Ok... quick update re. the movie... in a complete 180 from yesterday, her behavior at the movie theatre was IMPECCABLE. We watched 'Wall-E', and it couldn't have gone better. She sat quietly, munched her illictly-smuggled goldfish, and watched the screen with wide eyes. As soon as the movie ended, she asked, "Robots AGAIN?" Pardon me while I explode with pride. I promise I'll clean up the mess.

In a fit of optimistic insanity, we decided to take a DAY TRIP to Chicago. With a two year old. "It'll be great," we said. "We'll get up just a little earlier than normal, drive three hours, hit the Shedd Aquarium shortly after it opens, eat lunch, head to our friends' house to give the kiddo a nap and visit, eat dinner, and head home! It's foolproof!" Suckers. First, we woke up a liiitle later than planned. And by we I mean me. I woke up later. I just couldn't drag my sleepy butt out of bed until 6:45a, the time we were planning to wake Nan and get her fed and dressed and out the door. So, we didn't leave the house 'til 7:20a. We decided to hit the doughnut shop for a special road-trip breakfast, so we REALLY didn't hit the road until close to 8a. We wisely invested in a portable DVD player, so Nan was perfectly happy to watch Nemo and his friends as we sped down the road. As we approached Chicago, we encountered construction on the interstate, so it quickly became stressful as I attempted to navigate and Jay tried to maneuver through the heavy Labor Day weekend traffic. We finally, finally reached Chicago, and found parking close to the aquarium. We had to walk a bit to reach the fish, but we got there. And found a long line. We patiently waited, purchased tickets ($25/adult, thank GOD she's under three and still free-- yikes) and were ready to look at fish! And our kid went nuts. She was running wildly, refusing to hold our hands or even stay close to us. In the crowd, it was tough to keep track of our tiny girl. We decided to head to the reefs exhibit, in the "underground" part of the aquarium, in hopes that it would be SLIGHTLY less crowded. It was, and after a quick talking-to, Nan quieted down and enjoyed the sights. As we progressed through the exhibit, she started to fall apart again. A quick glance at the time confirmed my thought-- hungry kid. When she gets hungry, she turns into demon-spawn. We hurried to the food court, spent another fortune on pizza, breadsticks, and fruit, and settled in to eat. My good girl returned to me, and the demon-spawn left the building until the next mealtime. We looked through the rest of the aquarium in relative peace, and headed to visit our friends. She fell asleep in the car, and we were able to lay her down at M and K's with no trouble. She woke earlier than we expected, and we were able to visit the beach! The condo is right next to Lake Michigan, and we were able to run and play along the shore. She got to feel the water on her feet, and squish in the sand. It was amazing. She had so much fun. After an hour or so, I remembered that we didn't have any sunscreen (bad mommy!), so we headed back to the condo. M and K's baby girl was just starting to wake, so we were able to visit with the baby, much to Nan's delight. She loves babies, and loves to pretend that her bear is a baby. She watched M rock with the baby, and mimicked his motions with her bear. So sweet. We decided to head to dinner, and everything fell apart. We went to a local middle eastern restaurant, and I planned to give Nan a mish-mash of food from my plate and Jay's, and supplement with snacks I brought from home. We got to the restaurant, and it was hot. So very hot. My girl doesn't do well with hot. Then, when our food arrived, she declared everything "yucky" and refused to take a bite. I finally coaxed her into eating some blueberries and crackers I had brought from home, but that was all she ate. She ran out of milk, and the restaurant had no more. The unholy tantrum began. My poor, sainted husband stood up suddenly, grabbed our ill-behaved child, and marched her butt to the car. M, K and I finished our dinner, and I went out to relieve Jay. He was sitting grimly in the backseat, while Nan chattered away happily in her carseat. I offered to let him go back in, but he refused. Nan asked to go back, so we reached an agreement that involved shoes but no socks, and Daddy carrying her. Logically, we understood that her bad behavior was due to exhaustion. This is a child used to 2 1/2-3 hour daily naps, and she barely got 45 minutes. But. Our logic was trumped by the seething anger and embarrassment that follows a tantrum. Especially in front of friends who haven't seen her since she was 4 months old. Who don't know that her usual restaurant behavior is beyond reproach. Who have an infant of their own, and are looking at our kid wondering, "Is this what's in store for us, or is their kid just an asshole?" Ok, probably not the last part. But still-- the anger was there, and I think it took all my husband had to keep from spanking her little butt in the parking lot. We paid the bill, and headed back to M and K's to change the kid into her jammies and say our goodbyes. Once she learned we were going home, she turned back into her usual sweet self. She was pleading to go home to sleep "in my PRINCESS bed, peeeeease?" Poor kid. We got in the car at last, put in her 'Curious George' dvd, and headed home. Thank god. Hours and hours and hours later (so it seemed), after more crazy detours and frequent wakings from the backseat with tearful pleas for the princess bed, we were able to collapse into our own (non-princess) bed. And I have promised my husband we won't attempt another trip like that until she's much older-- say, 16.
After her nap today, as we are apparently sadists, we plan to take her to the movies for the first time. God help us all.

