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Princess Who-What??

My silly son Joshua, at three-and-a-half, says something to crack me up just about every day. The other day we were watching his new favorite PBS Kids show, Super Why. He is IN LOOOOVE with it. He loves to sing the songs and really cracks me up singing them with gusto while he watches the show. The show is about reading; it’s kind of a Little Einstein’s rip-off but it’s cute and educational and not very annoying, so I’m cool with it. The kids who solve problems on the show are called the Super Readers.

So as we were watching it the other day, I said, “Joshua, are you a Super Reader?”

He looked me right in the face and said, “No, I’m a boy, remember?”

I cracked up. I couldn’t help it! His reply was so innocent, so matter-of-fact, so black-and-white. It just tickled me! So, I was cracking up, and he started giggling, because he loved that he had made me laugh, even though he wasn’t sure why what he had said was funny. We giggled back and forth for a minute, and after we quieted down, a character came on the show named “Princess Presto”. (She has the power to SPELL! Rock on!!) Joshua was quite excited to see Princess Presto. He jumped up from the couch and pointed to the TV.

“Look Mommy! It’s Princess RECTO!”

I totally lost it.

I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt. Joshua started giggling again.

“What’s her name, honey?” I asked him. I really wanted to hear it again. I am a bad mother.

“Princess RECTO.”

“Ohh, Princess RECTO. That’s a good name. (Especially if her super power is to shrink hemorrhoids or dispense Tucks pads or Preparation H).”

We giggled some more. I asked him her name about five more times that day. Once for my husband’s benefit, once for my mom’s, and several times just ‘cause it’s FUNNY! I think I am going to be making Princess Recto jokes for many, many years to come.

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My Uterus is Throwing a Temper Tantrum

Wednesday I had an unhappy mid-afternoon surprise: after 19 long, glorious months, my period had returned. Nine months of pregnancy (ok, those months weren’t exactly glorious) and ten months of nursing had kept my little red friend away, but as of Wednesday, my luck has run out.

My uterus is PISSED, y’all. For two days now she’s been putting up quite a fuss. Cramping and flooding and pouring out her wrath upon me and the sad bottle of ibuprofen that is all I can take for this mess since I’m still nursing. She actually chuckles sarcastically at me when I pick up the bottle of ibuprofen, but I’m taking them anyways, just to take the edge off. Oh, if only I didn’t have these two pesky kids I could curl up in the fetal position and wait for the storm to blow over. But alas, I must parent in spite of my enraged womb.

Crap!

The Angry Uterus is also (strangely) the Hungry Uterus. I just went to the market down the street to get just bread and I came home with bread, chocolate milk, Hershey’s syrup, Jell-o Puddin’ Pops (my childhood favorite!), and one of those Betty Crocker single-serve desserts you make in the microwave. Molten Chocolate Cake. Ohhhh yeah. That baby is as good as GONE as soon as I put Joshua down for a nap!

So, apparently the Uterus likes chocolate. I think I remember that from 19 months ago…

Ok, Joshua is down for nap. It’s eating time! Me & my PO’ed Uterus will talk to you later.

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Do cookies fix everything?

The other night, Kate and I were out running errands. She was really tired (and in fact had fallen asleep at one point) and very grumpy and sad. At the end of our trip, I stopped at my grandma’s to borrow some eggs (yes, I do a lot of my shopping at her house, haha).

I didn’t want to get Kate out of the carseat, so my grandma came outside to sit with her while I ran in to get the eggs and anything else that I could scrounge up. Kate was upset the whole time (2.8 minutes) I was in the house, and when I came back out, my grandma said “Can I go in and get Kate a cookie?”

I said that was fine, but when Grandma went in the house, I turned to Kate (who was still fussing/sort of crying) and said, “Kate, cookies don’t make things better.”

She looked at me through her tears and said “Yes they do.”

So Grandma returned with like 15 cookies, and Kate happily scarfed one down.

She turned to me and said, with a big grin on her face, “See Mommy? I told you.”

Ugh. The kid has a point. Sometimes I think cookies do make me feel better. I am a big-time emotional eater, and I’m trying not to pass that on to Kate… we try not to celebrate things with food, etc., but I’m not sure I’m succeeding in my quest.

So what do you think? How do I turn this train around (for myself and my daughter!)?

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