Papoe

Presenting the 2031 World Cup Soccer Star

 
Jury Duty almost caused me to miss Jocelyn's first soccer game. These are three year olds, so to call it a game is being kind. More like swarming bees that periodically dive bomb into the bushes. Apparently playing in front of a studio audience (parents) can call up a nasty case of stage fright. Regardless, I practiced my best soccer mom yell.

She is going to be SO embarrassed when she's older.

Dressing up is hard to do

Dress Up is the game of choice around these parts. The only thing that makes Dress Up more fun is if we dress up and then spin in circles. But I found out this week that Dress Up is only fun with dresses and tutus, not Halloween costumes. Jocelyn doesn’t want to be a bee.  She doesn’t even care that Nana made her a costume. She’d prefer to wear her orange dress.

Or maybe a tutu and tiara.

Last year she showed off mad knife skills on Halloween (okay, not really, but she was a darn cute chef).

The year before she put the pea in pod.

Aja couldn’t care less whether she’s dressed up or not. She'll don her bee duds and whip her butt around to sting whomever gets too close. So we’re hoping that with a little prodding from friends Jocelyn will come around and get her buzz on to go trick-or-treating on Sunday. We'll soon find out.

 

What is your child's favorite costume or go-to outfit for Dress Up?

Let the games begin

Weeks ago I had anticipated a game of tug-of-war when it came to Jocelyn’s toddler bed. I was pleasantly surprised when she took to it after one night. Advantage Mommy. This gave me a false sense of security. I thought this stage of toddler-hood might be easy-breezy and I would be off the hook for a while—until last night.

We put her down for the night and were soon serenaded with the usual singing and gibberish conversation coming from her bedroom. Then all was quiet. My brother (who was visiting) went to the bathroom. When he came out he yelled to me. “I think Jocelyn is changing her diaper.”

Those were not words I wanted to hear.

I have noticed that Jocelyn has occasionally pulled her pajama pants down, and she sometimes likes to try and help me open the diaper, but I didn’t realize that she would take her snippets of diaper changing knowledge to the next level. See, we have not started potty training, and I have said that I don’t have any interest until she can pull her pants down and back up on her own. She has, however, seen the potty at school.

Advantage Jocelyn.

When I walked into her room (as my brother stood back giggling) I noticed that she was not wearing her pajama pants or her diaper. She had opened the top drawer of her dresser [reminder: child proof the dresser], pulled out a lovely long-sleeved blouse (freshly-washed), turned it upside down, and stepped into it. She then pulled it up to her waist to cover her bum. She looked up at me proudly. I couldn’t help but laugh.

Had I not been cleaning up the poop off the floor and gathering up her soiled blankets I would have dug out my camera to take a picture, because it was damn cute. Gross, but cute.

She will be wearing her footie pajamas for the next week until we officially start potty training. Until then I'm going to duct tape her diapers together and hope for the best.

Apples of Goodwill

There are various treasures hidden amongst everyday items in my apartment building. And by treasures, I mean absolute crap—the kind that you wouldn’t want your coworker, much less your own family member to know that you have hidden underneath the bed. I am not speaking about my own crap. My crap is periodically discarded to the Goodwill in an effort to get organized (I’m still waiting for the organization to remain a habit). The crap I’m talking about is that of my neighbors.

We are fortunate (I suppose) to have an area in our garage designated for those items that we wish to rid from our homes, but think could be useful to others. There is a sign on the wall that states the obvious: “Do not leave unusable items in this space.” The problem is that I have yet to see many things that people would want to take back upstairs. In fact, I’ve never seen anyone putting their used items in this garbage heap, which leads me to believe that they bring it downstairs under the cover of darkness.  

Prior to living in our apartment, I never thought much about other people’s things. I usually changed the channel anytime Oprah decided to focus on hoarders. But that had more to do with her perceived empathy, as though she and the woman living beneath 100 pounds of newspaper and dirty dishes were one and the same. Now I find it so interesting. There’s a collection of cheap wrapping paper, fake china dishes, baskets, vacuums, stereos and DVD’s. One day there was one sneaker.

Periodically the area is cleaned out or stylized. Recently, a table and four chairs were displayed like a makeshift dining area, complete with throw rug, plates, cups, and assorted accoutrements of the kitchen. One thing that remained for weeks was a small bowl full of fake cherries, which Jocelyn called apples. Each time we waited for the elevator she would look over, point, and yell, “apples!” I decided to turn this collection of the unused into a game of I-Spy. I-Spy a bed frame, I-Spy a salt shaker, I-Spy a cowboy hat.

Do the neighbors’ remainders say something about the owners? Or should we assume that they are just extra items that should be shared? Someone thought, I have an extra mattress and copy of Jane Fonda’s Complete Workout and Stress Reduction and I really think someone else will find enormous pleasure from a nice abdomen stretch in bed. Had I collected all of the items for my own use I probably could have furnished our entire apartment. Mind you, I wouldn’t want to live here anymore. I would miss the I-Spy games though.

Do you have items that you would put in a reusable pit? Are they currently hidden from sight out of pure embarrassment? Are you a “cover of darkness” recycler?

No more cheese, please

I’ve jumped on the parental bandwagon—the one that rolls around spouting undying love for our children with a bullhorn. But in between the moments of love and devotion there is something else, and unfortunately it is not silence. Wonder, yes. There are days full of wonder; special days that burst with the kind of awe-struck wonder that makes you suck in your breath and savor the moment. This weekend, it was the other kind. The kind of wonder that asks, “Why, little child, must you make me suffer so?”

The suffering stems from two things: Jocelyn got a taste of string cheese, and I made the mistake of thinking that she is too young to have an opinion about what she wears.

She’s had a dairy allergy, which we recently discovered has been encouraged by the use of Pampers. Since having switched brands her incessant diaper rash has disappeared. Perhaps most of the blame was on the diapers, or she’s starting to grow out of the allergy. Either way, we started testing out dairy, starting with cheese. And if I ever doubted that she was our child, she made it pretty clear after shoveling down any bit of cheese she could get her hands on. So string cheese seemed like such a great snack. Until she woke up in the morning saying, “I want cheese! I want cheese!” The last thing she wanted to hear was that there was no more cheese in the house.

Cue the tantrum.

This morning started just as the previous two, with screams for cheese. I managed to ignore her enough that she calmed down, and I started to get her ready for daycare. She didn’t seem interested in what I was going to put on her until she was fully clothed. She immediately began pulling at the collar of her shirt, gritting her face, and screaming. And then there was more screaming. Until I took the shirt off. I thought that I could perhaps just choose any old shirt, but she went over to her dresser and picked the exact one she wanted. For a moment she was pleased, but then the process started over with the pants. I walked out of the room. The screaming continued behind me.

This is not to say that the weekend was all bad. After all, these were just moments. Moments I could do without, but just moments. Jocelyn did perfect a new game. I-spy-a-Nana. She has the unique ability to sniff out a Nana or a soon-to-be-Nana and help introduce them into the world that is grandchildren. We were invited to a friend’s barbeque and within five minutes she cast her little spell on Dee Dee, who will be a grandmother for the first time in a few months. They cruised around the house together, tried on clothes, and ate lots and LOTS of chocolate cake. Jocelyn played her part well from the start, giving out a coy smile and sparkling eyes, and they were instantly bonded for life. It was adorable to watch.

That being said, I will never buy cheese again.