Fresh Mouth

Apparently it's normal for 4 years old to have a fresh mouth.  However, I feel that Leah's is super fresh. 

Supa fresh.

I spoke to her teacher today about it and she told me that it's important for Leah to understand that failure to listen to mom and dad and/or fresh mouth will result in losing fun stuff. 

For Leah, the absolute worst thing you can do to her is not allow her play outside with her friends.  OH MY GOD THE HORROR OF HAVING TO STAY INSIDE WHILE ALL THE FUN IS GOING ON OUTSIDE WITHOUT HER!

This week has been particularly trying for us and each night has brought a special kind of hell that has made us re-think the decision to add to this family, despite it being way too late.

Tonight Greg is working late so it's going to be just me and Leah from 3:30 p.m. on.  I am hoping that the rain stays away so we get some outside play after school.

And other than that, I am hoping that my 4 year old doesn't reduce me to tears with the fresh mouth.

Is Jesus a Bad Word?

We are very much into bad words these days.  As far as Greg and I can tell, the only bad word she is currently sure of is stupid,which she refers to as the "PS Word."  We have no clue why. We have thought about it over and over and over, and...we've got nothing.  PS Word?  What the hell?

But, she loves asking me if words are bad.  Just this morning she asked me if totally and buttitude are bad words.  The second one baffles me as much as it baffles you, but she claimed that Martha from "Martha Speaks" says buttitude.  I told her that both of those words were in fact not bad and then made a mental note to pay more attention to "Martha Speaks."

My favorite memory on the subject of bad words goes back a couple of years when she asked me if Jesus is a bad word.  We are not a religious household and I was taken back by the question, but I answered honestly, figuring she had heard of a guy named Jesus and thought, hey, I wonder if that's okay to say.  So, I told her, "No, Jesus is not a bad word."

A few minutes later, Ruby walked by and rubbed up against Leah, and I heard,

"JESUS Ruby!  Don't do that!"

And I thought, Oh, that's what she meant.  Ah, well, oops.

Parenting is obviously not my day job.

Cousins

Our holiday weekend was low key, which, as I get older and more exhausted, is exactly how I prefer them.  On Monday, we went to an indoor BBQ at my dad's, due to the rain, and Leah got to play with two of her favorite people, Matthew and Bella.

Bella is getting so big--she's almost one--and I when I saw her and Leah playing this weekend I got a glimpse of what the future might be like when those two get together.

It included bail money.

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My Little Baby, No More

I purchased some bathing suits on sale for Leah for next year.  I bought a size 4T.  They might as well have come from that Justice store because they look enormous.  I can't imagine, that next summer, in 12 short months, Leah will be wearing those bathing suits.  They are just so damn big and I don't want her to fit into them.  I mourn for the baby she once was and attempt to remain optimistic for the girl she is turning into.



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Christ On A Cracker

i swear i tried to post tonight  but my internet is down and despite trying to get online on two different laptops and that didnt work and im about to call a neighbor for their router password but i cant do that on principle so i apologize there will be an update but apparently not tonight and in case its not painfully obvious im posting this from my phone

Listen

Please listen to me, you need to listen to me.

No whining, no throwing, no crying,

I'm tired and I have a migraine,

and you need to listen the hell to me.

When I ask you to clean up your room,

or to come and set the table.

All I want you to do, is to eventually stop what you're doing,

and just listen the hell to me.

Your father and I have a feeling,

you might be an alien.

You scream for no reason and freak out all the time.

Oh, and you never listen the hell to me.

I like that you make your bed,

and it's great that you can dress yourself.

Now stop hitting the dog with your shoe,

and just listen the hell to me.

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What Have I Created?

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Running On Empty

By Thursday, I'm pretty much running on fumes.  I'm exhausted, no matter how much sleep I get.  I am rushing to get everything done at work before the weekend.  (Seriously, "end of week reports" are lame and whoever thought it would make sense to make people complete them is stupid.)  I am looking forward to the weekend, but not always looking forward to the many outings and events I have planned.  I am losing my last nerve with my daughter, yes--sweet, innocent Leah, since at this point, I haven't seen Greg since Monday, due our ridic work schedules. So, suffice to say, by Thursday I'm not my usual cheery, fresh faced self and could probably use a glass of wine.  And a facial.  And some botox.  Perhaps a Xanax.

