To put it bluntly, toddlers are not graceful.  They’re still working out that thing called balance, and haven’t mastered how to regain one’s balance if they start to lose it.  Hell, I’m an adult and I still haven’t quite figured that one out yet.  So, take some twirling in circles,  and throw good ol’ gravity into the mix?  And a nearby, immobile, hard object? Well, that is just a recipe for disaster.

Forehead, meet the dresser handle.  Dresser handle, meet the forehead.

There was much blood, and much crying (from both the Kiddo AND me).

There was a three hour visit to the emergency room, and three or four stitches.  And then a popsicle and a small puppy finger puppet (from the doctor) for being such a trooper!  She didn’t cry during the stitches at all, and held still just like we asked her to do.  Yay for topical anesthetic, and yay for a very calm little girl!  And a super doctor and nurse, to boot.  And thanks to her grandma for sitting with us at the ER in sheer boredom waiting those long three hours, helping me keep the Kiddo entertained.

I am so spent.  I hope to never have to repeat what happened today ever again.  But I imagine that is just wishful thinking… if she inherited my clutziness, and can’t find her gracefulness, well, I fear something like this will probably happen at some point again, but hopefully in the way way distant future.  But I can still hope that distant future never comes and she turns out to be as graceful as a swan, right?  One can dream…

So she pouts and walks away – toward her daddy’s office.  I immediately knew what she was intending on doing, and sure enough, I hear her dad tell her no also.  The only difference is that he sweetens the sting a little by telling her she can have them AFTER dinner (whereas that thought didn’t even occur to me).

Just as dinner is about done he comes out and relays their conversation – when she asked him if she could have the chips, he asked her in turn, “Did mommy already tell you no?”, to which she answers, “No.”  Then he says he asked her again, adding something to the effect of  ”I’m pretty sure I heard her tell you no,” to which she quietly says “yes” with another pout.

So not only is she trying out the fine art of asking the other parent when the first one says no, she’s also fibbing to try to get her way.   Thank goodness she isn’t very good at either yet. LOL

We went out to Petsmart to get some kitty litter and cat food, and looked at the animals while we were there.. the fishes, the kitties available for adoption, the birds, reptiles and rodents.  All went fine until we got to the betta fish – then she wanted to try to hold one of the cups by herself.  Um, NO.  I told her mommy needed to hold the fishy, she could just look.  She gave me attitude.  I was considering buying a fish and a small fish tank, but I also wanted to get lunch and didn’t want the fish to cook in the car while we were getting our food.  So I told her we’d maybe get the fish later and we needed to head out and get lunch.

More attitude.  Maybe not so much for the “getting the fish later” part, but for the having to leave and go somewhere else part.  She shrieked “NOOOOO!” and tried to run from me.   That earned her a swat on the rear.

We check out and leave the store, and stand at the edge of the sidewalk before crossing into the parking lot. I want her to walk between me and the cart, not next to it.  She refuses to cooperate, and almost darts into the street.  I can just feel the gray hairs sprouting up on my head.  I pick her up and plant her on the box of kitty litter in the cart.  She’s crying, angry because she isn’t getting her way.  I’m angry, because now I have no desire to attempt to take her into the restaurant I wanted lunch from to order our food, and it does not have a drive through, so we’re going straight home.  She goes straight to the corner as soon as we get home.  Ugh!

I got more attitude throughout the rest of the day, and had to take away the iMac from her room again so she’d nap (it’s back in my office now, it will no longer sit on her dresser even temporarily).  At least she napped, though it took her until 3pm.

I mean, I was glad that she was finally using her arm and playing again, but geeze.  I started to wonder where my sweet little girl went, and was very thankful I’d be able to go back to work on Monday and she to preschool.  She improved over the weekend, though.  I think it was just a bad day, she realized she had her freedom back and was completely snotty about it.  She’s nearly back to her old self now, although still with a teeny bit of attitude, which she was exhibiting last night when she was supposed to be going to sleep. 

So yeah, I’m glad to have my sweet girl back and the snotty girl that took her over on Friday is nearly gone.  That is certainly one week I will hope to never have to repeat again in the future.

Yesterday while I was in the kitchen trying to clean up some dishes, I noticed she had sat herself in her dolly’s stroller and was trying to inch along with her feet.  I told her she needed to get out of her dolly stroller or she would break it.  She kept on inching along.  I told her again, and added if she didn’t listen I would take the stroller away and she’d go to the corner.  She kept going.

So, I had to take away her dolly stroller, which was one heck of a fight because she tried hard to hang on to it, even after I had folded it up , including plopping her butt down on the floor and playing dead weight.  Once I got it loose from her hands I dropped it on the floor and started the wrestling match to get her into the corner (again, dead weight + flailing limbs and kicks).  After getting her into the corner and while her dad stood watch, I went to go hide the stroller (it’s currently under our bed).

