The many personalities of E

So I wanted to post some pics of Emma. She's been a lot of fun lately as well as a lot of work. She's really into taking pictures right now. She carries one of my old cameras with her everywhere. Here she is taking a pic of me taking a pic of her.

Also, I cleaned out my jewelry box and gave Em some old jewelry I was tired of wearing. She loved it. Since I got a new jewelry box for my birthday, I gave her my old one. She gets in and out of it all the time. Joy. This is her Madame E impersination. I especially like the rhinestone R hanging off her pocket. It just makes the ensemble, don't you think?

Restaurants with 3 year olds

Ingredients:
1 squirming 3 year old
2 hungry parents
3 drink glasses
1 bag toys (a.k.a. useless attempts at distraction for 3 yr. old)
1 spilled drink (mandatory)
17 napkins
5 sets of silverware
1 uneaten kids meal
2 mutilated parent entrees
(at least) 1 judgemental couple at next table
Directions:
Add 3 yr. old, parents, all food, and contents of one drink. Shake thoroughly for 20-30 minutes. Spread food contents, napkins and toys across table. Let sit fuming for 3 minutes. Meet judgemental stares from other patrons with mental middle finger. Vow never to take 3 yr. old out in public again. Serves any family.

Emma Episode: Lowe's

This afternoon around 4:30 we took a trip to Lowe's to get new deadbolts for the doors now that we own the house. On the way to Lowe's Emma was speaking in her cute little Gibberish language. I have discovered that Gibberish rears its indecipherable head at 2 different times: when Emma's had a massive amount of sugar (like yesterday after the b-day cookie baking session in which she literally lay down on the floor, spun in a circle and jabbered to...no one) OR when E is overtired or running on Empty. Today Gibberish began on the way to Lowe's. She's been sleeping until 9:00 so I knew she wasn't tired. It had to be that she was hungry. She's been eating like a Shetland pony lately (I hesitate to say "horse" because she is still pretty little). So anyway, headed into the store, she spotted 2 of those carts that have the plastic molded seats (PMS, ha!) attached to the front with harnesses for kids to ride in. God know's why, but Emma loves them. These and the shopping carts masquerading as race cars are 2 of the greatest inventions in Mommydom. It makes shopping with a preschooler so much easier when they think they are making the cart run into the end of the aisle and it makes it easier for you to pretend it was an accident meant to amuse your child. But I digress. The 2 PMS carts had been sitting in the 102 degree heat so we told her we'd get another one inside. Did they have another one inside? - of course not. And here begins the episode. At that moment, my beautiful blonde headed angel's head began rotate on her shoulders as she screamed at the top of her lungs to protest having to ride in a "regalar" cart. She then proceeded to go "noodled" when I tried to pick her up and put her in the basket of the cart. In doing this manuever, she landed squarely on her tailbone. This produced a shriek sounding much like I had physically struck her in the face. By this time other Lowe's patrons were staring; some in amusement, some in judgement. Usually I would be mortified but today I knew that she was just hungry and all I could do was laugh. Andy was laughing too. Now, in complete reversal from the previous fit, Emma was screaming, "Mama, hold me!" because her little tush hurt from smacking the cement floor of Lowe's. The head rotating had stopped but the screaming was still going strong. It took about 15 steps down the main aisle until she calmed down enough to be understood in her wailing. Ultimately, we got her into the cart. As the last of her sobs were dying away, she heard a familiar sound: the chime of her new Princess lamp that Grandma & Grandpa bought her for her birthday. Immediately, her head popped up and she said, "Mama, the Princess lamp! Let's go see it!" Ahh, the tragedy of it all.

I miss my child

Just now, my mom called to let me know that Emma is taking a bath. Bathtime is a lot of fun with Emma for several reasons the foremost being that she is completely contained. She likes taking a bath so much that she will actually sit in one place for up to 45 minutes playing with the toys and bubbles. Unheard of. When Mom called tonight I could hear Emma in the background. She was giggling and for those of you who haven't heard an Emma-giggle, it IS the most precious thing in the world. Then my mother gasped in horror (as she is wont to do in non-life-threatening situations like dropping her fork) as Emma unloaded a squirt toy in her face. The giggling multiplied as I can only assume my mother flailed and fell off the stool she was sitting on ("whump" on my end of the phone). Then Emma wanted to talk to me. "Mama, today the big doggie wouldn't bark but the little doggie barked hard at the fence. Then I walked with Mimi up the big hill. I taking a bath. I dirty. I have sweat. Bye." Just as I was about to hang up I heard her say, "I lub you Mama. I wanna call Daddy." Then the giggling and gasping started again as Emma began spraying my mother again. Normally she wiggles and twitches and bucks me so much when I try to mother her that my overriding emotion is frustration. Today, I just want to hold her so she can wiggle, twitch, buck and giggle with me.

She Can Be Taught!

Today, while hurtling around my father's golf course in the passenger seat of a golf cart powered by my father's lead foot and navigated by my almost-3-year-old, I realized that whether or not my furniture makes it to FL intact will be of little consequence if I am dead. Near death experiences were on the menu today while riding in said golf cart with my child and my father. Growing up on or near a golf course most of my life, golf carts have been a part of my existence as far back as I can remember. Today I realized just how dangerous they actually are. Think on it: battery powered, metal frames on wheels. No doors. No windows. NO SEATBELTS. Add into this contraption a 55+ golf pro who knows the golf course like the back of his hand (same man who will drive the golf cart, pointing out the view from #3, not looking AT ALL, as we seemingly speed over the sand-trap embankment off the side of the mountain on which the course was built). He is holding a hyperactive pre-schooler precariously in his lap allowing her to pilot this 25+ mph contraption over the rolling hills and valleys of the 13th hole. By the time we made it back to the clubhouse, my right thigh was cramping from the number of times I hit the imaginary emergency brake on my side of the golf cart. However, I was NOT awarded title of "poo-poo head" as my mother was. I managed to keep my terror well disguised while riding with these 2 while my mom kept letting phrases like "Slow down!" or "Turning, turning!!!" escape from her lips. One other thing I realized: my father never would have let any of we children drive a golf cart when we were 3. Phrases like, "I could get fired!" or "You could hurt someone!" (how true!) were favorites whenever Leanne, Jay or I wanted to drive the cart. This just goes to show you that yes, parenthood is a monumental reminder of how unfair your parents can really be. You thought your little brother had it good? Forget it. Wait till you have kids. Your parents will let your kids do things even YOU know are a bad idea. Case in point: this is a conversation I have actually had with my own father.
-Dad, we don't let her launch herself off the furniture like that.
-Why not?
-She could hurt herself.
-But she's having fun...
-Dad, she's leaping from the arm of the couch onto the ottoman. That spells disaster to me.
-C'mon, lighten up. I'm the Papa. Besides, this is a lot better than letting her jump off the back of the deck like we did yesterday.
SHEESH.
One thing that I am proud of though. As the wind was screaming through our hair on the golf cart today, my mother said, yet again, "Danny, slow down!" To which my father replied, "Oh, just shut up, would ya?"
My gorgeous, almost-3-year-old daughter proceeded to say, "Uh-oh, Papa said 'shut up'. We don't say that word Papa. That's bad." So, she's listening - granted it's only to correct others rather than follow directions herself but this at least confirms that she can, in fact hear. Thank God for small victories.