But, I'll tell you who never gets tired.  Who is never on top of her game.  Who is always go go go, and knows that slowing down is for the weak and believes that she'll rest when she's dead!  The world is her oyster and her city never sleeps, because PLAY WITH ME, PLAY WITH ME, LET'S GO OUTSIDE, I NEED LEGOS, HERE YOU PUT THESE POTATO HEAD GLASSES ON, I NEED A SNACK, I NEED JUICE, WHY ARE YOU SITTING, GET UP, GET GOING, GET TO IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

1) Hope the title of this entry didn't make you think that I was running again.  I will be, but just not yet.
2) Sorry for all the black and white photos of late; Greg got a new phone and he's attempting to be artistic with his photography.



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A Smallish Heart Attack

What is it with children and their need to hide in racks in stores?  This is a new thing with Leah.  It entertains her to no end and gives me heart palpatations.  She's too old and nosey to sit in a stroller.  She will follow the, "one hand on the cart" rule for about 35 seconds.  But, as soon as I stop to take a look at something, we get this:

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We Are Going To Applebees

You know when you get the feeling that something isn't right, but you can't pinpoint what it is, and, in fact, every other sign is pointing to "completely and totally fine," and because you can't figure out why you feel that it's not right, you just go ahead and do it because if you keep harping on these "just not right" feelings you are going to drive yourself, your family, the lady in front of you in Pathmark, and the 7-11 guy who's ringing up the half and half crazy? 

You know that feeling?

Back in August I felt that way about my new job about 3 minutes after I decided to take it.  In fact, I felt that way before I even left my new boss' office after he had made the offer and I had accepted.  I sat there while he spoke about the position and my start date and my team members and my mind just wandered off into space and I thought, "This is a bad decision, Dana", but I had NO IDEA why I thought that.  So I took that thought and threw it in the back of my head, right next to "Join Weight Watchers" and "Stop spending your family's money at Kohls" and it stayed there for the next three weeks while I proceeded to resign from my old job and plan for my new job.

The reasons for leaving my old job were all there.  I know that leaving my old job was a good choice.  My new job offered more money, more affordable benefits, and was closer to my home, and those were the reasons why I left.  Those three things still exist.  So, during my last two weeks at my old job--the strange period where you've given notice, yet you still work there, yet your loyalty is now to your new job, but you haven't started yet--when this strange feeling kept popping in my head that this was a bad decision, I would just mentally go over my list for leaving, and check off that each and every item was still being addressed.  And then I would tell that stupid thought to just STFU and let me be proud that I was able to leave my comfort zone of idling in a workplace that was never going to let me move up, and that I was taking a leap to a new place where I knew no one and was making better for me and my family. 

I started my new job at 8:00 a.m. on September 13, 2010, and at 10:26 a.m. I texted my husband and said, "I don't think this job is going to work out." 

Truer words have never been texted before.

I'm not going to go into details, and I don't want to bad-mouth a place in which some of you know the name of, but let me just say that the people who run the place were not keen on treating women equally, and, as if that's not enough, the morals and values and general attitude of those people towards all of their employees is an abomination to human kind.  The middle class is not meant to be treated as pawns in a chess game of life being pushed, prodded, manipulated and taken advantage of because we need to work in order to take care of our family.

Shortly after beginning employment there, Greg and I launched what can only be referred to as An Epic Job Search in which he would search for open positions all day long while he was home and then I would apply to them all night long while he was at work.  For MONTHS I heard nothing from these places as I dutifully trudged daily to my job, daydreaming about when I would be granted an interview.  I would sit at my desk thinking about how it would feel to quit and get the chance to work again at a place where the people were friendly.  I would write this blog post in my head, figuring how much information I would let out, and what I should keep private.  Day in and day out, as my depression grew, my hope weaned, because no one was calling me back.

