uprooted

you predicted this. 

this is all your fault. 

you said "mama, we are going to buy another house and move."

"no. absolutely not. we will live here forever because this is our home"

and i meant it. from the deepest deep of my soul i meant it. your dad has tried to conjure up ways to convince me to pack up my things and set up shop elsewhere several times, but each time i felt such a horrific gut wrenching pain about leaving my home that i told him "you can go. but jovie and i are staying here".

how dare he try to rip me from my home?!

makes me think of forest critters that have no where to go after the woods get chopped down. i'm panic-stricken. cold. motherless. afraid. alone. paralyzed. other words that elicit sad feelings. 

so when you declared your little declaration about us moving, i felt like i was at war. 

NOT YOU, TOO!

but then one day, your daddy and i dropped you and your brother off at nana and papaw's and were headed to a date for his birthday and we saw this fancy new neighborhood being developed.

that's when the unthinkable happened:

"turn in there! let's go look at the model home!", my mouth said it before my head and my heart could stop it. and before i was able to control my words, your dad had already parked in the drive of the model home and we were walking inside. 

and we both were immediately enchanted. 

stars in our eyes. 

the future so bright.

we should move! we both thought! 

to THIS house!

tomorrow!

unfortunately, there was no way we could afford that house, but it got our heads reeling:

"what if we have another kid?"

"where would we put it?"

"it can't go in the attic. that's probably not allowed"

"how much would our house sell for?"

and so we went home and researched the snot out of it and found out that staying in our house would probably be the stupidest financial decision we would ever make. (it's boring adult finance investment stuff...i'll explain it when you are 30 and care about this kind of thing)

so. this started the searching for a new house. 

i searched the WHOLE of DFW to find the perfect house. and i found the perfect house about 14 times. but then for whatever reason or another, God let us know that I was wrong and so I would keep trying. and would find another perfect house. 

i looked at older homes to renovate.

newer homes to live like royalty in. 

homes on every single nook and cranny of the metroplex. 

homes that we could never afford. 

homes that we would never WANT to afford. 

and homes that were too small but magical. 

homes that were too big and magical. 

you loved looking at houses, too. every time we'd pick you up from school you'd ask, "can we go look at another house?". mostly because you loved the stairs. (i was the same way when my mom and dad were house hunting when i was 6, btw). as soon as we would walk into a house, up the stairs you'd run. 

One night you asked your daddy if our house would have stairs. 

"i don't know....stairs are expensive. we may not be able to afford stairs"

"i have money in my piggy bank!!!! i can help you pay for them!"

but your $3.56 wasn't enough to afford the high standards that i'd set for our next home. 

It HAD to be better than our current one with little to no effort, or i wasn't budging. I'd decided. 

and...I'd exhausted all efforts of finding the perfect replacement for our home. and in the process, i felt like i owed our house an apology because every time i came home, i'd feel sad. i felt like i was a traitor to my homeland. an infidel. a monster. 

and so one day i sort of gave up.

we had settled on a house and were absolutely excited about it, but....i went to visit it to make SURE and turned out...i hated the house. 

that's when i took it to God. i said to Him, "you know what? i'm frustrated. i can tell you are wanting us to move to this area of dallas, but i hate this area. if you really want us here, you are gonna have to make it happen, bc i quit trying."

and not one mile later, i had this feeling that i needed to turn right down a country road. and two minutes later, i happened upon the most glorious neighborhood i'd even seen. in the middle of absolutely NOWHERE. and the houses were perfection. 

i called your dad and had him bring you to the house to look at it. 

inside the model you played like a princess up and down the stairs up and down the stairs. 

and you were in heaven. 

we were ALL in heaven. 

and so this is the house we chose to live in. 

to grow in. 

to make our home. 

...just as you predicted. 

magic.

“My happiest moments were way back in childhood. Everything was magical back then. All children are in a constant state of awe and everything is fantastic to them, but then the magical feeling dissipates and reality creeps in..."

There's a website that I look at almost every single day. It's called "Humans of New York". There is this fella in NYC that walks the streets and talks to people he finds interesting, then takes their picture. He posts their portrait along with one of their quotes from the conversation.
That quote was taken from 2 places. The first place, from HONY, the second place: my soul.

Your dad and I watched a movie this weekend that really struck me. He usually screens this type of movie for me to make sure nothing bad happens to kids in it. After having you in my life, I physically and emotionally can't handle bad things happening to children. I wrecks me.
But in this particular movie, he forgot that the main storyline is about a child getting hurt. and yes. as upset as the movie made me, I am just as angry with him for being such an oaf.

I quit watching the movie when the bad thing happened and I went to your room where you were sleeping so soundly. So magically.

And I wished, as I always do, that I could make your world magical and stay magical.

When I used to lead worship for First Baptist Dallas' Celebrate Recovery, I would always listen to the testimonials that people gave and how their childhoods were a wreck in some form or another. Some weren't that bad, some were staggeringly tragic, but every single person spoke about their mothers, and when they did, it would terrify me.

"What will Jovie's story about me be like? How will I ruin her or fail her?"
and I know that I will, in some way, fail you. When I get stuck in a horrible traffic jam and get to school late, so that you are the last kid picked up. When you are a teenager and want to go somewhere or do something that I won't allow you to do. When you are in college and I won't be able to afford the things you want me to buy, and make you pay for half, when you are an adult and need me in a way I can't be there for you.

Those are OK ways to fail you. Those are ways that will help you become a better person.
And I know you will get over those things. (Hopefully, I will, too)

My fear is more on how will my personality...and who I am...and how I handle my emotions...and how I deal with life be hurtful to you. Will you know it? Or will it dawn on you someday in your late twenties? Will I stunt you? Am I overbearing? Do I overshadow you? Will you be sad? Will you be angry? Will your magic be taken from you too early?

