Preschool Picasso

My daughter is passionate about art. Her sketches line her room and wallpaper our refrigerator. She dabbles in many mediums- finger paint, Crayola, glitter pen, marker, Play Doh and occasionally Moon Sand.

I am frequently the subject of her new found passion. My likeness has been captured over and over. She always highlights my strengths, playing up my string hair and stick fingers. Often, I am found to be wearing some sort of triangle and box like shoes in her art. Curiously, hubby always seems to don the same triangle and sometimes seems to be lacking feet.

“Interpretive art,” hubby explains.

“Born way before her time,” pipes Granny.

“Wow! Five fingers,” says her preschool teacher.

No matter what your review of her current masterpiece, one thing is for sure. There will be another and another after that. She paints with reckless abandon, impertinent to current opinion and inspired by her own carefree demeanor.

I envision her with her beret and pallet, thoughtfully pondering her subject matter in the sandbox.

After all, Picasso was 4 once, too, right? Like to see his mommy’s refrigerator.

Mommy Time Warp

When you become a mother, time takes on a new meaning.

1st Pregnancy
9 months=gestation of an elephant. 22 months, isn’t it?

Newborn Stage
1 hour=1 year. And, between midnight and 4:00 AM, 1 hour=1 decade

Baby Crawling Stage
1 hour=1 minute
“Which way did he go?”

Toddler Stage
1 hour=30 seconds
“Which way did he toddle?”

2nd Pregnancy While Caring for Above Toddler
You have entered a special speedy time warp now. The supersonic speed is starting to mess with your memory. Your memory is peppered with some distant scenes of gagging in the bushes at the park, but you were too busy running after your toddler to really be sure. This memory may have been misfiled under "An Event You Witnessed " rather than an event that actually happened to you. Yeah, that had to be it.

Newborn Stage plus an overlap with Toddler Stage
Time alternates between fast forward and frozen animation. An occasional rewind is thrown in for good measure. You’re too sleep deprived to notice that Father Time is messing with you. All memories are filed under “Insane Moments I Wish to Forget”. Luckily, hubby had a quick camera and these moments of your finest hour have been uploaded to Facebook. Proof that it must have happened, right?

Preschooler Stage overlapping with Toddler Stage
Time is still cruising along above the speed limit, but normalcy is beginning to creep in. You have occasional moments to ponder “What the heck was that all about?” and “Is it really OK that I don’t remember 2007?”

The good thing about time messing with your mamma mind is that you learn to appreciate it. I can suck every ounce of appreciation out of the rare free mommy moments in the afternoons when both are napping. Heaven.

I’m just hoping Father Time doesn’t mess with me like that again. I like to keep it at a nice 55 MPH cruising along the time freeway, eye on the destination ahead. No points for reaching your destination early, ya know.


PS. Any more mamma time warps I need to know about, anyone?

High Tea, Anyone?

I am beyond thrilled. Honored, really. Tickled pink. Giddy as all get go.

The invitation was slipped under my door early this morning. The writing was rather cryptic, but the crayola drawing and peanut butter fingerprints gave it away.

I have been invited to High Tea, hosted by my Princess Paleontologist and Toddler Pirate. One wonders what sort of “A list” celebrities will be attending. It just may be my good fortune to catch a sighting of Gymbo the Clown or exchange small talk with the elegant, yet reclusive Barbie Mariposa.

I imagine the snacks will be typical of an early Spring Fling. Play Doh cookies, lemonade glitter fairy tea, and zebra pancakes, among my favorites.

I am always at a loss as to what to wear to such events. However, I have been informed certain fashion accessories will be provided at the door. Lucky thing, because I am certain my feather boa is at the dry cleaners and Lord knows, my Mother in Law is just not giving back that tiara.

Not sure how this gal gets so sought after on the party circuit lately. My dance card has been full these days. Tea parties, picnics, library story time, play dates, park days…I’m pretty sure I should live in the moment and enjoy each delightful invite. Because I know, in a heartbeat, the sticky Crayola invites will be replaced with slamming doors, acne and prom nights.

