Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Poops, I Did It Again

I have shared before about Rylee’s desire to potty outside. I thought it was her animal phase, which has lasted over a year now. One day while my mom and I were talking in my driveway, my mom suddenly gasped. I whirled around to see what was happening, and Rylee was squatting in the yard, pants down at her ankles, saying, “I’m just gonna take a little poop.”

I rushed over and whipped up her pants before she could make anything happen, wondering what on earth would have provoked her to do this. I tried to explain to her that little girls don’t pull down their pants and potty outside.

Another time she and I were playing outside when she said, “Oh, I have to poop.”

“Go ahead, then.”

She looks around the yard and says, “Where?”

“Inside, you goof!”

I’m not sure where she gets it, the desire to poop outside. It’s a strange phase, perplexing, one I can’t trace back to a single source…until yesterday.

The first swim of the season! The weather was just okay, but the pool looked so inviting, so we put on our bathing suits and dove in. We hadn’t been out there 15 minutes when Rylee announced that she had to poop. I have to add that Rylee has done this every year, multiple times throughout the swimming season.

“Oh, Rylee. Are you sure?” She was dancing around, holding her bottom, so I knew the answer. It’s such a pain to pull down a wet bathing suit, and even harder trying to pull it back up. Furthermore, I didn’t want her going inside wet because I was afraid she would slip on the hardwood floor, so I had an idea.

“Rylee, come over here to the grass.” I tried to pull her bathing suit over far enough so that her backside was exposed (all of you ladies who never wanted to take off your bathing suit to pee can relate to this obstacle). I had tugged all the way over and told her to squat. I had many things running through my mind: how are we going to wipe? What will I use to scoop it up when she’s finished?

I guess the pressure was too much for her as well, so she quickly stood up and said, “Nevermind.”

We jumped back into the pool, but soon after, she declared that she really had to go.

Defeated, I dried her off and sent her into the house to poop. When she came back, it took us five minutes to pull the wet bathing suit back up into its proper position. But finally, we found success and jumped back into the pool.

In the end, Rylee was relieved, and I didn’t have to scoop any poop.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

And the Oscar for Best Actress Goes to....

...Rylee Sargent for her performance in the bathtub. **gasps, applause**

Rylee is a tough, little girl. She loves to tackle, to give wet willies, and to throw punches that sting, but she cannot handle a little boo boo. I'm not talking about a deep gash or a slice to the leg; I'm talking about a small scratch, a mark, a mere lifting of a millimeter of skin.

Her recent diva moment involved a tiny red line across her knee that apparently stung when it hit water; however, she had been in the bath for 10 minutes before she realized it was there, and in turn, realized it was stinging.

"Mamaaaa!!! It hurts!!!!"
"Okay, let's get out of the tub."
"But I caaaann't waallk."

She tries to fling her leg over the side of the tub without putting any pressure on it. As she stands there like a flamingo, I get her as dry as possible so that I can carry her into the living room. The entire time she is whimpering and whining about the pain as if her leg may detach at any moment.

I lift her up, strenuously, I might add, because she is so limp due to the "pain" of this life-altering wound.

Heaving, I take her into the living room, turn on the tv, and let her recuperate from her emotional and scarring experience in the tub.

Sweating, I crash on the couch and reflect on the last 5 minutes. I feel inclined to stand and give her an enthusiastic ovation because I know she gave it her all. She delivered her performance and got what she wanted...out of the tub in time to see Dora.

Well done, little girl. Please don't forget to thank the Academy.

Friday, May 8, 2009

Hairy Pits

As Mother's Day approaches, I can't help but think how lucky I am to have such a sweet daughter who fills me with such joy and happiness, while at the same time, contributes to my stress and humility.

I'll start with the sweet moments....

Rylee loves to give me random kisses, which are always so cute. The other day she runs in and kisses me on the leg, then runs out again.

"Rylee, what was that for?"
"Because I love you."

I thought that was sweet, but then I noticed that a 1-800-FLOWERS commercial was on saying, "Show your mom that you love her." I totally melted, as you can imagine.