When I finally allow you to read these letters, I want you to be old enough to have figured out the ways I was a bad mom so that you can read this with those things in mind and know that I wanted so badly for the magic to stay forever. For you to always know joy and never know pain. For darkness to stay out of your life.

I know that I can't make your life always be magical, but I can try to make it last as long as possible.

Sooner or later, reality will creep in, but my hope and wish is that your reality is just as magical as I'm trying to make your childhood.
Like every child deserves.

big sister

i was so ready for you to be a big sister. you have been doing so well with chores and helping out and being such a wonderful companion....and it is the perfect time to have a little brother or sister for you to dote on. to take care of. to fight with. to be annoyed with.

in all honesty, i still consider you a big sister. i still consider myself a mother of two.

people don't really talk about miscarriage often. you hear bits and pieces of it. but it turns out, more women have miscarriages than i would have ever imagined. it's horrific. we should talk about it. because people need to talk. holding in the emotions of loss just isn't fair.

it's not fair to me.
to you.
to your daddy.
to the baby that we lost.
to the couples that will lose a pregnancy after us.

i think about the baby. for whatever reason, i've decided it was a boy. in my mind i picture a him. i wonder what he would have been like. i wonder if his little friends would have crushes on you. i wonder if you would take care of him when you were a freshman in college and he was a freshman in high school. i wonder if he would have crushes on your friends....i wonder how he would have made our family complete. i wonder if he is in heaven. and if he is...he can watch us. and see us. and learn who we are. and come to know us. but we won't know him.

it makes me angry that i won't know him.
it makes me horrifically sad that i can't be a mom to him like i am to you.
it makes me sad that i won't see his smile or hear his laugh. or hold his hand.

two days ago, i thought i had life growing in my tummy. i told you all the time what a wonderful big sissy you are going to be.

and now...you ask me about the baby in my tummy and i am paralyzed.
how do i explain this to you?
obviously i can't.
so i just told you that i was wrong! that there isn't a baby after all.

you were satisfied with that answer.

but i'm not.
i am confused.
you get it, though.

yesterday there was a baby. today there isn't. what's so hard to grasp about that, right?
oh. to be as simple as a toddler.

i'm so angry at my body.
i'm so angry that i couldn't keep the baby alive.

i'm so angry that you aren't going to be a big sister, jovie, but i'm telling you right now. you are THE best big sister that i've ever known.

every day my love for you grows stronger and the main thing i have learned (so far) from losing the baby that was in my tummy is that i love you more and more and more every single day. I'm so thankful that you were safe in my womb. i'm so thankful that you had no complications. i'm so thankful for your laughter and your soft little cold hands always nurturing me as you copy how i love you.

to not know your love would be the greatest tragedy in my life.

i saved your life.

i teach a toddler music class at a local church. ages newborn to 3 years old. it's a sweet and special time spent with children (if they are the newborn set) and utter chaos (if they are toddlers).

today, you were with me. you were being the bad kid in class bc you are so comfortable with the format. and the songs. and the spotlight. also? you are so hell-bent on never sharing anything with anyone. seriously. we ran out of instruments and kids went without. but you? no. you had 5 in your hands. and i couldn't pry them away from you in a quiet manner where no one would notice what a rotten fart you were being. the ONE time today that class was ACTUALLY quiet. When kids and moms alike stopped talking and listened to me, ironically, was the 3 seconds that i was whispering in your ear about how you are lucky we are in a church. and you are lucky that i have all these people and GOD staring at me. bc i would LOVE to cut off your arms so that you would have no other choice but to share.

in other words, after class today i decided that i hate you.

...in the most loving way possible.

when we were leaving the church, you wouldn't come with me out the doors. you wanted to go to the other classroom (that is way on the other side of the chapel. the one where we go to have chicken nuggets on the last day of each semester)...you said you were ready for lunch. so I teased you about leaving you there to inspire you to come back with me and go.

when I opened the door to leave, you started crying and yelling "wait for me!!!" yay. my plan is working!! so I turned around and waited before i walked out, but then when you caught up and got to the door, you turned and ran away for the second time at the precise moment that i walked out the door. I tried to scare you again by letting the door close, but it didn't work. you kept running away.
this.means.war.

i grabbed the door handle to come back inside and thunder myself over to you and explain to you the exact reasons why you don't run from your mother. your brain obviously wasn't getting that memo. maybe your hind-end would....

but? the doors at the church stay locked.
[open-door policy doesn't apply at this house of God, apparently]

I couldn't get back in and you were trapped inside with no one around to open the door.

for at least 1 minute I panicked. couldn't figure out what to do. bang on the door? no one would hear me. call someone? I don't know anyone at the church's phone number. OH! I have email with Kathryn's number on the email signature! but when I got my phone out, I froze. I couldn't remember how to get the phone to work. I was like "what is this strange artifact in my hand?!" and I just KNEW that the longer i stalled the more likely it was that you would run off where I couldn't find you. stairs. elevator. or, heaven forbid, the boys bathroom. finally I just decided my best bet was to run to the church office. I don't know that I've ever run so fast in my life. I threw the door open and exclaimed "I NEED THAT DOOR UNLOCKED! MY TWO YEAR OLD IS TRAPPED INSIDE!"

the woman was calm [insensitive] and [too slowly] said "hmmm. which door?".

i couldn't believe she didn't hop to it faster to help me in my extreme emergency. i dunno. scream, maybe? perhaps, set something on fire? call 911? start a prayer circle? something!

but she just sat there looking at me like i was smart enough to know what to do.

then her light bulb turned on [which is probably a fluorescent bulb bc those things take forever to light up] "well...you coulllllld. just walk around the building through this hall...".

DUH!

so i just threw my bag down on the floor and hauled it. in flip flops. down a narrow tile hallway. can you hear that sound in your head? the sound of the snare drum that is a tile hallway? and flip flops running down a tile hallway sound like applause, so i was hauling it like a hand-clapping terrorist through this church screaming "Jovie!" on the top of my lungs. all the while people coming out of their various offices and bible studies to see what the fanfare was all about. "a parade, maybe? oh no. just a crazy teacher/mom that can't control her student/child."

