Mia, as ever

Mia woke up not feeling well and asked me if I could carry her downstairs. When I told her I’d have to get daddy because mommy’s back was sore she moaned pitifully, “That’s alright, I’ll just slide and craaawl…”
She seems to be on the mend now lying on the couch, much better, though sighing dramatically from time to time with one arm thrown across her forehead.
Oh yes, and she did mention that she thought she might have “broken two of her legs”.

Mia Question of the day

“Mom? How do we know that our eyeballs won’t just fall out?”

F*@#ing Sh*t

Yes, we’ve finally hit that special milestone, the one that makes all moms and dads just burst with parental pride; Junior’s first F-Bomb.

 

Ours happened yesterday morning, about a half hour before I was leaving for work.

Mia, in a very Mia Mood, had already had a time out and a swat on the butt, perhaps only the 2nd of her young yet dramatic life, after slapping my arm (hard!) not once but three times because I didn’t drop everything to sing-song her through a library copy of She’s Got the Whole World in Her Hands.

Anyhow, we’d actually gotten past the tears and the sulking to the happy part again, the part where she and I hug and makeup and I tell her I love her and she kisses and hugs me back and goes off to color for a few minutes while I attempt to find something not stained, smelly, ripped or wholly inappropriate to wear for work. 

Crossing the living room into the kitchen I look at her and smile, my little angel baby, sitting there calmly coloring a bear in with a blue crayon.  Trouble Monkey was on the bed playing with a car, talking to himself and I had actually found something kind of OK to wear.

It just might turn out to be a good day.

Still coloring she looks up at me with a big smile and breezily announces, “Mommy, this bear looks like Fucking Shit.”

uhhhh, huh? Mmmm, what was that honey, what did you say? I heard the high edge to my voice and knelt, smiling, to soften things up and encourage her to repeat herself. 

“Fucking Shit. I said this bear looks like Fucking Shit”. Still all with a big, bright smile.

For one brief moment I put my face in my hands to hind a slightly unhinged laugh. I mean, come on, I’m only human.

Then, as nicely and openly as curiously as I could muster, I asked the question to which I already knew the horrifying answer; “Mia, who says that? Who did you hear that from?’

 

“YOU mommy!” Her smiled exploded now, finger pointing directly at my face.

“Ah, yes, um, yes, I do say that, sometimes, don’t I…hmmmm. Well, you know what? It’s really not a very nice thing to say actually, not at all, and to be honest with you, it’s not something that you should say again because it could really make someone feel bad (like ME, bad Curses Like a Sailor Mommy).  And you know what? Mommy’s not going to say it anymore either, ok?”

I could see that she was a bit surprised and uncertain, as if she truly hadn’t fully known if it was good, bad or just gibberish and didn’t want to get in any more trouble for one morning. 

“Ok mommy.” she nodded, subdued, seeming to get it and eager to do as I asked after our earlier altercation.

 

And that was that. The end of it. 

Until this morning, or should I say, F*@#ing Sh*t, Part 2

 

F*@#king Sh*t, Part 2 goes something like this:

The two kids are playing on the bed, laughing and chatting and making their stuffed animals have a grand old conversation. I’m standing at the kitchen counter, stirring my tea, when I hear IT.

“Fucking Shit“

Our eyes meet across the apartment. Mine quizzical, hers stricken.

“It was the Giraffe, not me!”

then

“I just said it too loud.  Next time I’m going to say it quietly, ok? Low enough so you can’t hear me.”

and

“But mom, I like to say Fucking Shit. I Like to say Fucking Shit, I say Fucking Shit all the time, I just say Fucking Shit, Fucking Shit, Fucking Shit. I just say it, just like that.”

then

“Well I am,! I’m going to say Fucking Shit, just like that, Fucking Shit! I don’t care if it’s ugly, I’m going to say Well Fucking Shit!”

 

Forty minutes later, after I calmly yet firmly make it clear that that will not, in fact, be the case we are once again off and humming.

Everyone dressed, fed, toys picked up, moving along nicely thank you.

I pass Mia in the living room on my way to change my top when she proudly announces to me, “MOM! I didn’t say FUCKING SHIT!”