Lately, every animal that Nan sees is named "Angel". No matter the species, animate or inanimate, if you ask her, "What is the name of that doggy/kitty/horsie?", the answer is inevitably, "Angel". We have no idea where she got the name-- we don't know anyone with a pet named Angel, I can't think of anything she's seen on TV that might prompt it, and we've never called HER that. It's just something weird that popped out of the tangled yarn of her brain. It's kind of hilarious. She pretends to put great thought into deciding on the animal's name, and then comes up with Angel EVERY TIME. And if there's more than one animal? They're Angel and Other Angel. And if there are three? The third is... you guessed it... Other Other Angel. I think I will die of shock the day she comes up with something new.
We met Jay for an early dinner last night-- he had Open House at school, and wasn't able to make it home for dinner. She got to experience the wonder of chocolate chip pancakes at Perkins. Sigh. Stupid kid's menus with stupid color pictures of all the stupid food I don't particularly want her to ever, ever know about. Ah, well. The chocolate chips were mostly contained to the ear portion of the bear-- sort of coloring in his ears-- so she really didn't get much chocolate with the pancake. And she doesn't like syrup, so that was ok. And, she ate her entire fruit cup. (Listen to mommy justify her kid's crappy dinner...oh, and there was milk! Tasty, healthful, white milk. Good ol' 2%.) After we left the restaurant, we went to play at grandma's. It was a win-win-win. Nan got some undivided attention, Grandma got her Natalie fix, and I got to read the paper and eat oreos. Score. Even better, Nan actually got a bath even though Jay wasn't getting home until after her bedtime. One of the many lovely features of rheumatoid arthritis is an inability to get up off the floor unassisted, so I'm unable to bathe the girl. This generally isn't an issue-- it's nice for Jay and Nan to have that time together every day, and they have fun splashing around. But, when school starts and Jay gets busy with the extracurriculars, it can get kind of dicey. We're at an age when a bath is pretty necessary every day, to scrape all the yogurt off the filthy child. But. Sometimes a quick swipe with a baby wipe is all the kid is gonna get. We persevere.

Self-inflicted madness

I had something like an epiphany last night. Jay called to tell me he had to make a few stops before heading home after teaching guitar lessons, which would mean he'd arrive sometime after 7pm. Dinner is traditionally served by 6:30pm at our house; any later, and my daughter starts with the face-meltingly irritating whining, and I start to consider selling her to a roving band of gypsies. So, I was less than pleased when Jay said he'd be late. You might say I was pissed. However, his errands were completely legitimate-- in fact, one was for me-- and it was really stupid, as well as pointless, for me to be angry. So I decided to continue with my dinner prep and Natalie and I would eat when it was done. He could warm it up when he got home. It was like I flipped a switch in my brain... I could be angry and snippy and passive aggressive while we all ate together, or I could have a pleasant, hot meal with Nan, and he could have his food later. Duh. I still feel very strongly about our family eating together, and we will eat most meals together, but I'm tired of making myself crazy to make it happen EVERY DAY. It was incredibly liberating. So, I happily prepared risotto and foil packets with tuna steaks and veggies. (A sidenote-- this is my new favorite way to fix any kind of fish and even chicken. It's competely mess-free, and so fun to come up with different veggie-spice-herb combos. And did I mention mess-free? Wad up the foil and throw it away, and the dishes are done. Awesome. ) (A sidenote to the sidenote-- did I say it was fun to come up with veggie combos? I am officially old and lame. Literally and figuratively.) It turned out that he showed up just as I was getting the plates out to serve dinner, so all was well in the end, but the fact that I was fully prepared to eat without him made all the difference in my attitude toward him. The crazy thing is that he would not have ever had a problem eating after we did-- it was entirely something I put on myself. I don't know if he noticed that my mood was better than it was during the initial phone call, but I know I did. It was a happier evening than the previous one, because I decided to make it so. And, we managed to take a walk without my daughter bleeding HER OWN BLOOD, which was just icing on the cake.