I just KNEW you would be hysterical when i got to you. crying. weeping. gnashing your teeth, etc. i couldn't wait to pick you up and drop to the floor in a tear-filled reunion. we'd rock bank and forth and i would tell you how sorry i am for teasing you. you would hug me back. tell me you were sorry for being a little cussword and the bond we have as mother and child would grow that much bigger and stronger with our shared regret and relief. it was going to be beautiful.

...you were hysterical, sure. unfortunately, hysteria due to uncontrollable hilarity. you were laughing. laughing. LAUGHING AT ME. how.dare.you.

fire shot out of my eyeballs and struck you like a laser-beam. you exploded into a million tiny toddler parts so that i could easily stomp all over you and not get into trouble for child abuse. then, when i felt satisfied that you were sufficiently in pain, i would sweep you back up off of the floor and put your pieces back together....after i was done squeezing them until my hands turned white. obviously.

and just as shocking as your laughing at me, you thought it would be neat to keep up the game that we were having sooooooo much fun playing. yep. you ran away again. for those cussword chicken nuggets that you thought were in the other room.

i wanted so badly for all the on-lookers to have that image of you being upset and me rescuing you to warm their souls. for the benefit of all of those people that had come out of their offices and were standing in the hallways gawking. i needed for them to realize what an amazing woman i am. my awful toddler. escaping from my side. because i was the poor trusting mother that let her guard down enough to dare to leave a building. and this monster. this monster child locked in the building all alone. i wanted people to think:

"that kid deserved to be locked away from the shelter of her mother's loving arms."

"what a wonderful mom to run that fast and leave her iphone laying in the foyer all for her child."
"did you see how gorgeous she looked running, too? it's like she was born to save small children."

and "this woman would risk anything. even her really cute purse to save the life of her offspring"

and also "this child better be thankful that her mother loves her so much."

and then "i hope this kid learned her lesson".

 you know. heroic ideas like that...

but no. you don't need me. you need cutlets of itty bitty farm foul that have been soaked in pig lard and then fried in a dirty old bin caked with years of greasy build-up.

chicken nuggets?
all of this for a few cold and soggy chicken nuggets?

and then. it hit me. and i saw it. after 2 years of looking at you and only seeing tidbits of your father in you...

his legs...

his eyes...

his hair...

his butt ::giggle::

his feet...

his heart...

his athleticism....

i finally saw it. the ME that is in YOU. the "carter" in jovie.

and my heart warmed over as it felt it. finally!

this child is definitely my daughter.

this sacrificial lamb. o! your sacrifice! your sweet, sweet sacrifice! 

because no matter who was hurt.

who was out of shape
who didn't need to be running publicly for anyone to see.

you would sacrifice everything for a bite of crappy food.

THAT'S.MY.GIRL!!!!!

you are grounded

stop.asking.me.what.i'm.doing.

seriously.

funny things you say

the other day we left walgreens pharmacy. the building has those doors that open automatically for you. when we walked out of the building, you were very polite and said to the door,

"thank you, robot".

Best Friends

last night i was cooking dinner for us. you have gotten into the dirty habit of climbing up the barstool and onto the bar which both impresses and annoys me. our house is not Coyote Ugly. and if you fall and break your nose, I won't feel sorry for you. I will simply be embarrassed and terrified that it will wave a red flag in Child Protective Service's face.

so. let the record show that i DO NOT break noses of toddlers.

anyway. i was cooking and you were watching from your little perch on the bar. you were singing songs and babbling and i was mostly ignoring you. seriously. you ask me what' i'm doing 463 times a minute and my answer is always the same: hunting elephants. so stop asking and i'll stop ignoring you.

do you ever see something that you didn't realize you saw until your brain is like "what a second. what was that?" or you feel something and don't realize it until your subconscious mind says "hellooo...you just felt an earthquake in the middle of texas"

that's what happened last night when you told me that i am your best friend.
it went something like this:

you: mom. what-chya dooeeen?
me: hunting elephants
you: mom. what-chya doooeeen?
me: ::sigh:: hunting elephants
you: mom. you're my best.friend.
me: hunting elephants
you: mom. what-chya dooeen?
me: wait. did you just say i'm your best friend?
you: OK!

i die! that was the sweetest thing i could possibly ever hear form anyone. in the history of ever. but it did take me a second to decide if that was healthy or not. me. being your best friend. i mean. your nana is one of my best friends. the kind that bicker constantly but still call each other when anything happens. but. while i was growing up, she was just my momma.

i've decided for the time being, you are allowed to consider me your best friend. i'll be your best friend temporarily. until you start school. or decide you love one of the dog's more. I also decided i'll pretend it doesn't  it won't hurt my feelings.

BUT! when you are in your 20's, you better go back to your roots and consider me your best friend again, or i won't take you on vacations or buy you clothes or groceries or lunch like your nana does for me.

understand me, young lady?
now. get off of the bar. you aren't in college yet.

life as we know it.

is over.

some mom's panic when they find out they are pregnant. it's a scary few days at first. a good scary, don't get me wrong. it's incredibly surreal. you'll experience that one, day. hopefully when you are 32.

a few things go through your head when you first get pregnant:

1. i'm pregnant.
2. ew. dad is gonna know that i "hugged" my husband
3. i'm pregnant.
4. i'm pregnant?!
5. I"M PREGNANT.
6. panic.
7. joy.
8. life - as we know it - is over.

i'll stop there. i think that last one warrants an explanation. :)
life isn't over. just. life as we know it. no more going to walmart at 3 am to kill time. no more wild parties. no more robbing banks and vandalizing. it's time to be an adult. and things are about to get a lot more complicated.