And then, I got a phone call!  And another!  And soon the interviews followed.  And in four months I took part in THIRTEEN interviews.  I went on five interviews for one position.  I was speaking to H.R. Reps, and Hiring Managers, and CEOs, and COOs, and CWTFOs--whoever, as they moved me forward in the process.  It was brutal.  I was told that it would take a few weeks for a decision to be made, sometimes a few months, or, my favorite, "We've decided to hold off on filling the position indefinitely".  I thought it proposterous how a place that found it necessary for me to interview FIVE TIMES with FIVE DIFFERENT PEOPLE could not be sure that the position was necessary in the FIRST PLACE. 

A month after starting at my new job a man named Tom began who's desk was near mine.  I watched him during his first days when his enthusiasm was high, and how it chipped away as the onion peels of our workplace opened up.  By day four we were giving each other looks every time more was revealed about the place.  By the beginning of his second week, shared eye rolls were in full effect.  A day or two later he told me that he had given notice, being offered a position at another company.  I was happy (and jealous) that he was getting out, and longingly stared at my monitor thinking, "Your time will come, Dana".  Two days into his two week notice, he was asked to leave and had a few minutes to clear his desk and go.  I listened as he picked up the phone, dialed his wife and said, "We are going to Applebees!" 

On that last day his whole demeanor was changed.  His mood, his attitude, as well.  He was a different guy. 

He was a person who had a cruddy job at a cruddy place and had found a new job at a promising place and he was going to have some time off and take his spouse out to Applebees! 

So it's with great pride and happiness that I inform you that today my demeanor is different, as is my mood and my attitude.  Interview number 13 was very lucky indeed. 

Tonight, WE ARE GOING TO APPLEBEES.


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God Said Ha

Today was such a cruddy day.  It started off with me leaving my house 15 minutes earlier than usual, but hitting major traffic and getting to work 15 minutes late.  This is not fair.  People should not be judged by when they get to work, but rather when they leave for it.  My boss should know that I left 15 minutes earlier than usual.  NOT that I was running into the office like a lunatic at 8:15.

Then, I stood up to a co-worker who treated me poorly.  It was incredibly difficult to do because this co-worker is nasty and mean and doesn't care who he's treating badly.  But we work very closely together and I can't be disrepected and I won't tolerate inappropriate or unprofessional behavior.  I also knew this this person would fight back, rather than most who are just stunned that you stood up to them and sit there and take it, so I braced myself for that too. 

He didn't disappoint.  And it wasn't pretty.  But in the end he apologized and we moved on. 

Then I received the text from Greg that Leah had thrown up at home.  When I picked her up after work and we proceeded to Thursdays with Michael, she threw up fruit loops all over Michael's bathroom.

And then in her car seat as I drove home on a long and windy road with no shoulder to pull over to.

I bet only a few of us can boast "scooping vomit off my child in the Dairy Queen parking lot" on our list of accomplishments.

And then I couldn't get the car seat cover off to wash it so I just threw the whole foccaca thing in the garage and decided to let Greg deal with it.

And then she wouldn't get into the bath, so everyone, everything, all of us, smell like vomit. 

Oh, and for the third time this week I ate dinner standing up in the kitchen in between catering to my child and her demands for various blankets, toys, liquids, and THE PURPLE SLIPPERS MY GOD THE PURPLE ONES, MOM, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, THOSE ARE NOT PURPLE! YOU SUCK!!!!!

I think that's all for now. 

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Testing One, Two, Three

Leah is known for testing my patience to the point that I have to leave the room sometimes and scream it out at the dog.  She'll ask for something, let's say, for me to rub her back at night, and then I'll say, okay, lie down, and then she'll just sit there staring at me.  NOT lying down.  So, I'll say, you have until the count of three to lie down or no back rub, and then she'll just sit there staring at me.  Not slowly lying down.  Not waiting until I get to three and throwing herself down.  Just not doing it.  So, I'll go to walk away, and then she'll scream I NEED MY BACK RUBBED!  MOMMY COME BACK!  BACK!   NOW!!!   BWAAHHHH  BOOOO OOOOHHHH WWAAAHHHH!!!!

Now, if you can understand what the hell she is trying to do other than bury me early then kudos to you.  Because I can't for the life of me figure out why she will ASK for something then purposely take the steps that keep her from getting it. 