On the weekends I let her sleep with me, and she often says, "Snuggle with me, Mama." She gets as close to me as she can without penetrating my skin. I'll start to sweat and cramp up, but I don't move her away...not until she is fast asleep.

She has the best personality and we laugh all the time, but I do know that I will have to work on some ladylike behavior before too long. She loves to toot on me, go to the bathroom in the yard, and lately, wants to stand up to urinate in the toilet. She's only four, I still have time...right?

As sweet as she is, she also often causes me a bit of stress. She knows when I say, "Mama is getting very upset" that she has crossed the line. Her biggest issue now is not answering me when I ask her something.

"Rylee, do you want a snack?"
"RyRy, are you hungry?"
More silence.
"RYLEE, ANSWER ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Smiling, "What, Mama? I didn't hear you."

It's that smile, that little twinkle in her eye that says, "I got her" that just stresses me out. How can this cute little angel who likes to snuggle be so evil?

Then, there are the humbling moments, the moments that seem so sweet but turn so quickly. Rylee and I were playing together, having fun, and she says, "Oh, Mama, your lips smell like garbage." Or when I'm leaving for work and tell her how cute she looks and she says, "Well, you look like a boy." Or perhaps, just last night, when I was reaching over her to buckle her into the carseat, and she reaches up my arm sleeve to say,

"Mama, what is this?"
"It's my armpit."
"It's hairy!!!"

And that,people, is my sweet, stressful, and humbling offspring....

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Butt Crack

I read a devotion yesterday titled, "Being a Mom That Matters". It really hit home for me because I know that I don't always give my all because I am so overwhelmed with all the things that need to get done throughout the day. I took their points to heart:

1. Be a mom that loves God - this is so important because Rylee will see who I depend on for strength, especially during difficult times. She will learn to also depend on God for wisdom, strength, etc by following my example.

2. Be a mom that prays continually - sometime I forget how important it is to cover my child with prayers continually. I pray coverage over her, for God to protect her from any physical, sexual or emotional abuse. These are scary times, and I want to make sure that her innocence is protected.

3. Be a mom who gives time - I've noticed that time is all she needs, whether I'm sitting next to her in a chair or I'm watching her play a computer game.

I've had some difficult nights putting her to bed because she calls me back to the room for a thousand various reasons, so I have tried a different routine that has seemed to work. After she crawls in bed, we read a book and then I pray.

Last night, while I started to pray, she began to gargle her water, thinking she was being funny. I tried to explain to her that praying is serious and that we don't play around when someone is praying. So this was our conversation:

"Rylee, it's not nice to make noises like that when someone is praying. We want to talk to Jesus and ask him to help us feel better. If you don't take the prayer seriously, then he may not answer it."

"But I want to see Jesus."

"You will one day, but right now, you can talk to him and ask him to help us start feeling better."

"But when will I see him?"

"One day you will see him when you get to Heaven."

"Up in the clouds? In Heaven?"

"Yes, but until then, you can talk to him anytime you want and pray to him."

"Like when I say a bad word?"

"Why would you say a bad word?"

"Like maybe when I say butt crack?", she says so seriously.

Shocked, I say, "Why would you say butt crack, Rylee?

"Well, sometimes James tells me that he's gonna crack me in the butt."

"Well, I suppose, you can tell Jesus that."

"Jesus, you know, got those stitches in him from those bad guys and then he got up again." (This is her translation of the crucifixion and resurrection).

"Yes, that's right."

"Good night, Mama."

If I had chosen not to give her the time, I wonder what I would've been doing in those 5 minutes that could've been more important than that...

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Prom's da Bomb...

I attended Prom last night...as a chaperone, that is. I came to one conclusion during the night: I'm old. I'm very, very old.

First of all, the dresses were almost not considered dresses, more like half bathing suit and half evening gown. I was glad to see that sequins were back in, especially since my senior prom dress was a purple, sequined gown. However, mine did not have cut outs all over it, exposing my hip bone, belly button, or back. And the cleavage...my goodness, there was enough cleavage there to satisfy Hugh Hefner. I just imagined the girls trying on their dresses, walking out of the dressing room, and their moms saying, "Oh, now that's adorable!"