not only do you have to be an adult now, you have to be a parent, too. and change diapers.

and that's. some people don't handle that well. some people feel like their entire life is over. because they can't do what they want, whenever they want. they have to take care of the little one first and foremost and protect their sweet baby. and some people take some getting used to the idea before they are settled into the excitement of parenthood.

it only took me about 30 minutes to stop freaking out and start getting excited. so. in the grand scheme of things, that's not bad.
so, yes. life as i knew it was over. and life has totally changed for me. but that was just beginning of a life with you. the past two and a half years (i'm including the gestation period) has been so.much.fun. you surprise me with songs and words and brains and slobber and giggles and boogers and the spilling of milk and this past week?

you gave me a giant surprise when you went pee pee on the potty.

i hadn't really even tried to get you to do it yet. a few times i set you on the toilet while i ran your bath just to see if it would happen by accident. but it hasn't. you laugh. then whine. then gnash your teeth. and so i'd give up before you became crazy, and would let your take your bath. (probably instantly peeing in the warm water. but, that's not my problem, it's not me festooning in that toxic cesspool)

saturday night, Jan. 12, 2013, you had a dry diaper after a 2 hour car ride and i thought "i wonder....". so. with absolutely NO expectations, i set you on the toilet and started reading a book to you. and. seconds later, you did it. you potty-trained yourself!

i was so proud of you for teaching yourself how to go to the bathroom. you are so. independent.

independent.
on your own.
grown up.
self-sufficient.

all of those words mean only one thing: YOU DON'T NEED ME ANYMORE.

this is when my real panic kicked in. i started crying after i rocked you to sleep that night.
it's over. it's done. she's no longer a baby. but a toddler, almost a kid, which means you are basically a teenager, which means you are a monster and a punk, which means you aren't my child anymore. you are now the devil. and you now own me.

no more setting you in a grocery cart at target and tootling around for 2 hours letting you do your thing at your every whim without it affecting me.
instead? i envision being in the store with you hobbling knock-kneed to the bathroom. i see me in a panic trying to find a bathroom. standing in a line begging God to help you have the strength to hold it before it's our turn. i see tiny disgusting bathrooms that haven't seen a disinfectant in....ever...with me trying to squat in front of you to help you out. i see germs. and cholera. and the plague. i see me losing my balance and catching myself on the stickly tile. i see that the nasty bathroom has no toilet paper and i ran out of diaper wipes, and now i have to figure out where to put the doo doo. i see you making a mess on your pants and a bag that doesn't have a spare set of clothes for you, bc i forgot to pack some.

basically, jovie, what i see is a dark, balmy, bacteria infested, moist tunnel of death. and there is no way out but to just jump in and come to terms with it. but it's difficult. i LOVE you in diapers. the saggy bottom. the wrinkly paper sound. the ability to be on MY time instead of your bladder/intestine's. the way you shout "DIAPER CHANGE" in the middle of restaurants. i love how i don't have to include a nasty bathroom while out on the road to get you through your bowel movements, i can pull the car over, plop you onto the backseat and get you all fancied up hassle and germ-free(ish). i love the freedom your diapers bring me.

but now? your bodily functions now own me.

and this is it. the end. life is now.over.



;)

i'm so proud of you for being a big girl.

Stealing is a NO NO.

This letter isn't about you, entirely. You didn't do anything cool. you really ought to consider doing funny things more often so that i'd have something to write about. :)
Actually. i should say this: you do TONS of hilarious things, just...they aren't HUGE things that the general public would care much about. stuff like...your words for things, and how you pronounce some words, and some of your mannerisms. If i wrote to you about that, this blog would be a little overrun with short one-liner letters.

maybe you would enjoy that when you are older? only if i raise you to be narcissistic, which...i probably have, unfortunately.

But. this letter concerns you, but it's something that I did:

i stole your very first bicycle.

i didn't set out that day to steal it. i've actually never stolen anything before in my life. but the christmas you turned 2. i legitimately stole a bike from Wal-mart.

Here's what happened:

you, your daddy and i were driving home on Dec. 21st. we had been at nana and papaw's for the Carter Family Christmas, and I needed something from the pharmacy in Wal-mart. You and your daddy stayed in the car while i went in and after i got what i needed, i was headed to the check out and saw the CUSTEST little plastic tricycle for kids 2 and up and i thought "MY little girl NEEDS THIS.

i grabbed the box and went to the self check-out area to make my purchases.

i scanned the medicine (or whatever it was i bought. maybe nail polish?) and then i scanned the box with the trike. The barcode i used was invalid. but that was OK there were 3 more to choose from. so i tried the second and the third and then the fourth. all invalid and at this point, the register notified the clerk that i needed help with my item, so the fella that works at walmart came over and i said "i scanned the trike, but it didn't take"

the guy grunted a few syllables and said "ok. you are set now"

so i continued my checkout and got my receipt and left.

as we drove home, it dawned on me that my total was only 19 dollars when the trike alone was $25.

and the trike was NOT on the receipt!

!

!!!

oh dear.
my heart started racing and i got a little frazzled. i told c that i had just stolen this bike. i literally walked out of walmart with the thing in my hand and STOLE it.

and (i shouldn't tell you this...because you don't need to lose respect for me, or get any stupid ideas) it was EASY to do. as in. REALLY REALLY easy. SCARY EASY.

don't worry. I was able to reconcile the situation a few days later, but. it was too late. the damage had been done - albeit unknowingly - i am now a convict. a thief. a burglar. and it wasn't even my fault that i am a menace to society.