Teenagers? Hmmm. Not sure I’ll mix well with that crowd. I think it’s going to be lonely for me and Gymbo. Good thing that clown serves a mean fairy tea.

Toy Explosion

It began with a simple stuffed lamb.

“This is for the baby!” My mom squeaked. I was newly pregnant with my first baby. And my mom had been shopping. Naturally.

That lamb must have been frisky because she quickly coupled off with a stuffed bear that I received at my baby shower. Soon, we were the proud parents of a stuffed pig, a Raggedy Ann doll and a quirky Mr. Potato head. Something must have been in that water because before we knew it, triplet Winnie the Pooh bears were added to our brood. The toy stork continued her visits. Soon we were joined by a litter of Legos, an array of blocks and a zoo of plastic animals. Our nest was filled to the brim, before baby’s first birthday.

Today, just a few years later, the toy invasion has accelerated. And, yes, we have acclimated. We have accepted it as part of parenthood, a sign that our hands and nest are full. Happily full. And, sometimes, they’re-coming-after-me-with-a-big-net full.

These days, we always look before we step, swipe before we sit and give a wide berth as we turn corners. We understand that midnight journeys to the bathroom are treacherous to toes. Runs to the phone are murder on shins. And, of course, quick showers are followed only after careful evacuation of Ducky, Nemo and crew.

Luckily, we have found other similarly afflicted families to befriend. We enjoy dinners together in each other’s toy infested homes, swapping tales about toy inflicted injuries…showing off Thomas the train scars and scoot toy bruises. We attend kids’ birthday parties and we gift each other with …well, more toys. We share advice on where to buy more toys…..which toys are easily broken….which are toxic…which are educational…which are not. As such, we support each other in a toy co-dependent kinda way. Is this weird?

Hubby and I have come to terms with these toys that once plagued us. We now embrace the Mattel Madness. We accept the Leapfrog Loopiness. We encourage the Playskool Pandemonium.


After all, as is commonly said by blue haired little old ladies everywhere, those sticky, little fingerprints travel up the wall and then out the door…

Anyone know if they take those toys with ‘em?

Well, Ok, Winnie can stay, but that Mr. Potato Head is getting the boot as soon as he turns 18.


Author's note...Tiffany, one of the co-founder's of The Secret is in the Sauce is hosting a very positive Mr. Linky party here. All of the posts must be about optimism. If you have a spare moment, go over and have a read. Very uplifting. And, when you're done, leave a comment voting for your favorite optimistic post. Yeah, yeah.. and maybe vote for me? (#42) :-)
And, then when you're done with that, have a read about Fishful Thinking, creating optimism in children. And, then when you're done with that...(pushing it, am I?)

The Kissing Bandit Strikes!

My toddler is a kissing bandit.

She steals kisses whenever the opportunity presents itself. She blows kisses to strangers across grocery stores. She dashes around blowing air kisses all day, diva that she is. And she firmly plants one on you when you least expect it.

Her sister often falls victim.

“Mommy!! She broke my dolly, she won’t give back my Triceratops, and, and …..

MMMMMPPPAAAHHH!!!!!!

..…and she won’t stop kissing my knee! Ick.”

Cashiers frequently are targeted.

“And your total is 48 even. Got any coupons?”

Kiss.Kiss.Kiss.Kiss.Kiss.Kiss.

Kitty’s efforts to escape are fruitless.

Smack.Smack.Smack.Smack.Smack.

Granny happily offers herself up as a sacrificial lamb.

Peck.Peck.Peck.Peck.Peck.Peck. Peck. (Squeeze!)

Sometimes it comes in handy. Her charm helped me out of that awkward moment on the highway.

“Is there a problem, officer?”

Kiss.Wave.Smile.Kiss.Kiss.Kiss.Kiss.

And, she’s always the one to diffuse a tense moment.

‘Well, ain’t that like the pot calling the kettle black, Mr.Shopoholic?!”

Kissity.Kiss.Kissity.Kiss.Kiss.

