Little Ms. Independence.

Ah, the tiny toddler tyrant. The formation of confidence and independence are a necessary evil in the development of the mind. Maggie is currently in the “I do it” stage. She needs to do everything, even if she can’t. “No, I do it. Mama. I do it.” I tell her she has to take a bath 15 minutes prior because that is about how long it takes her to take off her socks. I try to help in ninja like sweeps to her heel. But she will quickly brush away my hand and say with authority and a frown “NO, I DO IT.” Okay, bitch, go for it. Luckily for me she is easy to distract with gummy bears. But who isn’t really? Last night when getting home, John said “Guess what your daughter did?” “Kill someone with her fury?” Not yet. However, while watching Dora the Explora, which she calls “Dorie”, she had a moment. If you are not familiar with Dora, it is a Nick Jr. animated show in which a girl is faced with a problem, and she needs to figure out the clues to attain a positive result. This, in theory, sounds reasonable. But this morning’s Dora, involved Dora waking up to find her twin brother and sister aged 6 months out of the cribs, and on a stroller that was capable of moving itself since the twins all of sudden disappeared. As Dora, her monkey, her mom and dad raced to find “the babies”, they went through a gate, and then came to a red hill, which was actually a giant rooster. Finally, they found the babies. Yeah. Anyway, when the mission is accomplished, Dora and her pals launch into a rousing edition of “We did it. We did it. Yes, we did it.” Ms. Maggie McCall, finding issue with this, suddenly ran to the television and started screaming at the top her lungs "NO. I DO IT. I DO IT.” And that is your tiny toddler tyrant.

And so it begins . . . .

I know that it has been a while since I have taken finger to key to type the wonder that is my life, but honestly, I have not even thought of this blog of late. I know! What a bitch. But I am back, because it must be said that my son has been taken over by the Terrible Twos. And in no particular order, the joys so far:

The Wind-Up Toddler. When picking up a frustrated and angry Owen Patrick, be careful of the full kicking of his feet back and forth. Like a demented gazelle, my son will scissor his legs at such a rapid pace, one would not be surprised if placed in water, he would cross the Atlantic in 2.5 days. Although locked in my arms, and incapable of escape, his legs do not get the message. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Furious feet do you magic! I am afraid to put him in corduroys for fear of fire.

I Shall Slaughter You All. I imagine that being the youngest kid and only boy in daycare has its moments of “Holy cow, I really wish I could take those girls down. Dolls, dolls, dolls, stupid dolls.” And it seems that Owen has finally had enough as he has begun hitting the other kids, I believe the phrase “threw her to the ground” was used this morning, which as a football fan makes me proud, but as a woman makes me call domestic violence hotlines. But I guess this is all “normal toddler behavior”. Seriously, I was wondering if having a hissy fit, and punching some one at work out could be qualified “as normal adult behavior.” Because, that would be awesome.

Although a Bruiser, I Ain’t Stupid. John informs me that at the park Owen will only knock down and push kids that are smaller than him, while he leaves the big kids alone. Smart boy.

You Are an Obsession, You're My Obsession. Owen has two obsessions of late. The first is brushing his teeth. Never has there been a child on this green earth who has loved the tooth brushing so much. We brush his teeth in the bath, first thing. Don’t break out of the order, or you will have deal with the wrath of Owen. “Teeettttt. Teeeetttt. Teeeeetttttttttttt. Teeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeettttttttttttttttttttt.” Okay, dude, I got it. So I brush his teeth and there is such joy and happiness in his eyes. The second thing, and I am pretty sure this might prove out to be beneficial, is his new fangled love of the potty. “Pppppooooddddyyy. Pooooddddyyy. Poooddddyyyy”. For now all he does is sit on it, with a proud look upon his face. So proud, this morning I asked if he wanted any reading material. He yells poddy, sits down, gets up and repeats 10,000 times. John and I are actually considering this may be the start of a diaper free existence. Can you imagine not wiping the ass of someone else 3 to 6 times a day? Well I can too. And it is glorious.

So there you have it, the first of what I am sure will be many stories of the joys of my son entering his “first adolescence.” Heaven help us.

The Weekly Wrap

Oh blog, where do I begin? I am sorry that I have been lax in updates, but there is not much going on right now. Was I to tell you how I made fruit salad on Sunday for an entire week's worth of lunch for me and John? Or how about how I have been cleaning my kitchen and bathroom every single night in an effort to have my house clean in 20 minutes? Or better yet, how I think the secret to my washing my hair after my run is to use the 2 in 1 shampoo, and then a separate conditioner. Hello bouncy. But nope, I decided not to share. Gawd, I am such a selfish bitch. So some highlights of the last week:

Hello Terrible Twos. This weekend I cut Owen's hair, or should I say, this weekend I cut Owen's mullet only to realize in hindsight that I replaced a mullet with circa 1980s Flock of Seagulls hair. A hairdresser I am not. However, I think with this cutting of his baby hair I have unleashed the demon within. Holy cow, someone is becoming his own little guy - and that guy is Toddlerzilla. For example, I have been reading a book to Owen as his last book before bed since he has been four months old. Its called Goodnight Baby. As a side note, I truly believe if I ever come down with Alzheimer's, there will be mumbling of "Today was fun, friends came to play, we played with blocks, and read our books, but now I'm sleepy . . .". Heaven help me. For the past week whenever this book is read, Owen starts whining, reaching for the book so he can throw it across the room. As you see Toddler Brain thinks no book, no goodnight. But unfortunately for him, Mommy Brain much schooled in the ways of manipulation reads another book, and then puts toddler brain to bed. I win (for now). I actually did a countdown to see the end of his Terrible Twos and the result was 549 days. Kill me.

The Goal of Thirty. The goal of thirty is going well, I have actually lost count truth be told, but I do believe I am at 19.5. I ran four days this week, and with a breakfast of grapefruit, a fruit salad for lunch and a pretty healthy dinner, I do believe I am on the path to better health. And we got the Nintendo Wii Fit last evening. And I am a-okay with the label of "overweight", because it was only slightly so. Although honestly, a video game just called me a porker. And for added insult, every time I step on the board, it goes "ooohhhhh" in a tone which I do believe is mocking. Talk about subliminal self esteem annihilation. However, it did inform me that I might "trip a lot". Well holy cow, Wii Fit - you are a promising an end to lifelong klutziness? Weight loss and not being embarrassed on a daily basis - yee promise the world machine!

Just Call Me Broiling Betty. So it seems that I have said goodbye to all other cooking methods in an effort to broil everything I eat. I am a total addict, which is funny considering the average of 15 minutes it takes for me to clean the broiling pan. Those not in the know, "broiling" is basically grilling in your oven. AND ITS AWESOME. Marinate some chicken, put it under the flames, flip, eat. And its good, like super good, like open flame, but not really good. Its broiling baby!

So there you have it I am an exercising mother to a newly created demanding demonlike child with an affinity, dare I say love, for her oven's broiler. And that is the week's wrap up.