It's yours.

halloween

it was your first halloween to REALLY trick-or-treat. we took you last year, but you were only 10 months old and only had a month of walking under your belt, so i basically carried you and broke my back...and honestly? i don;t remember much about that night other htan how heavy you were and how hot your costume was against my skin.

this year, however, you were cinderella. and absolutely stunningly beautiful.
your cousin, vail was also cinderella. she is 8. you are just shy of being 2. ya'll were so stinking adorable it hurt my feelings.

before it was time to trick or treat, vail already got into her costume and insisted you get into yours and ya'll played outside of nana and papaw's house for a bit. you wanted to ride the electric car papaw bought you, so we went around the block with you on that.

the entire time we were walking around the block, you would drive the car about 10 feet, jump off and run back to all of us demanding that vail give you "kenny". you had chocolate drool dripping down your chin, a fistful of m&m's, and a newfound obsession: sugar.

by the time trick-or-treating began, you were 100% obsessed with candy. it was like watching a zombie movie where they zombies only have eyes for people's brains. you were that zombie. the brains were chocolate.

each house we went to you would be about 20 ft behind vail. the concept confused you completely, bc as you were getting to the front door, she would turn to walk away from the house, and you would follow, so one of us would have to run behind you and shove you to the strangers door to get your treat.

sometimes you would say your version of "trick or treat!" but it was more like "red tree!". sometimes you would say "thank you", sometimes "you're welcome", and sometimes you wouldn't say anything at all. EVERY time, however, you tried to walk into the stranger's home. typically after ignoring their hands reaching out with handfuls of candy, grabbing a fistful out of their bucket and then walking by them as though you were home.

it was simultaneously embarrassing, and hilarious.

after about 4 blocks of walking, you were, by then, LITERALLY a zombie. and you spent most of your time dragging that incredibly heavy bag of candy behind you on the sidewalk. i tried to help. don't think i MADE you carry around 10 lbs of sugar. you did that to yourself. because every time i offered to help you would yell "no!" and run forward.

that's when i got smart. you were getting slower and slower while walking and i was getting more an more anxious to get you home and in bed, so i would ask you about every 3 steps if i could cary your "purse" (as you called it) for you. this made you run. i am so smart.

so. i think the night was all in all a success. i got a boatload of candy, you got a few pieces, and a newfound love of the holiday.

however, i am worried a bit about the repercussions ofleatting you to take candy from people you don't know and then spending the other 364 days of the year teaching you how dangerous it is to take candy from strangers.

weeeeeee!

your dad called me as i was driving home from church this morning. you two had come to the first service and i was singing, so i was in my car alone and headed to pick up lunch for all of us.

"my head is really groggy. i can't really think clearly. and i'm in a bad mood"

"ok."

"well. it just...seemed important to tell you that."

"well ok."

so after we ate our sandwiches that i bought, i made him go take a nap to help get his fussies out. sometimes, even adults need naps....especially on sunday. in fact. i SHOULD be taking one now, but the two of you are out in the backyard working in the garden (in the rain) and it seemed like the prime oppotunity to do important things like...online shop. watch trashy tv. paint my nails. you know. things that are SUPER important.

anyway. i'll make this brief.

after your dad went down for his nap, you and i took off to the mall. rainy days at the mall are AWESOME. you will learn this lesson pretty quickly, i'm assuming, since i take you with me everywhere i go.

at the mall, we went to a few stores. i looked for things i don't need while you touched things i told you not to touch and talked to the strangers i told you not to talk to. after awhile, though, i was starting to feel the need of a sunday nap myself, and you were starting to get a little fidgety, so i knew it was time to head home.

we waited to get on the elevator to make it to the second floor. there was a family in front of us with a newborn baby and a younger almost teenager. another family behind us with a HUGE stroller that was shaped like a car that they have for rent at the mall. and a few other people.

we clammored onto the elevator in silence. all 15 of us.

the door shut and we started to go down in silence. you could literally hear each person swallow it was so quiet in the elevator.

until you started to scream "WEEEEEEE!"
and everyone started laughing and  turned to look at you and me.
"WEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!" you shouted some more.

people laughed louder.

"you should see what she does on a roller coaster!" a man said.

but. i really don't know why i would need to spend money to go to an amusement park with you when a rainy day at the mall in a free elevator ride is all you need to have fun.

and all i need is you.

southern manners

you are in the other room taking a nap. rather. you are SUPPOSED to be taking a nap. you are whining for me to come get you. but. i won't. you need to sleep. i went into the room with you a minute ago to check if you had a muddy diaper. clean. you are just cranky and refusing.

cry cry cry

i am meaner than you.
as much as you want to play i want you to sleep.

it's a battle of wills.

and while i sit here trying to work while you squall, i had a tickle in my throat.

::cough cough::
"WAHHHH -- bless you! -- WAHHHHH!"

even in your pain and suffering you are still very polite.
that's my girl!

hollow leg.

seriously? last week i was force-feeding you spaghetti. (which...as we all learned, that didn't go so well) you refused every bit of sustenance that i would all but inject into your throat....

and this week? well, specifically today....you have eaten:

a pancake.
a pouch of apple sauce.
another pouch of apple sauce.
a chicken biscuit.
a pack of gummy bears.
a cracker.
a cookie.
a pack of cinnamon graham crackers.
and chicken nuggets.

it's 11:00 in the morning. youve been up since 9.

fatty.



