B is for Batman?

B: You know what you and Daddy should get me for my birthday?
Me: What's that?
B: Shoes with suction cups on the bottom. You know, so I can walk on the ceiling.
Me: Brianna, they don't make those, and you can't walk on the ceiling.
B: So just sew some.

Sewing. Learning to sew has been B's main goal this school vacation. Unfortunately we have had zero time for sewing since we've done a billion other things that she's also wanted to do. She has zero knowledge of the sewing machine, so we really need to put aside an entire day to learn the basics. I'm expecting an angry frown when I hand her a piece of paper to practice on, and a rage quit when I teach her to thread the machine. Yeah, it's going to go GREAT. But, I will try, because I love that she finally shares an interest with me. I've mostly been passed over for Daddy's love of Legos, Nerf, and the ancient art of foam sword fighting.


B: I know what you can get me instead! Graveling hooks.
Me: Graveling hooks?
B: Yeah.
Me: I think maybe you mean grappling hooks?
B: Yeah, whatever. Get me some some grabbeling hooks so if I want to go up to the loft, I can just throw it up there and pull myself up.


In case you're concerned, I'm not buying her 'grabbeling' hooks. I'm sure she'd be the envy of all the boys, but it's not happening. When is the age when kids find out how much things REALLY cost? Like, the true meaning of money? Never? Okay. *


Although her birthday isn't until August, we've already had many requests for birthday presents. Among the long (neverending) list:

Skateboard
Barbie Camper
Parrot (A real live parrot that can talk)
Zebra
Panda


I guess I should just start planning to own a small zoo. I wonder if my backyard is big enough?


*After conducting a quick search for grappling hooks (which I almost spelled as 'grabbling'), I found that they are much less expensive that I had thought. No. The answer is still no. B does NOT stand for Batman.

What's a tam-pone?

Sometimes, when you're a Mom, you get so completely scatterbrained that you forget that your child kind of needs you to guide them through the world. To tell them what colors and numbers are. To explain the homework question. To tell them that no matter how hard they try to 'hear' popcorn, shoving it in their ear is not the right way to do it (true story, except it was MY four-year-old-self that had to have it removed. Sigh). And sometimes, SOMETIMES, you either evade topics all together. Until, that is, you've been backed into a corner.

Last week, my Mother yelled up the stairs to ask who had left the downstairs bathroom door open. One of our lovely dogs had made his way into the bathroom and eaten a tampon (gag), so she reminded us to keep the door shut. I returned to my room, where Brianna was SUPPOSED to be getting ready for school, except she wasn't (surprise!). She was sitting on my bed, and, from the curious look on her face, had been listening to our hallway conversation.

B: Uh, Mommy?
Me: Yes?
B: What's a tam-pone?

That fancy pronunciation. I almost died. I was trying hard not to laugh, but then realized 'Oh no. I think this is it. I think I have to tell her a real explanation'. I pulled myself together and tried to explain it in the easiest way for a seven year old to understand, yet not extremely horrify her to the extent of her believing that her lady bits were going to fall apart one day.

Me: Okay. So. When you're older, like an adult, your vagina bleeds.
B: WHAT.
Me: Yeahhhh, so then you use a tampon so you don't bleed everywhere.
B: *Folds arms and looks legitimately pissed off to be a girl*
Me: Sorry. That's what it is.
*Long two minutes of silence*
B: Are you wearing one RIGHT NOW?!?!?!
Me: No. Haha. You only have to for a few days every month.
B: EVERY MONTH?!?!?!?! *Continues to fold arms and be angry* Hmph.

Clearly I failed at the delivery of that conversation, but seriously, you try it on the spot like that. I needed notes, a white board, an overhead projector. Actually, who am I kidding? Any sort of prep or aide wouldn't have made a difference. Disaster either way.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO: no one.

Hearing a child sing Happy Birthday is one of those things that can melt anyone's heart, especially when the child is around preschool age and still figuring out how to say 'Birthday' and not 'Birfday'. That's when you sing nice and soft so you can listen to the sweet baby angel sing her song. It's when the child gets a bit older and no longer sings the correct words that you need to start singing like there's a tractor trailer parade rolling down your street and the drivers are continuously honking their horns. No, I don't want to hear how I 'smell like a monkey' or how I 'look like one too'. 