And finally yesterday, it clicked.  Not what she's thinking, because honestly?  I think that at these times she was put on earth to get me back for every single thing I did to my parents growing up.  I will never fully understand my child.  She's incomprehensible and unbelievable.  Like the shelf life of a Twinkie.  And Sarah Palin. 

No, what clicked was how I was going to handle it.

Now, brace yourself, because I am about to let you in on some genius-speak.  From now on when Leah asks for something, like say a snack, and I ask her to sit down at the table to eat said snack, and then she gives me the Carol-Ann stare, I walk away.  That's it.  Snack's over.  So sorry.  Cab's are here.  Gotta go.

And that's it.  She hates it, blows a gasket, has a fit, but then eventually gets over it.  And me?  I don't hate it, blow gaskets, or have fits, and I'm over it before it's even begun.

Lately, we've been working on cause and effect.  You throw something, you get it taken away.  You want me to give you something, you ask in a big kid voice.  You want lotion, then you don't jump off your changing table.  You want to take a 30 minute shower, then you get your own apartment.  I'm tired of treating her like some special-rainbow-cuddle-bunny, when I suspect she's old enough to know that she's getting special treatment and taking advantage of me.  She's a human being and life isn't always barbies and ponies.  Believe me, for Leah, life is quite often barbies and ponies, but occasionally, it's not, and it's best she start realizing this early on.

Last night, there were some shenanigans when I announced bed time.  Honestly, I don't even remember exactly what it was.  But on the nights that Greg works late, there are usually shenanigans at bedtime.  I did that warn/threat thing, (If you don't stop jumping off your bed, you will not get your teeth medicine*) and I watched her proceed to jump off the bed.  Twice.  And I had it.  So, I took the teeth medicine, put it on a shelf where she could see it**, and her told that she wouldn't be getting any that night.  She should try harder and listen better and perhaps tomorrow would be a teeth medicine night. 

Which she did.  And it was.  However, tonight we had the back rubbing issue.  There's always an issue.  We'll try again tomorrow.

*It's Orajel.  And she's not teething.  But she got it into her head over a year ago that she needs teeth medicine nightly.  I don't fight it.  I choose my battles.

**I learned this from an old co-worker Jon, who told me that when his wife Janine needed to take something away from their daughter due to naughty behavior, she made sure that she put the toy in a spot where their daughter would be sure to see it and be reminded of naughty behavior/punishment.  I've never forgotten it.



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Yes, I Still Run

I haven't mentioned running much within the past month or so, have I?  Well, because up until a week ago, I wasn't running much.  It's dark when I get home from work, and I have a prejudice towards treadmills.  So, I stopped running.

But, I never for once gave up on the Turkey Trot.  I set a goal a while back, and when I set goals, I meet goals, and, despite the fact that I had stopped training, and despite the fact that I had no idea how I was going to start up my training again, I never for once gave up on the Turkey Trot.  I never once thought that I would not be there on Thanksgiving morning.  In fact, I have a little surprise planned for the event.  Something I have been meaning to do for a while.

So, I'm back to training.  On the DREADMILL.  At 9:00 p.m. after Leah goes to bed and I manage to find all of my running accoutrements.  While catching up on the Housewives or Glee.

Tonight I made my running playlist.  There are a lot of good songs out there, like this one and this one.  Ooh, but especially this one. 

So, if you're doing nothing on Thanksgiving morning and you feel like watching me hobble my way through 3 miles, come on down. 
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The Big Fish Bowl in the Sky

I put Leah to bed 30 minutes ago.  We followed the same routine as we do every night:

1) She puts her finger out and I apply "teeth medicine" (Ambesol) for her to apply to her gums.

2) She puts her finger out and I allow her to dip her finger into the "lip gloss" (Vaseline) to which she applies to her lips.

3) She then looks at me and says, "Ooh, my beddy (belly) hurts.  I need some beddy medicine." And then I open the Vicks and let her take a dab to put on her belly. 