:)

the bill:

we had a very frustrating weekend, you and i. and your daddy, too.
friday night two things happened that were key to this story:

1. your daddy bought a new truck.
2. i fed you spaghetti.

those things aren't related in the way that you would probably immediately visualize. no. you didn't throw-up spaghetti in daddy's new truck. that would have been far less agonizing and waaaay less costly. you and i aren't the types to do things the easy way. or be cheap, either. we are NOT cheap girls.

lately, getting you to eat has been one of the most grueling, intensely frustrating, and altogether hateful parts of my day. 3 times daily. i get so mad at you when you politely shove my hand away as i try to fork over some food. i mean. it's not rude at all the way you do it. it's rather sweet. "iiiiiiim through!" you proclaim with a little shove.

no. you have haven't had one bite. you are NOT through.

the only thing you want in your body is milk. and though infants can live on milk alone...toddlers can't. and i know this. and honestly? i don't really care if you starve. it's not MY tummy growling. or MY low energy. or MY malnutrition. but? it IS me that is being scrutinized by your doctor...and your mimi.

and i don't like that kind of judgement on me. it's not fair for you to refuse ALL the food and then i have to be the one to suffer for it. and so? this is the whole of my frustration: i don't want the judgement.
i typically end up giving you an ultimatum. do you want to go to bed? or do you want to eat your food? your choice.
and darnitall if you don't always choose bed.
but while you sit in your crib crying, i fester in my resentment towards your little stubborn eating preferences. at which point i always turn the battle inward onto myself: since i've put her to bed and she is straight up SQUALLING in there...do i give her milk so she doesn't die from hysterics? or do i just sit here, with both of us crying uncontrollably? it's all really rather ridiculous, jovie. if you would just EAT SOMETHING then all of this pain and suffering would be spared.

[i am SO GLAD that i am able to get onto you for this when you actually read this and are able to understand. and i fully expect you to either call me or come to me or text or email a giant "i'm sorry i was a brat, momma".]

but until then, i will battle you with your dinner.

on friday night while your father was out buying a truck - becoming a MAYN. a truck-driving, junk-hauling, errand-running, meat-eating MAYN - i was holding out the forkfuls of pasta begging you to take a bite as you bawled. those little tears in your eyes and that "momma? WHY????" look on your face - ugh - so irritating.

you opened your mouth to take a breath to rev up the crying and i shoved the fork in. i then waited in breathless anticipation. will she spit it out? will she swallow it?

oh my god you sneezed. ew. gross.

that was NOT the desired effect. spaghetti was all over the place and you pulled a big chunk out of your mouth that (i thought) came from halfway down your throat. so fine. you win this one. just because that was gross. and, if i'm being honest? slightly tragic.
so milk and snuggles it is. let's just go to bed and work this out tomorrow.

speaking of tomorrow....

the next day was a busy day filled with a friend's birthday party and your dad was using his truck to do manly things. you know. going back and forth to lowe's 800 times to get things to do man-projects around the house. he was so proud of his truck. he even was more than happy to take the two of us to Ikea to buy large items that we don't need just so he could use his truck to haul them. RAWR.

and thats where things went south.

after we purchased a few large items at the store, he took you and all the diaper bags and purses and such to the car and i waited with the large furniture bits at the loading dock for you guys to come with the truck. and i waited. and waited. and...then?

i see him running towards me. no truck. no jovie.

"where is jovie?"
"in the car. where is your phone? oh god it's in your bag. in the truck"
"why is she in the car and not with you?"

before he could answer, he was running into the store.
i'm a smart girl, jovie. i was able to use context clues to figure out that he had managed to lock you in the truck. which was kinda funny until i realized (milliseconds later) that you were probably in there with the ignition off. in the shade it was 110 degrees out. so that means in the car it is roughly 130 degrees which means you are slow-roasting in a truck that i don't have a spare key to.

PANIC!!!

immediately, my head was flooded with thoughts of the nightly news and yahoo new stories of children left in cars in the heat and dying within an hour. and child protective services coming and taking you away. and going to jail for child endangerment. then more gruesome visuals like my dog Hummer that was hit by a car, and how i would ever be able to even talk to your dad again after he kills you. and....it got ugly in that 10 second period that all of those thoughts crashed onto me.

and i saw out of the corner of my eye as i was frozen there in the loading dock..your father running back to the car. do i go? do i stay? do i leave this huge cart of junk that we don't need? do i take it with me? there's a rock!!!! bust the window! of the new car? YES THE CAR! who cares about the car?! this is your daughter! man. a locksmith will be expensive and they take forever to get where you need them to be, but a window is expensive-er and messy. and shatters of glass in jovie's eyes and mouth and....


before i knew it was was running with a dolly of furnishings being pushed with one hand and a giant landscaping stone in the other. ikea workers were yelling at me because i ran off with the stolen stone...i didn't even pay them any attention. this is my daughter!

so your dad punched the window with the rock. and nothing happened. not even a scratch. the truck moved. you laughed inside the car. but the window was perfectly intact. so he punched it again. and again. and again. at this time, we had drawn a small crowd. people gawking at a man beating up a car with dealer tags still on it. and a woman screaming "OH MY GAWD! OH MY GAWD!" over and over on the top of her lungs. i am sure we were a silly site. i mean, at least you were laughing at us. we making all the loud noises and yelling and jumping around being silly...you probably thought "man! my parents are so silly! look at them entertaining me! dance monkies! dance!"

finally, in what seemed like 3 hours but was more like 10 minutes....the window was broken, your dad unlocked the car (cutting his hand and arm up pretty good, too) and you were a big ball of sweat in my arms. safe and sound. what a relief that was. that you were OK.

but you weren't.

as i was putting you to bed the night of the truck window smashing, i noticed you had a stuffy nose and you were having trouble breathing. i could easily see a big ol' white booger in your nose, but the nose-booger-sucker thing that we have wouldn't make that stubborn thing budge. i had your dad help hold you while i tried to suck it out, but you were out of control angry about it, which seemed a little excessive, really...it's just a booger. or was it?

you know what. that is some THING in there. a toy? a bean? your brain?
it called to memory the story your nana tells me about the time i shoved a peanut up my nose. i was about your age when i did it. so in humor, i called her to tell her that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. she didn't see it as funny and actually told me to take you to the ER.

wait...what?!

and duh! why didn't i think of that? if it's a small toy, you could accidentally suck it back into your lungs and choke on it. or if it's a bean, it could sprout in your nose like the story your great grandma used to tell me about your great uncle Robert getting a bean stuck in his nose. he had severe infection because of this bean and when they finally were able to get it out, it had sprouted roots and was beginning to grow in his sinuses. which. i always thought that was a tall-tale, but your nana made me a believer that night when she told me to take you to the hospital.