And then it gets worse. The plain, straight up REFUSAL of Happy Birthday. For those of you that know Brianna, you know that girlfriend is all about being the center of attention. How could she ever hate people singing to her?!? She doesn't. She sits there with that smug look on her face like 'YES, MY MINIONS. SING TO ME'. But, when it comes to trying to get her to sing it to someone else, forget it. No one else needs to be worshiped besides her.

Just a few days ago my lovely cousin Kim celebrated her birthday. I knew we weren't going to see her, so I thought I could get Brianna to sing her a quick Happy Birthday while I recorded it on my phone. Singing? Dancing? Being recorded? Should have been a piece of cake since that is all that ever goes on in this house (well, except for that recording thing. We don't have cameras rolling all the time. Although, we probably should because we'd make television GOLD. Anyways, back to my story.). So I go ahead and bring it up to B. 

Me: Let's make a video for Kim's birthday!
B: Eh, I don't want to unless you're in it. 
Me: I'll sing with you, but I don't want to be in it. I'm in my pajamas and I don't look very pretty. 
B: I don't either. 
Me: What! You always look pretty. 
B: Nooo. I don't want to be in it either. I ALWAYS look pretty. 

This was followed by a solid two minutes of laughter and giggles. She kept telling me she thought it was hilarious how *I* thought that *she* thought she didn't look pretty. Then she still refused to make the video. Ah, yes. Not only conceited, but also stubborn. Just like her Daddy. :P

Why Can't You Just Let a Girl Enjoy Her Childhood?

Hoarders. Clutterers. Pack rats. Okay, so we're not quite THAT bad, but this family certainly likes to hold on to lots of things that shouldn't be held on to. Every time I finally purge all the school papers, cable wires, broken crayons, and old arts and crafts supplies, it is almost a guarantee that I will need at least two things from that toss pile within a week. Never fails. But that sweet, SWEET, in between time of no mess is so gorgeous that it's totally worth the frustration. Then there's the 'Just In Case' pile.

 You know, the pile of things that you stack up while cleaning that completely tower over the 'Toss' pile. It's full of junk that you can easily replace, usually even for free. Paper bags from grocery shopping. Paper flyers from the mail. Massive amounts of stickers from birthday party loot bags. We're total arts and crafts junkies, and Brianna loves that stuff. She's actually painting as I type this and just started hysterically laughing.

Me: What's so funny?
B: THIS PAPER! Look at it!
Me: What does it say?
B: It's from St. Patrick's Day! WHAT!
Me: Wait, did you look at the date at the top?
B: Where?
Me: Right there. Where it says 2011.

This is a problem. Why would you ever need a store flyer from March 2011? I mean, it makes for good table lining (because let's be real; No 6 year old is going to paint JUST on the paper. It wouldn't be a masterpiece if they didn't get all the edges), but I could easily recycle that and just replace when needed. Two years is way too long to keep that stuff.


And the paint! Oh, God, the PAINT! I need to seriously start going through the art bin. I'm fairly certain that some of it is probably from forever ago and crusted to the sides. B's using a cheapy watercolor set right now, but only because we're inside and I denied her the good stuff. The art addict in her just freaked out on me, but no way is she using that in the house, especially on my Mom's table. I did get this lovely argument out of it though.

B: Why can't you just let a girl enjoy her childhood?
Me: What? Brianna, those paints are for outside only. Right now we're inside.
B: Can we move this party outside then?
Me: No, we cannot 'move this party outside'.

I tried so hard to be serious, but, as mentioned in a previous blog, sometimes you just can't. Like the time she asked me very seriously if we had fabric.

B: Do we have any fabric?
Me: No, we don't.
B: *loud annoyed sigh*
Me: Why do you need fabric?
B: Because I was going to make curtains.
Me: Oh. Well you're out of luck, sorry.
B: *sigh* Okay.

And that, ladies and gentleman, is why I should never throw anything away.

Mexican Lucky? You'll never unhear it.