Therapy

Yesterday was not a good day. The morning started badly when Nan woke before 7am, and shouted until I set her free. I took the fastest shower ever as she ate her breakfast, and settled down to do some work while she played. After a couple of hours, she was desperate to leave the house, so I decided we'd head to the playground to eat our lunch and play for a bit before naptime. Because I'm a nice freakin' mom. I was a little irritated by her lack of interest in lunch, but shrugged it off, figuring if she were truly hungry, she'd eat. As naptime approached, I went to gather my child so we could head home. She was less than compliant. And by "less than compliant" I mean "a total demon-spawn who screamed NO at me from the very top of the very, very high playstructure." This is where things get tricky-- unlike most moms, I cannot just scramble up there, grab her wayward butt and drag her to my car. I had to stand ineffectually at the bottom of the steps, my voice getting louder and my threats more ridiculous as the minutes ticked away. Eventually, I started (carefully) climbing the steps up to the slide, hearing my orthopedic surgeon's scolding voice in the back of my head-- at this point, Nan's eyes grew wide as she assessed just how dire the situation was going to be when I eventually got to her. I told her in a low, mean-mommy voice, "The higher I get, the angrier I get. If I were you, I'd come down to me RIGHT NOW." Finally, finally, she started her descent. Thank god. I knew I couldn't climb any higher than I already had; fortunately, she didn't know that. When I could reach her, I grabbed her arm and guided her down to a level where I could pick her up, and I carried her to the picnic shelter, where I staged an impromptu time-out. I'm not sure who it was for-- me or her. I was frustrated by her attitude, and embarassed that I couldn't control my two-and-a-half year old in front of the other parents at the playground. We got to the car at last, and she told me she was ready to go home and take a nap. I told her I was ready for her to go home and take a nap, too. I spent the afternoon in peace, working, and Jay finally called around the time he usually arrives home to let me know he'd be late. Sigh. Nan woke from her nap, and she was even fouler than she'd been in the morning. At this point, I was less than sympathetic. I did allow her to lay on my lap and watch TV while I worked, until Jay arrived home. He promptly sat in the recliner and took a nap. Bastard. I went to the kitchen to start dinner, and heard Natalie asking the now-comatose Daddy to play with her. I listened to her pleas for awhile, and then I came to intervene, prompting a grumbled diatribe against me from my husband. Near tears, and pressed for time to get dinner prepared before pre-school orientation, I started to make mashed potatoes. Traditionally, I use my electric mixer to mash potatoes, but I decided to break out my relatively new masher. It was awesome. I wished I had a couple more pounds of boiled potatoes to pound. I took out all of my frustration-- with Nan, with Jay, with my own stupid body-- on little soft red potatoes. I mashed, and I mashed, and I added milk and butter, and I mashed a little more for good measure. I felt better than I had felt all day. It's my new favorite form of therapy. I'm looking at our schedule for the next few weeks, and seeing how busy we'll be and how much Jay will be gone-- I think we're going to be eating a lot of mashed potatoes.

Bleurgh

We've been talking about our feelings at our house lately. Not in a weirdo, touchy-feely kind of way, but a more concrete, explanatory way. When Nan is unable to fasten her sandals properly, I say, "Wow, you must feel frustrated, huh?" And when she wants to stay up and watch a little more "Blue's Clue's" rather than go down for her nap, we talk about how sad or angry she feels when I tell her nuh-uh, kid, naptime is SACRED. Mommy needs to eat lunch and watch some crappy tv uninterrupted. I didn't realize that our words were having much of an effect upon her until today. After we made a run to the grocery store, Jay decided to stop at the carwash. Nan really has a love/hate relationship with the carwash... she hates it until we get into the tunnel-y thing, and then she remembers she loves it. Anyway, she was expressing her wish to go home and eat lunch, but Jay told her we had to visit the carwash first. She began to sob, pleading with us to go home. It culminated in her crying, "I'm getting SO SAD right now!" We found that to be simultaneously heartbreaking and hilarious. Mostly hilarious. I told her she used the word properly, and commended her for sharing her feelings... but sorry, kid, no dice. The car is filthy. She lived, and in fact had a fun time spotting the stuffed animals the car wash guys hang throughout the tunnel. As usual. Later this evening, on our usual evening walk, she tripped over her sandal and went flying through the air, landing square on her knees. She was scraped and bloody, and when we got home to clean her up, she was hysterical at the sight of her own blood. (I was a little shaken, too-- she's NEVER bled that much... poor baby.) While Jay bathed her knees, she screamed, "I so SCARED right now, Daddy!" Saddest. thing. ever. Again, we told her she was doing a great job expressing herself, but daddy had to clean her scrapes or she would get sick. It's so cool to realize that she's able to help us understand how she feels, and it's kind of an awesome responsibility for us to help her have the proper words to make us understand her.