Needless to say, she has many fans. She is adored, cherished and loved…all over town.

She will outgrow this by prom, ya think?

Dance for Spring

We experienced a warm, spring afternoon at the park yesterday. Spring was batting her frilly eyelashes, teasing us with promises of rising temperatures and outdoor play.

My daughters buzzed along participating in a celebratory spring dance. A hop. A skip. A clap. A spin and a stumble.

My eldest girl spontaneously composed a springtime song, weaving together out of tune notes and random lyrics. And, she was most unafraid to turn up the volume.

“Spring is here in the morning…It is here today…today!”

My toddler bobbed her head and served as backup singer with an appropriate “Da-la-la” here and “Shoo-Dop-Wop” there.

I smiled at this blissful scene. Both girls were unafraid to express their happiness and unashamed to celebrate their delight. What if we all took a vow to maintain this pristine, child-like joy? Wouldn’t it make the world a tad bit brighter?

In conference rooms across the business world…
“Before this meeting is adjourned, I’d like to say….Spring is here in the morning..today…today!”

On the shoulders of freeways everywhere…
“OK, ma’am, I need to see your driver’s license and registration….Shoo-Dop-Wop.”

In courtrooms all over our country…
“I declare this marriage null and void…But, first…let’s take a stroll to the park. Great day for a picnic.”

In unemployment offices…
“Ok, Mr. Smith, when was your last date of employment? Ah….is now the appropriate time for cartwheels?”

In dentist’s offices…
“Looks like we’ll have to extract 4 teeth this time. How about a round of lollipops before the Novocain kicks in?”

Across the desk of the IRS auditor…
“So, these numbers just don’t add up…And, yes, I do see the pretty birdie out the window.”

In banks…
“Bounced checks do have fees, ya know…Oh! Look! Lucky penny.”

In mommy blogs…
“My hubby just doesn’t get me anymore. My baby still doesn’t sleep thru the night and my mom drives me crazy. But, I still skip and dance with reckless abandon.”

I guess it all starts with just one person, right? Catch ya later…Got some skipping to catch up on.

“Spring is here in the morning….Today…Today!”

ROAR!

My daughter loves dinosaurs. She’s nuts about them, really. The scalier, the better. And, boy, does she keep them busy. Her dinosaur collection has a full social calendar.

She arranges them for high tea.

“One lump, or two?”

She organizes dinosaur fashion shows.

“Fancy. Oh, so fancy!”

She plans family dinosaur picnics.

“Care for a cookie?”

She conducts dinosaur dance recitals.

“One, two, three…kick”

She mingles them for a nightly social hour.

“How do you do?” “Well, how do you do?”

And, she just about came unglued when her preschool began a dinosaur unit. Happy as a clam, she stuffed her backpack with her dinosaur collection, fashion accessories and all.

You can imagine my surprise when, after school, she expressed her displeasure.

“Mommy, they don’t play with dinosaurs the right way at school!”

“What do you mean?”

She then began to express her dismay with the dinosaur play she witnessed using such words as “kill”, “dead” and “roar!” She was bewildered with the boys at school as they carried on dinosaur wars and battles. My daughter claimed she tried to chime in offering up a T-Rex and a tiara, but apparently her ideas were immediately rejected.

“What’s wrong with them?” She was exasperated.

I started to explain the male, reptilian brain, but thought better of it.

“Maybe the rhinestone, dino earrings will win them over?” I suggested.

Move over, fellas. There’s room for a Princess Paleontologist in the sandbox, too.

ROOOAAAR!

Ahem, I mean, pardon me, excuse and I bid you adieu.



Today, I am partipating in Aloha Fridays. Go over there and take a peek! Just post a question (any question) and link up over there. Here's my question. Do you find out the sex or keep it as a surprise?

Goop

I have recently made an observation.

I have read dozens of parenting books, blogs and mags. I attended the parenting prep course at the hospital. I even took an early childhood development course or two while obtaining my teaching credential (imagine that.)