Editor's note: I would let her apply the Vicks without the pretend pain, but I love hearing her pretend, night after night, that her belly starts to hurt at the exact moment that we complete the lip gloss routine.  I play into too.  "Oh, your belly hurts?  Well, then we better get some medicine for that!" 

And then while she situates herself amongst her 40 blankets and NumNum (a stuffed Snoopy) I feed Fishy, her blue beta fish that I have hated taken care of since my wonderful sister gave Leah the fish back in June. 

Except tonight, Fishy was not swimming amongst his plastic cave and vegitation. 

Because Fishy is dead.

Just floating there on the top of the bowl, sideways.  I made a face when I noticed and flung my head back a bit, to which Eagle Eyes over there said, "What happened Mom?  What happened?" 

To which I replied, "Oh, Fishy is so hungry tonight!  He surprised me!" 

And, for once in her life she just accepted that and didn't ask to witness the event. 

So, I left dead Fishy in the bowl and continued with the bedtime routine and texted Greg the minute I got out of there that he had a funeral to hold tomorrow morning.

So, what exactly should we tell her?  This isn't our first pet that has died, but this is the first pet that has died in the house.  This will certainly be the first pet that is flushed down the toilet, and, considering that it's very difficult to do anything in this house behind a locked door, she might very well witness the event.  She is older now than she was when we lost Doozer.  She remembers things now.  She talks in full sentences now.  She tells me when I have boogers in my nose and when I dribble food down my shirt.  Things are different now and I'd rather not scar her this early in life.  There will be many times in the future for that.

Should we say that Fishy is in heaven?  That's what we say about Doozer.  Also, about Grandma Pat.  However, I don't think she really knows what heaven means, as a couple of weeks ago she screamed, "Grandma Pat!  Grandma Pat!" as a woman who lives around the block and has the same hair cut as my mother did, drove by.

I was like, "What?!  That's not Grandma Pat!  That's ____________ (I'm protecting the innocent.)!  Grandma Pat?  Wha?  She's in heaven.  Do you remember that?  That means that she's not driving down our street in her Camry.  Really?  Grandma Pat?  I uh, here, have a lollipop."

So, anyway, back to Fishy.  If there is anyone reading who has been in this situation, how do you suggest we do this?  Comments welcome!
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Diaper Days

I'm sure after Thursday's post, some of you were horrified:  "What?!  Diapers?! She still needs to buy diapers?!"

Yes.  Yeeeeeesssssss.  It is with great sadness and despair that I tell you all, we are still wearing diapers.   Actively.  Not sometimes.  Not occassionally.  Always.

That doesn't mean that she's not also using the potty.  She is.  Sometimes 2-3 times a day.  But, not enough to warrant getting rid of the diapes.  Underwear doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell of staying dry, and I caught her trying to clean up an accident she had in her underpants without me knowing, which means she was embarassed/shamed/upset/pick one/whatever, which is not the feeling we want to harbor in the house about accidents.  So, I stopped asking her if she wants to wear underpants...because I don't want to spend my nights laundering them.

I know the training will come eventually, and we'll look back on our potty-training trials and tribulations and laugh (probably not laugh, more like cry) but it doesn't mean that these days, I can't fall to my knees, throw my hands up to the sky and sob dramatically,

"Why me?!  Oh god, whhhyyyyy????  For the love of all that is good and holy, have I not suffered enough?  Does the world just hate me?????????!!!!!!!!!!!!  Little old me???!!!!!"

A little too dramatic?  I'm sorry; it's been a long week.

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The Lunch Box

Why does an hour while at work creep by, yet the lunch hour passes in approximately 9 1/2 minutes?

Now that I have an actual lunch hour, wherein I leave the office at a certain time and then don't return to the office for one whole hour, I am trying to get some errands done during that time.

I work in an area that has everything--malls, shopping centers, grocery stores, restaurants, banks, gas stations--so I try to take advantage of "adult-only errands" during that time.

You know what those are: the types of errands that require one to get in and out of a vehicle fast, get in and out of a store fast, and move on to the next store.  Fast.

And, NOTHING can be done with a child fast.  Oh, except take a perfectly neat and clean room and make it look like a Fisher Price-themed, Little People-sponsored, Crayola-funded, primary colored bomb hit it. THAT always happens at mach speed.