THAT girl

Last weekend, there was an open house at a local dance school. The only dance school in the area with classes for 2 1/2 year old children. The dance school at which I hope to enroll Nan for the fall. I decided it might be fun to check the place out before the lessons start in the fall, so I packed up the car and we headed out. The drive was uneventful, and she was so excited at the prospect of visiting the dance school. We found the building with no trouble, and as I approached the school, I heard pandemonium. We walked into a cram-jammed waiting area, and and even crazier studio area. It wasn't so much an open house as an opportunity to buy all the equipment necessary for class-- ballet shoes, tap shoes, leotard, tights, skirt, etc. We got into line to start the rotation around the room. I let Nan run around for a little while, until I started to approach the shoe station. I called her name, expecting her to join me-- no such luck. I smiled apologetically at the family behind me, and ran to grab my wayward kid. She was not thrilled to join me, to put it mildly. She threw an unholy tantrum--- picture pea soup pouring from her face. That kind of tantrum. I picked her up and hissed threats into her ear, but I stayed in line. As she sobbed. And yelled, "I DOWN RIGHT NOW!!" I felt the death ray glares of other parents, and I could practically hear them thinking, "Hope that kid isn't in MY kid's class!" As we approached the shoes, a girl indicated I should seat Nan on a bench so we could fit her for ballet shoes. My daughter screeched as if we were tearing out her toenails, and clung to my neck. Sighing, I squatted as well as I could to allow the poor dance school girl to reach my kid's feet. She quickly fitted the ballet shoes, and moved on to tap shoes. Tap shoes. I was convinced Nan would be thrilled-- she's been calling her dress-up mary janes 'tap shoes' for months now, and she's constantly staging shows on the linoleum in our entryway. But no-- the tap shoes were greeted with the same wails of displeasure as the ballet shoes. Fed up at this point, I dragged her to the leotard station, picked up tights and a frilly skirt, and joined the mile-long queue to pay. I was steeling myself for the battle ahead, and casting about for the proper mix of threat/bribery to make her keep it together while we waited. She saw some little girls sitting on the couch looking at books, and asked if she could join them. I agreed, and was pleasantly surprised that she managed to stay quiet and still for the next thirty minutes. $85 and 40 minutes later, we were heading back to the car. Thank god. As I loaded her into the car, she smiled widely and begged me to put her new ballet shoes on her feet. Arrrgggghhhh. Next time? We are sooo taking Daddy with us. I refuse to suffer alone again.

End of Summer

So, Nan will be heading back to preschool for her second year in just a few short weeks. The problem? How to fill the days between her dad's return to school and her first day in the Wednesday-Friday Two's class. She became accustomed to a pretty strenuous schedule of FUN! FUN! FUN! under Dad's jurisdiction, and the thought of sitting at home all morning doesn't appeal to her anymore. Sigh. She starts every morning with a question-- "Where are we going TODAY, Mommy?" This wouldn't be a problem, if I weren't also working full time from home. I must try to find enough hours in the day to entertain Nan, keep up the house, make meals, and work 8+ hours. And get to bed at a reasonable time. All while fighting the exhaustion that accompanies most RA patients. I know I am by no means unique in my lack of energy-- all moms feel the same way, to varying degrees. And I'm lucky to have a fantastic, helpful, hands-on husband and Nan's super-eager grandma nearby. But... it's tough. Since my second hip replacement, it's a lot easier to keep up with Nan on the playground, so that's been our hangout of choice the last few weeks. It's fascinating to watch her learn the playground etiquette-- taking turns, sharing, et cetera. And I love her attitude. When we approach the playground, and she sees all the children, she starts to wiggle in her seat, shouting, "LOOK, MOMMY! FRIENDS!" I love that she automatically assumes all children are her friends. I hope she always feels that way.