sophie told me that her Barbie went poop and she needed a wipe to clean her up. Reluctantly, I gave her one. After a few minutes, I discovered her cleansing Barbie's nether regions and making a diaper for her out of Kleenex.

"Mommy, I need another wipe! Barbie's got diaper-rhea!"

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"Mommy? My eye hurts."

"I'm sorry, honey. Why does it hurt?"

"Because I poked it with my finger."

"Well...maybe if you stop poking yourself in the eye, then your eye won't hurt anymore."

"Hey, that's a good idea. Thank you, Mama!"

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Soph asked me very politely if she could please watch the mean green man. I had no clue what she was talking about. After 20 minutes of grueling tears, tantrums, pleading, etc., we finally figured out that she wanted the Grinch. Two minutes later, she's walking in circles and happily shouting "Hi, Grunch! Hi!" at the TV. Meanwhile, I'm still huddled in a ball on the floor, completely spent from all the turmoil caused by one little weird-named Dr. Seuss dude. 

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While waiting in line to pay for our groceries, Sophie started dancing her heart out in the middle of the store. She was laughing and shouting, "I really love to dance dance dance dance..." at the top of her lungs. A woman running (yes, full-on running, for whatever reason) down the aisle sorta tripped over Sophie. She turned to me and instructed me through gritted teeth to "please control my child." For the first time ever in my life, I had the perfect reply: "Actually? I'm gonna join her." And I did. In my purple sweatpants and crazy bedhead, I stepped out of line and started jumping up and down with Sophie. The look on the woman's face was priceless. She was not pleased...in fact, she swore at me as she stormed away. I just smiled, waved, and shouted, "You have a great day, too!" I started giggling, which started Sophie giggling. I'm sure we looked like total fools, but dancing with my daughter - and for one sweet moment, not giving a rip what anyone thought of either of us - was soooooo AWESOME. Who knew being called a crazy bitch could make a person's day?

Mermaids, Witches, Tigers, Dragons...and some Apples

Here are some titles of recurring pretend games the girls have created: Mojo Jojo, Don't You Don't, The Mermaid and the Witch, The Lion vs. The Tornado, Tigers, and Princess Warriors. They all seem to involve some variation of Emma being a mean villain and Sophie trying to get away from her. (Sense a pattern, anyone?) These games have a tendency to get violent. Quickly. So much so, in fact, that we've had to create an actual safe word. Sophie has been instructed to shout "Apple!" whenever she wants the game to stop. Like, for example, if Emma is dangling Soph upside down or sitting on her head or wrestling her into a half-nelson and Sophie's subsequent sobs of terror are not enough to signal to Emma that, yes, she is actually harming her sister and needs to cease and desist immediately, then the safe word is employed. Sophie often needs reminded of the new safety procedure, so whenever I hear her screeches of protest I start screaming, "Use the safe word, Sophie! Use the safe word!" (This always leaves me feeling rather dirty, like I'm preparing my children for a different use of "safe word" later in life...but then I throw up a little in my mouth, empty my brain, and refuse to follow this line of thinking any further.) I'd say since the institution of Operation: Apple, Sophie has uttered the safe word approximately 25 times. Emma? Yeah...not once.

The other day I caught the kids on video while in the midst of negotiating the never-ending terms of one of their games. (This was pre-safe word; hence, the video's ending.) It is so fascinating to me, watching their dynamic. Emma can be domineering, no doubt - but she also has moments of really trying to be patient, which just makes me wanna eat her up with a spoon. And I especially love hearing Sophie speak up for herself, even with her limited vocabulary. Yes, she allows herself to be manipulated by Emma, but only to a degree. Much like Chris and me, actually. It's Emma's world; we just live in it. For now, anyway. I suspect our youngest is gonna eventually challenge Queen Em for the throne. And when that day comes, I just hope I'm able to take cover before the explosion hits.

Red is definitely your color

Sophie colored this picture over the weekend.