She was QUITE livid about having that stroller taken away.  Plus the punishment in the corner.  She ended up sobbing so hard that she repeating herself about four or five times – “I *sob* want *sob*  to *sob* get *sob* out *sob*” (of the corner – she kept repeating because she couldn’t finish the sentence for crying so hard).  I actually had to stifle some chuckling because it sounded so darn funny at the time.  That doesn’t happen too often (me laughing), but sometimes it can’t be helped. The tricky part is hiding the fact that their angry antics are making you giggle a little, because what kind of message will that send?  And it wasn’t a mocking laugh or anything that would be uncool, it was more of the type that just comes out an inappropriate times because what else can you do?  And the sob talk just tripped that trigger…

Anyway, I think I ended up spraining my wrist when trying to haul her into the corner.  It’s the same wrist I sprained a few months back (and have no clue how it happened then), so I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised it has been reinjured.  It’s not TOO bad, and I’m using an ace bandage to keep it wrapped most of the time and particularly at night.

For now it seems she has forgotten about the dolly stroller even existing.  But if she does happen to remember it suddenly and ask where it is, it will only be given back under the condition that she doesn’t sit in it.  Of course we’ll see how long that lasts.

Our first, “if your kid/s is/are too quiet, that can’t be good”, incident.  I have photographic proof, too.

This is what happens when you leave a pair of scissors within reach of your curious toddler.  The above shot is after I attempted to try to see if I would be able to repair said damage, and realized it was a lost cause – I’m just going to rip out the whole thing and tie the cut yarn together and redo the blanket.  Yeah, tacky to tie the yarn, but I don’t have any more skeins of this color, and I will see it as a way to remind her (and myself) – if it’s too quiet, something is wrong!

Basically, while dinner was cooking I sat down with her blanket because it was done except I needed to weave in the ends, and since she seemed interested in using the blanket, I told her I would finish it so she could take it to bed later.  I have a small pair of foldable scissors and I had them unfolded to snip the yarn after I weaved it into the blanket enough.  The timer for the first part of dinner went off, so I set everything down on my t.v. tray and went out to the kitchen to prep the rest of the food.  Shortly after, my husband followed.  The Kiddo went potty, and after I helped her clean up, I went back out to the kitchen, and the Kiddo went into the living room.

I was stirring the hamburger helper and realized – it was too quiet – and asked the Kiddo where she was.  She answered from the living room, so I figured, ok, at least she is within ear-shot.  Then my husband walked out to the living room a short time later and found her practicing her cutting skills on the blanket.

I could not be soley mad at her – it was my fault for not putting the scissors away.  But I was upset because it was the first thing I started making for her that I actually was almost finished with.  I have started SEVERAL blankets, either knit or crochet, but have not finished any, over the last three years, except this one, so I was so very sad when I saw how badly it was cut.  I did manage to patch ONE of the smaller holes, but after examing that big one, there is no way I’m going to be able to fix it without ripping out the whole thing.

My husband casually said afterwards, “you should’ve gone with your instincts, hon.”  Yep, I sure shoulda.

“I can’t!”, which she says if she either a) doesn’t WANT to do something, or b) doesn’t THINK she can do something (when it is obivous she CAN) – which probably can really just be included in the first item.

Yesterday evening she tossed one of her baby dolls onto our bed, and it was just out of her “normal” reach, but if she stretched and got up on her toes, reaching it would’ve been very easy.  It was *just* at the tip of her fingers if she reached with no effort.  And I had a pile of clean clothes on the bed, so I did not want her to climb onto it to get the doll.  So instead of trying to reach the doll by stretching a little bit and getting on her toes, she just stood there with her arm outstretched on the bed, just within reach of the doll, whining “I can’t!”.

Then she decided to toss a small ball onto the bed, which WAS out of reach for her.  And went back to the corner of the bed, which she uses to climb up, and tried to use it an excuse to get both items.  I told her, no, she has to reach to get her doll FIRST, then she can climb up to get the ball.  (Yeah, I know, kind of against the reason I didn’t want her on the bed in the first place, but I didn’t tell her why I didn’t want her on the bed, so that really doesn’t matter in this case).

And you know what?  Just like that, she stretched a little on her toes and got her doll. I told her, “See? I knew you could do it! Now you can climb up and get your ball.”

Anyway, I think I might just go batty with this phase.  I’d almost rather deal with a tantrum than the pathetic “I can’t!” whine.  Ugh!

So yesterday, I decided since it wasn’t that hot out when we got home, and with the sun going down I could work mostly in the shade, I decided to hit the front yard and do some weeding.  I had the Kiddo stay outside with me while I worked, since her dad decided to hunker down in front of his computer and play some Warhammer.