The only problem with my master plan is that by the time I get to a store, I have to turn around and come back.  It's like the clock ticks a little faster from 12-1 p.m.  What gives?

Anyway, if you're in the Totowa/Little Falls/West Paterson/Wayne area around lunch time, and you see a woman with a cloud of smoke behind her zoom by, sweat dripping from her brow, words about time going too fast for her to return pants to Kohls AND stop for diapers, just ignore her.

I don't have time to stop and say hi anyway.  Sorry.
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Big Girl

My little baby is no longer a little baby. 

She doesn't want to cuddle, doesn't want to sit on my lap, doesn't want kisses.  In fact, today when I picked her up at daycare, she didn't want me!  She actually wanted to stay longer at daycare to continue playing.  That sort of broke my heart.  

So, I've created a new game.  I call it "Playing Baby."  Leah's into pretend play these days, so I tell her that we're going to pretend she's a little baby.  She runs and gets a baby bottle and some blankets, I wrap her up, and then pretend to give her a bottle.  She pretends to sleep, then pretends to wake up and cry, and then I pretend to rock her back to sleep.

It's all a ruse to get her to lie in my arms and cuddle.  She gets to play and I get my cuddle-fix.  Please don't tell her of my ulterior motives.  Thanks. 

Here is my big girl practicing her twirling in my sandals. 

Dance class starts on Saturday, so she's been practicing. 

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First Day

If you're my friend on Facebook, you know that I've left my old job and found a new one.  This new job is closer to my home, as well as my hometown.  It's got some other perks, too.  Perks that I couldn't turn down.  So, I didn't.

I dislike change.  I'm a creature of habit.  I like things to stay the same, comfortable way, and, even if things are not ideal, or not even satisfactory, anymore, I tend to just leave it status quo rather than start fresh.  I hate not knowing what I'm doing:  starting at a new place, with new co-workers, with new policies, rules, and responsibilities.  For this reason, I've always dreaded the first day of school.  More so than is normal.

Senior year in high school my friend Maryann and I found out on the first day of class that we had lunch the second to last period of the day, which was also the latest lunch period.  After a particularly bad first day of classes, Maryann and I proceeded to the ketchup dispenser, pressed the lever, and were squirted with ketchup spooge out of an almost-empty dispenser all over our faces and shirts.  While we were lucky to have only one more class to get through with ketchup stained clothing, this is the type of stuff that happens to me on "first days." 

So, today, as I walked into my new office building, I thought I might vomit right there on the receptionist's lap.  But, I held it together.  Barely.  I was really uncomfortable all day, but I tried to make the best of it.  I sweat more than I normally do, and on a trip to the bathroom I realized that my bangs were parted quite strangely and I'm not sure for how long, but I muddled through the day to drive home in a torrential hail storm.  In September. 

I know that time will make things better, despite how painful it is for time to pass.  I will soon figure out what my new job entails, and who my new co-workers are, and what this new place is all about.

But, until then, things are weird.  And strange.  I didn't really like talking about my old job on this blog, and I will most likely not talk about my new job on here as well, but I just wanted to let you know what's going on.
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I'll Let The Kid Live This Time

You'll remember when my sofa looked like this?

After several hours when I couldn't even look at Leah, much kvetching, 4 grueling, fruitless, life sucking calls to Ashley Furniture, a couple of phone calls, some elbow grease, a dust rag of indeterminable fabric, and the Costco-size bottle of Shout, all is well in the Gulino Household once again. 

Save for the faint smell of Desitin in the living room.

But she's on thin ice.  NO ONE messes with the couches in this house.  I have issues when it comes to the couches.

Oh, and yes, I did buy the warranty on the couch.  However, I didn't realize that I'd have to provide every single piece of paperwork I ever received in 2008 along with Jesus' urine sample to get someone to even come and look at the stains.  And to undoubtedly tell me that it wasn't covered.

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The Couch Has a Boo Boo

Good Morning Mommy and Daddy!  The couch had a diaper rash.

No worries, though, I've taken care of it.

It's one of those days.

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