Second of all, there were a handful of ball caps at the prom. Yes, baseball caps. I will say, the guys at least chose caps that matched their dates' dresses. But what's kind of sad is the fact that the cap was a thought-out accesory; it was part of their attire.

Thirdly, I didn't recognize any of the songs the DJ played. I suppose "Ring Around the Rosey" and "One Two, Buckle My Shoe" has far removed me of any modern dance hits. The students knew them all and hollered (or holla'd) whenever the songs came on. Towards the end of the night, the DJ did play "Thriller", "Ice, Ice Baby" and "Fresh Prince of Bel Air", but I am sure this was a tactic to get the kids to start clearing out of the room.

Next, the dancing. I really can't call it that. It was more like vertical sex, vertical sex that sometimes existed in a train of students, backed up to each other. I really can't talk much about the "dancing" without becoming disturbed.

I suppose the days of the "Macarena" and the "Electric Slide" are over. I suppose the days of classy dresses and groomed guys are over.

However, there was one saving grace of the night. A boy asked his girlfriend to marry him while they were getting their pictures taken. She went around showing everyone her engagement ring. When a teacher asked the boy what his mother said, he replied, "Oh, she's happy. She says we can sleep together now."

(Did I mention the girl is preggers?)

Yes, I am old. I'm very, very old....

Friday, May 1, 2009

"Bend Over and Let Me See"

I've always been picky about things. My meat has to be cooked a certain way (burnt) and I've never really been fond of eating things off the bone. I know I can't be the only one who is sickened by that dark red vein of a chicken wing that pops back after your teeth have torn through the meaty flesh. Don't put me in charge of cooking chicken, because by the time I am done chiseling away at the white cartilage and blood spots, the chicken breast turns into a chicken nugget. Don't even get me started on those red blotches in lunch meat.

I've also never enjoyed touching fish. I've been fishing many, many times, and I love it. I really do, but only as long as someone else puts my minnow on the hook and takes the fish off the hook once I've caught it. There's just something about not knowing when it's about to wiggle that causes me some anxiety.

I failed Freshman Biology Lab because I just couldn't do it. I remember walking in the lab one day and saw my lab partners holding a rat we were to dissect. I courteously said my good-byes and walked right out. I just didn't see the purpose in knowing what was inside that incredibly ugly creature.

Then I became a mom....

Somehow the gross factor is intensified so much that it just doesn't matter anymore. I'm changing a diaper and notice I have poo smeared all over my hand, and I merely wipe it off. No flinching. No dry-heaving. I'm feeding my baby and she vomits milk all over me. No worries. I just change my shirt. And when did boogies not become gross anymore? I truly feel like a boogie collector.

"Mama!" Rylee calls from the bedroom at night.

"Yes, darling?"

"I have a boogie for you".

"Thank you," I say, while taking it and leaving the room.

Thank you? Did I just thank her for handing me a boogie? We went for a week with her calling me back to hand me her treasure two to three times a night. I wanted to just tell her, "Wipe it on the wall. I wash it off tomorrow", exasperated from walking back and forth each night. I did tell her one night, "Just flick it off!" But what was so funny is that I wasn't bothered by the boogie itself, just the fact that I had to walk across the house to get it. When did the boogie stop bothering me?

Perhaps when she started wiping her own behind after a good poo...

Well after she was potty trained, I still wiped her bottom after she dropped a big one. I just wanted to make sure she wasn't carrying around any fecal matter that would be displaced somewhere else later in the day. But, she's four now, and has been wiping on her own. However, I still ask her, "Did you wipe good enough?"


"Bend over and let me see."

I'm not really sure when looking at someone's booty hole become a natural part of my day, but nevertheless, it did. I don't ask her to bend over anymore, since I trust that she has adequate wiping skills, but it never fails that after she poos, she comes to me and drops her pants, bends over to the ground and shows me she's all clean. How do I respond to this?

"Good job, baby girl, the poo is all gone."

Then she pulls her pants up and we go on with our day....