Maybe about 10 minutes in, she disappears into the house.  Then comes back out, and tells me she has to go potty.  A bit too late, as her skorty was already sopping wet.  So I escort her inside, and since my hands are covered in weed goo and I’ll be going back outside again to finish weeding – what’s the point in washing my hands if they’re going to get dirty again, right? – my husband helps her take the wet shorts off and puts her onto the potty.  Where she proceeds to do absolutely nothing but sit.  Apparently she did all she was going to in her clothing.

So I go to get her some underwear and a new pair of shorts (pinching them at the very edges of the fabric between my thumb and index finger to keep the weed goo from transferring over), and she puts them on, and we go back outside.

Another 15-20 minutes pass, maybe, and she disappears back into the house, but this time doesn’t come right back out.  *sigh* That is never a good sign, so I toss the weeds in my hand into a pile and go into the house to look for her.

I find her standing in the kitchen looking at the empty packaging from her Mrs. Potato Head, and a dinner-plate sized puddle of pee on the floor next to her.    What bugs me about this is she never says a thing to me that she has to potty (unless it’s too late like the first time), and she doesn’t even try to go into the restroom by herself and ask either of us for help.  I don’t know, maybe I’m expecting a lot out of someone who isn’t even three years old yet, but she goes by herself ALL THE TIME at school!  So why not at home?  It just confuses me, and I wonder what goes on in her head where she doesn’t *think* to head to our bathroom when she has to go potty.  We even left her little toilet on top of the big toilet and the stool at the foot of the toilet so she can climb up without help, but she apparently decided the floor was a better spot.

ARG!

Anytime the Kiddo sees my purse, or even a glimpse of a tube of Chapstick (or any type of lip balm, for that matter), she HAS to put some on.  And she says that phrase, to let me know she is bent on doing so.

She will unzip my purse, and root around inside to find that coveted tube.  If left to her own devices, she will apply it.  And apply it.  And apply it some more.  Nope, not done yet – and more and more.  She would probably try to put half a tube of it on until she was caught and stopped.

So any time I hear that phrase, and I am not in the same room as she is, I have to RUN to find where she is to keep her from using up the entire thing.

Somehow, I think my daughter will definitely not follow in my footsteps when it comes to make-up.  I wear little to none of it except on special occassions.  Seriously – my make-up expires before I can even use 1/16th of it – and that’s being generous.

I have a feeling she’s going to be a definite glamour girl when she gets older.

Maybe she should be an actress when she grows up. LOL

So last night, we get home, and the Kiddo wants to wear panties after I changed her out of a very soppy pull-up.  Which was my fault, because she said she had to go potty while we were at the store, but it was muggy, I was sweaty, and had a cart with cold groceries in it, and didn’t want to put off going home any longer than necessary – bad mommy!

Anyway, I did so, and set up the hall bathroom toilet so it had her little potty situated on the big toilet seat, and the stool at the foot of the toilet so all she would have to do is run in, strip down and use it.  Which she HAS done on her own before.

She wants to watch Madagascar while we kill time until dinner, so I oblige and remind her that if she has to go potty, she can just get up and run to the bathroom and go!  She doesn’t need to ask or tell me.

She says “OK!” and sits down to watch Madagascar.  She is sitting on the foot rest of her umbrella stroller (she is weird like that, and there is a back story to why the stroller is in my home office/hobby room), watching the movie, and drinking some strawberry milk.  I am at my desk, surfing and posting on some bulletin boards, and dropping some Entrecards.

About 20 minutes after we sat down, I hear the distinct splatter of liquid onto the carpet.  Only it takes me like five seconds for my brain to register WHAT that means.  And by then, it is too late.

AGGH!!!  She peed on my carpet, practically oblivious to what she was doing. GRRRR!  When I finally realized what was happening, and said her name in that “What are you DOING?!” tone, she looked up at me, then down at the puddle, and just continued to sit there and finish.  *insert big heaving sigh here*

All I could say was, “GO.  Go into the bathroom.  NOW,” and followed her out to go get a towel to mop up the puddle.

After I got it cleaned up, I told her she was going to wear a diaper.  NOT a pull-up, and definitely NOT panties (the rest are waiting to be washed, anyway).  Sadly, she didn’t even seem to care that she was going to have to wear a diaper.  In fact, the little stinker went into her room to go GET one. 

There was still some time to kill before dinner, so we went back into my office and she continued to watch the movie. Five minutes later, she decides she has to potty.  Runs to the bathroom, strips off her diaper, sits on the toilet, and goes.

Suure, kid.  Use the toilet when you’re wearing a diaper, but pee on my floor when you’re wearing panties?  I think you have things backwards, kiddo.  And thanks.  Thank you very much.