I know, I know. You're thinking I've finally lost my mind and officially crossed over to the parental dark side, aren't you? Hell, maybe you even think I've been a happy resident of said dark side for years. Either way, you know the place I'm talking about...that softly lit, fuzzy-bordered alternate reality all parents succumb to the minute they start buying into the delusion that every single thing their precious, unique, singular child does is off-the-charts amazing and must be shared with the rest of the world. (i.e., "Billy blew a raspberry that sounded just like 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.' Call the papers!" "Lily made a smiley face on the bathroom wall using her own poo - she's so brilliant!" "Ben can count all the way to ten while scratching his butt...his own butt, people! Do you not SEE the genius inside this kid?????!")

Maybe I am one of these parents, and maybe I am not. I go back and forth on it myself. Regardless, it struck me as pretty cool that my almost-three-year-old singled out all the people in the picture and then colored them kinda-sorta within the lines. Usually her artwork consists of wild scribbles and the occasional lopsided circle, so this is definitely progress.

Oh dear god. It just hit me. I am actually blogging - proudly - about how well my toddler uses crayons. Jesus. Okay, I concede. I AM one of those parents. I guess there's nothing left to do now but embrace it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go corner some random schmuck and gush at length about Sophie's mad nose picking skills. 

The Tracks of my Tears...whoa-oh-oh-OH

Behold...Emma's latest self-portrait.

I asked why she was crying in the picture. She said she was a beautiful princess walking home from the ball and a terrible monster came out of nowhere and yelled at her and knocked her down and made her knee bleed and it hurt so bad but she had to be brave and run run run as fast as she could or the mean monster would get her and gobble her up.

"Wait a minute," I said. "Are you talking about the time we were walking home from summer camp and you stuck your tongue out at me when you thought I wasn't looking and wrenched your body away when I grabbed for your arm and you fell and skinned your knee and sobbed and screamed that it was all my fault and I was so mean and then you made me carry you the rest of the way?" 

"Yep," Em said.

Reflections on a week of Bleggh

This has been a rather disappointing week. I've been sick, so that sucks. I've not accomplished practically anything I set out to do, so that sucks. I've felt (and am still feeling) sluggish and unmotivated and generally sorta crappy, so that...well, you get the point.

Due to all of the above...and because sometimes I am just plain lazy ("Sometimes?" I can hear my husband saying in my head), I haven't been recording the wonderful and inexplicable doings of my two smallest roommates as much as I usually do. I guess in the future if they ask about this particular week of their lives, I'll just tell them they slept a lot. (Yeah. I wish.)

Here are the snippets my befuddled mind managed to retain from the week:

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Trying to help Emma wash her face in the bath, I get some (tear-free) soap in her eye.
"STOP IT! You are giving me a disease!" she shrieks.
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Sophie and Emma are fighting about...something.
Sophie: "No, I not!"
Emma: "Yes, you are!"
Rinse. Repeat.
Finally, Emma enunciates in a low, deliberate growl: "Y. E. S. Space. Y. O. U. Space. A. R. E."
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Mid-tantrum, Sophie throws a spoon across the room. It crashes against the wall before clanging loudly to the floor. Complete silence ensues. I stare at Sophie. Sophie stares at me. We wait each other out, engaged in the mother of all staring contests.
In my most serious voice, I finally ask, "Now, what do you say?"
She narrows her eyes, points to the spoon, and says, "Get it."
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I ask Emma if she is excited to start ballet lessons.
"I guess. I mean, I already KNOW how to be a ballerina. But I guess I can help the other kids."
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While waiting to pay for our groceries, Sophie suddenly declares, "Mommy, you a witch."
The store clerk and I share a god-she-is-so-damn-CUTE smile.
"Oooh, that sounds fun," I play along. "I can cackle and do magic and say 'Abra-cadabra.' But why is Mommy a witch?"
"Because. Your hair is really crazy," Sophie answers. "And also, you mean."

Halloween...the gift that keeps on giving

Oh...you want more Halloween goodness, you say? Yesterday's post wasn't enough to satisfy you? Okay, here you go. A brief video montage of our Halloween weekend in good ole Indiana.