You know that moment when you're driving along in the car, listening to a really good song, and you feel like part of the band even though you probably couldn't be more off-key? This is my everyday life. Add in a singing 6 year old who i'm fairly certain has no idea how loud she's actually singing, and this is my ACTUAL everyday life. Listening to her belt out the lyrics to some of my favorite songs makes me more happy than you can even imagine. Listening to her belt out the WRONG lyrics to some of my favorite songs makes me laugh so hard I can't breathe and probably shouldn't continue driving. We had one of those moments today when she told me she really liked Daft Punks new song 'Mexican Lucky'. I had to explain to her that they actually say 'I'm up all night to get lucky', and then immediately regretted and wished I had said 'oh yes, I too enjoy the catchiness of Mexican Lucky'.

It's not only songs though. Kids mishear so many things, and just fill in the blank. B came home from school one time and thought that the school lunch was 'chicken high eetahs'. Close, but not quite. At least that time she knew she was probably wrong about it, since she threw in a 'or whatever it's called' afterwards.

I personally love when she has no idea what she's saying is wrong. Makes me remember how little she really is, even if she does act like a grownup most of the time. I love watching her brain work.

 B: Anya goes to gynastics. I think the place is called 'Gym Gynastics'
Me: HAH! Like Spongebob's Campfire Song Song! I think maybe it's called something else.
B: I don't get why it's funny.
Me: Because you said Gym Gymnastics. Gym twice, then nastics.
B: Huh. All this time I thought it was GYNastics, and it's GYMnastics.

Of course she still calls it gynastics, but what can you do. She's 6, she's allowed. But I'm 27, and i'll tell you this, I'll never be able to sing the chorus of 'Get Lucky' ever again without thinking about how lucky Mexican Lucky actually is.

Thank You For Being a Friend

Ahh, so many things to write! As most of you lovely readers have realized, I haven't posted in what seems like forever (let's be realistic, it's only been about 5 months. Stop being dramatic.). SO, since it's been that long I have so much tell you all that I can't fit it in just one blog. Let's just start off with a throw back to my childhood.

Growing up I had the pleasure of spending my afternoons playing with a plethora of toys, and spending my Friday nights with the Tanners, and (later on) Cory Matthews. Saturday mornings I woke up early to draw with Captain Bob, and then drew chalk masterpieces and played Skip-It. Well, more like cheated by doing one skip backwards and and proudly displaying the Skip-It counter at 999 (don't act like you didn't do this).

Quite recently I've introduced a lot of these things to Brianna, and by introduced I mean we've literally sat in front of the television watching early 90's commercials and shows for hours. While she's taken a strong liking to Double Dare, and Legends of the Hidden Temple (AS SHE SHOULD), she's a bit confused on the commercials. I mean, she gets that they aired when I was a child. She understands that that means they're dinosaur ancient. But for some reason she never stops asking "Mommy! Can you buy that toy for my birthday?!?!". And even when I follow it up with a quick 'Sorry, they don't make that anymore', it's always followed by one word. Why. WHY. I think this might be the one word I hate the most. By the time I start to answer her question, we've already moved on to the next commercial, which is most likely a food item that was discontinued by the time I was 7. Now I owe her a bunch of PB Crisps, Magic Middles, and Amazing Fruit, and even worse, now I feel like crying because I remember how delicious they were and I can NEVER HAVE THEM AGAIN. Why are we watching this again?

Oh yes. Because all of it is amazing.

Even now, at 27, I still watch every episode of Golden Girls that plays on tv. It's absolutely one of my favorite shows. Lately Brianna has been interested in it, and looked pretty confused. I knew what question was coming. It was a question that probably all of us had when we were younger.

B: Mommy, is that a man dressed up as a woman?

She was talking about Bea Arthur. I was trying to contain my laughter.

Me: No, that's really a woman.
B: Oh. Because she sounds like the Mom from Hairspray.

Now, if you haven't seen Hairspray then you're probably not privy to the fact the JOHN TRAVOLTA plays the Mom. Yes. John Travolta.

Not related.

Once that was entirely taken care of and Brianna understood that Bea Arthur was, in fact, a woman (and that I was really, REALLY, certain), we finished the episode and went about our business. I'm fairly certain that she didn't believe me and thinks that Dorothy was played by a fashionable crossdresser. 


Since her 90's overload introduction, Mr. Feeny now gives Brianna a lesson before she goes to school, and at night she falls asleep to the sweet sound of Jesse and the Rippers. She is the proud owner of a Skip-It (OKAY, It;s a generic one, but whatever), and spends most of her afternoons drawing masterpieces. I've done it. I've successfully created a perfect replica of myself.

Well, not exactly.