Hurts so good

Evenings around our apartment are pretty relaxed, family-type affairs. Often we dispense with pants or even clothes altogether.
Ok, the kids mostly, though I’ve been known throw on t-shirts with so many holes that they might, in fact, qualify as nothing.

So, the other night when I looked up to find Luca sans pants and diapers I wasn’t surprised.

That’s how he rolls lately, it’s his thing, and though I fight to keep the diapers on most of the day I don’t think a little “airing out” before bedtime is necessarily a bad thing.

But the thing about being bare-arsed is this; it leaves all the goodies out and at the ready.

Again, not something I freak over. I mean, if I were 20 months old and had a little dangle right there in front of me I’d pull on it too.

But when I heard Luca say, “Boo-boo! Boo-boo!” out of the blue I did look up, as he was only sitting on the couch chillin’ with Dad and Mia, watching a little Backyardigans, so how could he have hurt himself.

And there was my little dude, trying to whack his wee schmegeggie down front it’s salute, unsure of what had caused this situation but clearly aware that something had radically changed.

Yes, Luca, it’s true; Love Hurts. But that is not a Boo Boo.

Ok, I can take a hint

May 25th, 2009

After an all around blast of a weekend at the Old Wreck, Monday saw us packing up to head back to the city in time to beat the traffic. I noticed Mia seemed deep in thought and, foolishly thinking I should know what was on her mind, I asked, “What are you thinking about?”

Mia (pleasantly): “Actually, it’s something called Big Girl thoughts, not people thoughts.”

T.G.I…oh whatever

Ok, I’m just glad it’s Friday and I can relax a little bit. Luca woke up at 5:30 this morning then woke Mia up, and then the two of them tore the apartment apart while the two of us tried to sleep through all the crashing noises…

Ummm. Thank you?

We were watching a movie the other night, Peter Pan I believe, when Mia held out her little hand to me with something between her two fingers.

“Here mama.”

I take the small rubbery ball and look at it closely. Schmuts? Fuzz? Glue?

“Mia? Did you just give me a bugger? From your nose?

Silence. She’s deep in the plot at Neverland again.

“Mia, honey did you just give me a bugger? Mia? Miiiiiaaaaa?”

Mia, absently, “Umm, no that’s ok mom, I just already got a bugger from my other nose.”

Smiles for the Week

This week’s Mia-isms are extra sweet and juicy!:

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Mia: Mama? Can you help me to fix my neck?

Me: Why? What’s wrong with your neck?

Mia: Nothing. It’s just broken…

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Mia: Mom, can I be a little bird and ride on your back???

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Mia: “I wish I was a sticker…”

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Milk from a cow named Alice

Up at the farm where Grandma scores our fresh Raw milk, one of the cows had a calf that (for reasons understood only by the two farmers involved) is being surrogate fed by another cow down the road.

This has led to a recent windfall in colostrum-rich, fresh raw milk for us and the kids that has left me feeling pretty darn lucky, and only slightly guilty. The calf, after all, is still being suckled, and who am I to interfere in the Ways of Farmer.

The lovely creature bestowing her gift on us is named Alice which, as it happens, is also the main character’s name in one of Mia’s favorite new stories (yes, that Alice).

Being a reluctantly full-time working mom has some unexpected benefits, the main one for me probably being that it helps me to hold each sweet, funny and odd little exchange with them as a treasure (epic tantrums aside, of course).

I here offer you one of those little treasures:

“Mia, look at this yummy milk that Grand-ma brought us from the farm!”

“From the farm? From a cow? Is that milk from a cow, mama?

“Yes, it’s milk from a cow named Alice.”

“Alice? You mean Alice in Wonderland? The cow’s name is Alice Wonderland?

“Um, yup, that’s right Mia, Alice Wonderland. Isn’t it delicious? Now let’s make sure we drink it all up so we don’t hurt Alice’s feelings.

“YUM! Mama, I yuv milk from Alice Wonderland!”

way back then, huh?

Lately Mia has gotten interested in putting things into a certain context (when she was a baby, yesterday vs today, before she could walk, etc…).

The other day after fishing through some of her older toys looking for something she hasn’t played with in a while I came across a big art set that my mom gave her as soon as she could properly hold a crayon.

Mia got really excited as she hadn’t seen them in a while and squealed, “Mom, these are my super duper duper markers! Grand-ma gave them to me when she was old!!”