Archive for June, 2012

Miss Independent- June 30, 2012

Saturday, June 30th, 2012

I’ve witnessed some children in Charlotte’s daycare perform this daily ritual of losing their minds when their parents drop them off.  They cry, wail, and cling to mom or dad until the teachers expertly distract the child.  Come pick-up time they squeal and joyfully run with open arms as their parents scoop them up.

Not our kid.  Nope.  That behavior is very rare.  She can’t wait to get down and play.  She darts for the toys and runs to her peers who’s eyes are still fresh with tears from their goodbyes.  We come and pick her up and she barely looks up.  We have to pry books or toys out of her hands to get her to leave.  Her acknowledgement of us comes only in the form of whines for a paci or crackers to eat in the car.

She will offer a hug, smile, and wave when I leave.  I cherish that and memorize the image to carry with me during the day because that’s all I’ll get.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love that Charlotte is so independent and eager, but is it too much to ask for a little parental longing?  ::sigh::  I have to imagine the parents of clingers wish their kids were a little more like my independent child.

 

 

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Flashed before my eyes- June 25, 2012

Monday, June 25th, 2012

I’m no ophthalmologist, just an attention seeker with a laptop.  But, I’m here today to dispel the rumor that pink eye is caused by getting poop in your eye.  This topic came up because I just battled another bout of Oozy Eyeball Disease, better known as Bacterial Conjunctivitis.

The guys in Knocked Up claimed they “farted bare-assed on each other’s pillows” and gave each other pink eye with “poop particles”. This was an exaggeration for comedy, not based on medical knowledge.

My doctor said lots of different bacteria cause pink eye, not just bacteria from fecal matter.  I was concerned when someone told me I was getting pink eye because I change my baby’s diaper and then touch my face.  Eww!  I wash my hands, you sicko!

Right after my coworkers sent me home to wash out my eyes last week, I really did have a reason to wash out my eyes.

I left a meeting and went to my car in a parking deck downtown.  I was climbing the stairs when I turned the corner and saw a man leaning on the railing with it all out.  I mean IT all out.  Yep, a homeless guy using our city’s public parking deck as his private restroom flashed me!  I turned and bolted towards security.  I didn’t bother to call the police.  I had to get to the doctor.  I begged him to give me Listerine, Isopropyl Alcohol or anything to disinfect my eyes and brain from that sight.

I did notice the guy’s eyes before I laid eyes on his junk.  Neither appeared infected.  But again I’m no ophthalmologist, nor urologist.

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That’s MY name!- June 24, 2012

Sunday, June 24th, 2012

I’m so proud of my daughter’s name.  Charlotte Eva.  I say it, whisper it in her hear, and scribble it on paper.  It’s beautiful and fits her perfectly.

If you have read my blog for any length of time you may have picked up on the fact that I’m sort of obsessed with names.  The amount of time, effort, and research I put into picking out Charlotte’s name is pretty insane.  Here’s a quick look back.

The intense name buildup.

The ultimate decision.

The aftermath.

Yes, the name Charlotte has grown in popularity, but not like some other girl names.  The Nameberry thing in 2010 was just that it was the most searched name, not necessarily the one most parents chose.  (see final link) 2011 brought no new little Charlotte’s to her daycare and none of my Facebook or blog friends named their umpteenth 2012 babies Charlotte.  I haven’t really been sweating it.

Until this weekend.

Oh no he didn’t!!!!!!!

I griped and grumbled when I noticed this guy I grew up with named his adorable newborn daughter Charlotte.  Bryan and I went to middle school and high school together.  We even dated for a little while.  He’s a sweet guy.  I really seriously doubt he even knew my daughter’s name.  Nor should he care.  He should be able to name his kid whatever he wants.  I don’t own the name Charlotte.  I’m just insane.  I can admit it.

This is me being a grown-up and getting over it.  I posted this comment on a picture of his Charlotte….

Bryan, she is so sweet! Congrats! My daughter is named Charlotte, also. Great name!

See…I’m getting less crazy.  Until the next baby name.

 

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Hard(wood) sell- June 20, 2012

Wednesday, June 20th, 2012

Let me say for the record that selling your house blows.  Seriously.  Who has time to unload and load the dishwasher before going to work?!  It is my right as a homeowner to leave my sticky cereal bowl in the sink until I get home, dammit!  But not on a day we have a showing.  Oh no!  It’s all clean-up-your-slobbish-ways-or live-there-forever!

By the way.  If you’re in the market for a lovely townhome with a one-car garage in North Raleigh, please take a look!  You’ll have to act fast since we may be the luckiest SOB’s on the planet to have someone say they want to make an offer a half-hour after we put it on the market!

Some feedback from other showings so far have been “not enough hardwood floors”.

Really?

::sigh::  You can’t please ‘em all.  Fingers crossed this offer will go through and we’ll have a new house with a new stainless steel sink in which to leave the remains of our breakfast.

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Tush teachings- June 19, 2012

Tuesday, June 19th, 2012

These days we’re hit or miss with potty training in our house.  I’m not really sweating it, nor am I going super hard-core with it because she’s only 19-months-old.  Regardless, potty training has brought up interesting “conversations” with our toddler.

Sometimes they are anatomy lessons.

She knows where her bottom is.  “Ba-ba” as she calls it, as she pats her rear end.  She sits on the potty and we talk.  I explain that poo-poo comes out of her bottom and pee-pee comes out the front.  I tell her these are her “private parts” Pretty soon I’ll use the proper words anus and urethra.  I have also explained that part of her private parts are her vagina.  She just looks at me and tugs on my earring and giggles, or points at my nose and says “Mama nose!”  I laugh.  The point is, we have started the conversation.

I do not believe in using cutesy terms for private parts.  Ever.

Tracie is a sexual abuse survivor and a really inspiring woman.  She explains why cutesy terms are a bad idea better than I ever could.  Read this!!!!  I think my favorite line is “You wouldn’t tell your daughter that her nose is called a Hoo-Ha and then send her out in the world.  Then why is it okay to say that about her vagina?”

Funny thing is, I know Charlotte is listening.  Even at 1 1/2 she understands.  For example, after one of these conversations I was standing in the bathroom and felt a little hand patting my backside.  “Mama ba-ba!”

I died laughing as I picked her up thinking of all the other anatomy lessons she’ll eventually understand.

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