You see, Brianna is, well, Brianna. She's silly, and clumsy, and is often hurting herself in the process of whatever she is doing. She thinks she's paying attention to things, but I'm pretty sure her mind is already on what she's going to be doing next. Which is all fine and dandy, unless you're doing Skip-It. There are not enough fingers on both of my hands to count how many Skip-It related accidents we've had at the Conway household. She loves the thing, but I cringe every time I see it.

Skip-your-face-right-into-the-pavement

Even though she loves being outside, she's a pretty big fan of electronics. It's so crazy to see children nowadays glued to ipads, ipods, kindles and xbox's, and realize that everything we use to play with is now contained on one single device. I realized the other day just how much actual toys are being forgotten when I showed Brianna this picture:

To you and me, this looks like that little game that we would spend hours playing because that one freaking ring would not get on the post, and then throw in a fit of rage. To Brianna this looked so foreign that she responded to it with asking me "Do you play it on a device?". Head. Desk. I was baffled. I can't even begin to imagine what it will be like when she has kids. The devices will probably be inside their heads. Hah.

All in all I feel pretty good about the 90's teaching my child how to play with toys, and all those life lessons she's learning. I can sleep soundly knowing that she'll never read a 'buy now, pay later' sign and accidentally steal a sweater, or think that caffeine pills are the way to get some serious studying done. Let's just hope she doesn't start dressing the part.

But I Don't Seeeeeeee Ittttttttttt!!!!

Where is it?!?!

I don't see it?!?!?

WHERRRRREEEEEEE??????!!!!????


If I could erase the above three statements from the English language, I would. Oh I would. I hear these words on an every day basis. No, I take that back. I hear these words on an HOURLY basis. Brianna is forever losing things in plain sight. At first, I thought maybe it was due to her poor vision. NOPE. She got her glasses and it was still the same thing over and over again.

B asks where a toy is.
I tell her where it is.
B says it's not there.
I tell her again that it is.
B insists I must be wrong.
I feel my anger start to rise due to being called a liar by a child.
B again calls me a liar and insists it is not in that spot.
I angrily march to said area of toy placement, pointing at said toy.
B again states "WHERE?!?!"
I am now on the floor touching the toy.
B is surveying the area and crying because she thinks her toy is lost forever.
I am now holding the toy in my hands, doing the Mom thing where I grit my teeth and say "HERE" without moving my lips.
B rejoices, "YOU FOUND IT!".

Every. Single. Time.

The only thing that can possibly make this ordeal worse is when i'm involved in something else. Hell, I could be juggling torches while balancing plates on my head and Brianna would be all "But Mooooooommmmmm, I can't find it! It's important!". Seeing as I can't juggle, nor is my balance that great, it's usually when i'm elbow deep in a sink full of dishes. I don't want to be doing dishes in the first place, so if I've committed to them, don't interrupt me. I WILL lose all interest and/or forget what I was doing in the first place and probably end up on facebook instead. And that's how I end up in my pajamas at 5pm scrambling to get all the cleaning done by the time Derek comes home from work. Story of my life.

Recently I've begun to teach Brianna how to clean. Surprisingly she's been much more into it that I thought she would be. She's helped me with dishes, laundry, dusting, making the bed, and organization. I have this strange suspicion that her only motivation has been the chore chart that my Mom gave her for Christmas. She earns stars for every task she completes, every day she completes them. When she reaches a certain number of stars, she earns a prize. This is where it gets good. The chore chart is designed for three children, and has a reward spot for each child. Brianna took it upon herself to fill in the blanks ON EVERY SINGLE SPOT.

Now, if you can't make out what that says at the bottom, here's a translation:

1 Star = $11

2 Stars = A new toy

3 Stars = Getting her nails done

Yes. You read that right. For every task that she completes, she expects to earn eleven dollars. After she so excitedly filled out the chart, she ran to her room and made her bed. 

B: I added one star, so I need that eleven dollars.

Me: Uh, no.

B: Do you want me to make that twelve?

This girl really thinks that I'm going to pay her money every time she cleans. Hah. My name isn't Derek Conway, and this isn't dinner time (That's right, Derek! I'm selling out you and your bribery tactics to try new foods!). 

I think we'll be reevaluating this chore chart and sticking to a set reward. ONE reward. Nice try though, Brianna.