so. we did.

it was rather awkward there. none of us were worried about it. you were happy to play on a big beg and watch cartoons and your dad and i sat in the chair by your both of us playing on our phones. we were just doing what we were told to do, and i think your dad and i both felt it a little over-the-top to take you into the emergency. but. whatever. it's only money, right?  : /

the doctor had us wrap your little body tightly in a blanket like a burrito so that you couldn't move your arms and legs. your dad held your feet in place, i held your little arms and body and the nurse held your head while the doctor used a little scissor-like tool to dig the "thing" out of your nose.

she got some of it in one try, but not all of it.
so she filled a nose-booger-sucker thing full of water and shot the water through your other nostril trying to force the rest of the "thing" out. got a little more, but not all of it.

we inspected the object that came out. ha! remember the spaghetti sneeze from friday night? yeah. i had forgotten that, too. apparently, you sneezed a chunk of noodle (about an inch long) into your sinuses and it was stuck there.

graceful.

anyway. the doc had us make an appointment with the Children's Hospital ENT for the next day, where i found out that if she couldn't get it out, they would have to operate. lucky for you and my wallet she was able to fish it out while you sat in my lap your legs trapped between mine and my arms wrapped tightly around your body and a nurse holding your head still.

girl, you are strong when you are pissed off. i think you get that from me.

so. moral of the story? food is expensive. especially food that isn't eaten. if you'd just EAT YOUR STINKING FOOD, you wouldn't have to have metal things shoved up your snout. and if i'd just let you not eat, i would save a lot of money.

to date, for all the junk you have put us through in the 19 months of your life, you owe us:

-$5000 in health insurance deductibles for pregnancy and labor/delivery fees
-$5000 in health insurance deductibles for the first er visit that i never wrote about....but it was that nasty staph infection you had a few months ago. and man. THAT was a nightmare. : (
-$450 for a new window on daddy's truck
-$50 dollars for the new tinting on the window on daddy's truck
-$10000 to me for pain and suffering you cause for not eating like a normal fat baby would and getting yourself locked in a giant rotisserie.

but don't worry. i'll just garnish your allowance for the first 18 years of your life. that should just about cover those costs.

this is an intervention.

i'm writing today because i love you, and i want what's best for you.

honey, the spit baths have GOT TO STOP.

i can't, for the life of me, figure out where you picked this atrocious habit up. i've grueled over it. and ruminated in it. and trust me. i got nothin'.

your pretending to talk on the phone all the time? from me. 

your absolute DEMANDING to wear my fancy shoes? from me. ('atta girl!)

your love of running? your daddy

the throwing yourself down on the floor, weeping and gnashing your teeth? your uncle sean. (jk)

your love of water and to swim? from your grandpa.

but the spit bath? really, jovie? really?

i would say you were pretending to be a cat. but. we don't have cats. the only cats you have seen are on the tv or books, in which case, you yell "BUBBA!" and then bark like a dog. which. i get to the outside viewer, that may be a little awkward? a toddler thinking that dogs are her brothers. and i'll take the blame for that. i have called the boys "bubba" since, like, forever....so it only was natural for you to refer to them that way, too. sorry if that screws with your head a little. (we will work that out later). 

so. here's the deal. and? maybe you can help me understand the reason for this now that you are older?

it started one night after your bath and you were sitting in my sink in the bathroom "bosh"ing your teeth for the 7th time that day.  your towel had fallen off, so you were in your skinnies in my sink. i stood behind you first drying your hair, then mine.

you got bored with brushing your teeth, so i handed you one of my old cosmetic brushes for you to pretend to put make-up on with. and that's where things went south. your version of putting on blush includes pinching your lips together and spitting - LOUDLY - onto the brush's handle and then wiping it all over your body.

armpits? yes. knees? yes. face? yes. neck? yes. feet? yes....you get the picture.

it was weird, but i let you alone because you were being you and i want you to be you. 

but then.

THEN!

then the spit baths moved onto spitting on your toys and then rubbing the toys all over. 

then while in the car, once you'd thrown all of your toys and bottles and shoes at me, you use your fingers. 

spit. everywhere. jovie.

::pppbblltt::

::pppbblltt::

::pppbblltt::

::pppbblltt::

all over your hands.

all over your neck.

running down your face.

soaking your shirt.

making you smell like day-breath all the time.

and it inevitably ends up on me, too, because i am always right by you. (rude!) 

so. in trying to get you to stop, i started with a simple "no ma'am". polite. didn't work.

i tried the guilt trip tactic by proclaiming that you are "making mommy sad". bah! you didn't care.

i practiced the shame approach. "BLGH! Jovie. that's YUCKY! BLGH". and....while that appeared to have done some good, your self esteem won't allow me to keep you down for long. (that's commendable)

::pppbblltt::

::pppbblltt::

::pppbblltt::

that noise coming from the backseat sends my head spinning. i don't care how fast i'm driving, it's NEVER fast enough to keep me from giving you the DEATH STARE OF DOOM!!!! so i'll whirl my head around to give you "the look" and you hide your hands under your legs as if you were simply pondering life's great mysteries, like a good little girl.

i'm smart, monkey. i see the incriminating evidence dripping from your chin.

your innocence is lost on me, kid. i know what was going on. i know you were trying to hide your nasty habit with no intention of quitting anytime soon. O' the lies! the deception! the sneaking behind my back!!!! (literally).

shame tactic again:  "Jooohhh-viieeee!"

so i chose to watch you in my rear view mirror. so i could witness you losing your innocence. and you know what? it's not like you couldn't see me seeing you. you are on to me just as much as i am on to you. you were WATCHING me watch you. i honestly don't understand why you can't just sit in the back seat like a normal 19 month old doing...i don't know...long division or something.