At no time did I receive even a glimpse of a warning regarding the goop I would encounter once I had kids.

Yeah, yeah. Somehow I ended up with a nose syringe along the way. But, without instructions, explanations or demonstrations, mind you.

There was never information on how to de-goop, de-clog or de-goober. No tips on dried versus wet goop. No discussion regarding the resistance you would encounter while attempting to clean this goop. No advice regarding the difficulty in keeping the goop in authorized areas. But, my main complaint is the avoidance of the mention of the goop transfer.

A typical child has 8 colds a year. Goober transfer is a big deal. Without proper guidance, things can get outta hand. What starts with one goopy, little nose quickly leads to a goobery back of the sleeve, goobery cheeks, and goobery hair. And, once the fingers are goobered…Well, that’s one goobery, slippery slope.

The living room goober transfer quickly proceeds. The back of the couch usually is the first to fall victim, followed by the arm of the couch and other low, unsuspecting, carpety, secrety places….I’m sure you’re getting the picture.

Worse yet, you can’t even escape the gooberiness yourself. Yes, you become part of the goober transfer. As you attempt to wrangle the goobers, you become a big part of the goober problem. Consider the goober baton passed, so to speak, as you become a working cog in the goober wheel, transferring goobers to all kinds of unsuspecting up high, un-carperty areas. You are, thereby, completing the goober transfer.

Shivering in your boots? Fear not. This can work in your favor.

Hubby: “Babe, can ya pass me the remote?”

Me: “Here, honey.”

Hubby: “What’s this? EEEWW!!”

Me: Vengeful giggle.

Don’t judge me. Hard to keep your sanity in this goobery house. Yeah, and consider yourself slimed, too! My compliments.


~Author's note~ Thank you all for supporting me last week during my writer's strike. I am back to work now and am looking forward to putting this all behind me. And, as far as that little itty bitty thing with Larry King...Well, he promised to put the whole thing behind him as well...provided I stay at least 30 yards from him and his studio at all times. NO problem Lar, ya big chick magnet!

Breaking News!

Bob- Mamma talk news anchor: Breaking news here at the studio. The Mamma Talk writer’s strike is over! After a long standing writer’s strike over at Mamma Talk Bloggy studios, negotiations have finally been reached. We repeat, negotiations have been reached. Although the details were not released to the press, negotiations have been rumored to be upwards of one Zero million dollars. That would make Mamma Talk one of the blogosphere’s newest zero-illionares. Now, let’s cut to Joe, reporter on the street.

Joe-Reporter on the street: Wow. How many zeroes in a Zero-million, Bob?

Bob: That would be one, Joe. Yep. One big, fat zero.

Joe: Wow, Bob! Imagine having that in your wallet!

Bob: It’s something I think about every day, Joe.

Joe: So, here I am standing out front of Mamma Talk studios chatting with Doris here who actually saw the Mamma as she exited Mamma Talk Studios earlier. Isn’t that right, Doris?

Doris: Yes, she rammed that double stroller over my bunion, that one did!

Joe: Did she say anything to you?

Doris: She was muttering something about a zero burning a hole in her pocket.

Joe: Well, thank you, Doris.

Doris: Can a zero do that?

Joe: Back to you in the studio, Bob.

Bob in the studio: Thank you, Joe and Doris. All of us here at Mamma Talk News would like to congratulate the Mamma on her big win. And, knowing the Mamma, she’ll probably triple her earnings in less than a year.

Lighting guy off camera: Now, that’s a lot of zeros.

Bob: I know I can speak for everyone here at Mamma Talk News. Lookin’ forward to more Mamma Talk posts soon! More at eleven.

Larry King

Due to the writer’s strike over at Mamma Talk Bloggy Studios, we will be airing a recent episode of Larry King Live. Mamma Talk executives felt this episode was pertinent to all informed Mamma Talk readers.

Larry King: Tonight, I’ve got an exclusive interview with the lady blogger who has been making headlines. That’s right, none other than the one and only Mamma Talk is here.
We’ll be back for a face to face talk after this…

(Commercial. Commercial. Commercial. Etc.)

Larry King: We’re back here on Larry King Live with the Mamma. Mamma, welcome here tonight.

Mamma Talk: Thanks, Larry. Good to be here.

Larry King: You look well under the circumstances. Can you tell me how this writer’s strike over at Mamma Talk began?

Mamma Talk: I’m so glad to be here to tell my side of the story tonight, Larry. So much has been said about this in the press.

Larry: Yes, I saw the tabloid pictures.

Mamma Talk: Pictures? Larry, those shots were doctored. I’ve never even met Nikki Crumpet. Besides, as I have stated before, she was standing in my light.

Larry: Hmmmm…

Mamma Talk: It all began with a little blog about 6 months ago. I was at home with my two young children. I was in the need of some intellectual challenge.

Larry King: I see.

Mamma Talk: And I started blogging and blogging. And still no pay. No benefits. No 401 K.

Larry King: Interesting.

Mamma Talk: I felt taken advantage of, used, tossed aside…even a little invisible. (squeak)

Larry King: And, you weren’t aware that blogging was not a salaried position?

Mamma Talk: What?

Larry King: I mean, prior to starting your mom blog, you thought there would be…What?... a paycheck or something?

Mamma Talk: (Sigh) All I’m asking for is a little support! A little empathy. A little comment here or there. Mention me to your friends. Subscribe via Feedburner, maybe?

Larry King: That doesn’t seem like a lot to ask. But, you did know, didn’t you, that blogging is not a salaried position. Most blogs make pennies or nothing at all.

Mamma Talk: Larry, why are you grilling me?

Larry King: Just asking a question. I don’t think I’m grilling you. Am I?

Mamma Talk: Larry, did the Big Wigs over at Mamma Talk Studios get to you first? Slip ya a twenty maybe?

Larry King: Absolutely!

Mamma talk: GRRR!

Larry King: I’ve heard you growl a lot on your blog.

Mamma Talk: Yeah, ya got that right, Mister. And, step aside, YOU’RE STANDING IN MY LIGHT!!!

Panicked Director off camera: Cut to commercials, for crying out loud!!!

The View

Due to the recent writer’s strike here at Mamma Talk, we are pirating a recent episode of The View. We felt this episode of The View was pertinent to our readers. Once contract negotiations are reached here at MT Studios, we will return to our regular blog postings.

Barbara Walters: Welcome, everyone to The View. As we all know, the infamous mommy blogger, Mammatalk, is in the middle of a writer’s strike. Bloggy readers everywhere have been subjected to old blog post re-runs.

Sherri Shepard: And, rumor has it, the fur has really been flying behind the scenes over at Mamma Talk studios. That Mamma has apparently been a terror to work with.

Elizabeth Hasselbeck: Do you think it’s postpartum depression?

Joy Behar: Post Partum psychosis, more like it. Did you see that shiner on poor, little Nikki Crumpet? That Mamma Talk is vicious!

Sherri: Oh, those tabloid photos must have been doctored, ya think?

Barbara Walters: Is it our responsibility as readers to step in if we think there’s a problem? She does have young children…

Joy Behar: Come on, she’s on a writer’s strike, for crying out loud. Not a parenting strike…

Brief moment of all talking over each other. Much is unintelligible, but some words are clear… "Lost it”, “NUTS!” and something about Obama.

Whoopi Goldberg: Now, hold on, people. Let’s not go craaazy. If the lady does not want to write for free, the lady does not have to write for free. It doesn’t mean she’s lost her mind.

Sherri: But, what will the people read, Whoopi?

Elizabeth: Yeah, we need Mamma Talk back!

Barabara Walters: I, have to say, I myself do enjoy reading a little Mamma Talk three times weekly. Very good reading.

Joy Behar: Maybe someone outta slip a little Prozac in her coffee…

Whoopi: Prozac??

Joy: I’m just saying…If you’re watchin’, ya might wanna try a little medication, Mamma!

-CLICK!-

Mammatalk: Grrrrrrr!