::pppbblltt::

you started back up again with your eyes laser beamed to mine and with a look of sheer defiance,

::pppbblltt::

you sit in the back seat grooming yourself until you smell like a wet rag. and this has got to stop.

spit belongs ONLY in your mouth. not on your body. or. Heaven forbid, someone else's mouth.

::pppbblltt::

and since i've been looking in the rear view mirror? i notice i have an eyebrow hair out of place so i...

oh no.
i did this to you.
heck. i did this to ME.

oh.

dear.

heavens.

you got this nasty habit from me!

when Duncan and Jacob (or as we refer to them in our house; "the bubbas") show love. it's different than when a human shows love. If you aren't a dog person, their affection may come across as violent, but it's really rather sweet. they will nibble on your arm. they are both very delicate about this, but if you jerk your arm away from them, their teeth will scratch you and you might think they are being angry dogs. they aren't, though. this is their love language.

you have a different love language. you enjoy time spent together with the ones you love. it's beautiful. you want to share with us the things you are fascinated with. as though we have never seen bubbles or acorns or worms.

you see...when you bring me a book, i know you are wanting my time. but more so. you are wanting my time as a service to your entertainment needs. you can't read yet (which is totally OK. you ARE only 17 months old. it'll happen) so you want me to do it for you. it's sweet. i love books and want you to love books. but having you request a story doesn't pull at my soul the way you wanting to discover with me does.

it started in music class when the teacher was blowing bubbles for you all one day. i sat and watched you run to the bubbles and jump to catch and pop them and i loved watching you. but you didn't want me to be left out. so you ran to where i was, grabbed my thumb and pulled me to the bubbles to show me what you had found.

you do the same thing for your daddy in the backyard under the oak tree. you want him to see the acorns that you have found. and you want to show him how you can fit their hats on your fingers.

i was talking to lish about this. how it hurts my feelings so good to have you want me to enjoy things with you. her daughter does that, too, but her reaction is totally opposite. Lish loves the fact that Molly asks her to read books with her. to spend time with her.

but i want to learn and grow and just BE with you. discovering the world all over again through your eyes.

nnnnnnthis!!!!!!

i have a massive headache. it's COMPLETELY your fault. had my birth canal not grown in order for you to flop out when you were born, it wouldn't be all wonky now, and my hips wouldn't be crooked, and i wouldn't be in such pain that makes me want to cry every day......2 months before and 18 months after you were born....

also? you are driving me out of my mind at work. i end each evening nursing my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that i develop throughout the day.

"nnnnthis! nnnnthis!" you whine pointing at everything. it started out that you referred to my tea as "nnnnthis" because i would say "you want some of this?" and give you a sip.

but you noticed that "nnnthis" gets you whatever you want. DUH. i want to give you whatever you want so you will stop whining "nnnnthis! nnnnthis!" over. and over. and over. and over.

but you want ALL THE THINGS.
ALL THE TIME.

and you have no concept of fear. i am trying to instill fear into you. i want you to fear nnnthis. and nnnthis. and nnnnnthat. but NOTHING scares you. you climb onto everything. you pile boxes atop chairs and wobble your way to the highest part of your make-shift mountain. and, if i'm not looking, you steal nnnthis and nnnthis and nnnnthat from my desk. THEN you end up covered in red ink. or milk. or spaghetti sauce. or paperclips. or WHATEVER you can get your sticky hands on.

it's fascinating to watch you. i really promise that it is. it make my heart warm how you weasel your way into and out of everything you can. and you are so nimble and quick that it is usually before i even have a moments notice to grab you before you tumble to the ground. unscathed. undaunted. unimpressed with death defying.....

because you have one goal in mind, well really. many many many goals that all fall under the "nnnnnthis" umbrella...

but all of those things don't phase you. instead they give me a migraine.
i'm fried, dude. totally puffed in smoke.
every day getting home from work i count the minutes until bedtime for you. so that i can have 5 free minutes to myself before i fall asleep on the sofa watching the last of the episode of Yo Gabba Gabba that you left unfinished...you know....because you could care less what happens, and i am dying to know....

you suck out all my energy. i mean come on. if you spent 10 hours a day chasing after someone that repeatedly tried to kill themselves in all kinds of exciting ways....don't you think you would be tired, too?

God must be freakin' exhausted. and....he's a single dad of like. 6 brazillion people that spend their days trying to kill themselves.

but you know what. in all that stress. in all that craziness that is my day trying my best to do my job at the office without making mistakes while i keep 1.5 eyes on you trying to keep YOU from making mistakes....i get home and take a breath and you start giggling like crazy. crazy person giggling. and....

my headache eases just a little bit. and i put off doing the things i want to do...just so i can hear that giggle a few more times before you go to bed and i am left with no one to save.

until you wake up the next morning before i'm ready for you to wake.

get well soon

this morning you woke up uncharacteristically early. 7am. you usually wake up saying "um HI!" and play in your crib for a bit before daddy comes to get you some breakfast. today, though, you woke up squalling. it was a different kind of cry than what i am used to hearing from you. Usually your cries are just bratty and annoying. this one was pain filled.

you have this spot on your left hip bone that showed up two days ago. i've been doctoring it with that goopy junk, neosporin, but it hasn't seemed to get better. in fact, it was worse yesterday....red, irritated, hot to the touch, and the tiny spot had a ring of swelling and bright red around it about 3" in diameter. 

this morning when you woke up crying, we brought you into the bed with us and let you watch cartoons as we assessed the situation. you were VERY feverish. extremely hot to the touch. and you kept crying. i asked your dad about the spot when he changed your morning diaper. he said it was still really red. i couldn't help it. i had to check it. 

i know that it hurts you. you won't let me near it. you normally don't mind having your panties changed but as i took them off, you flipped out on me. and i know why. the red and swelling had grown to about 6" in diameter. you are so tiny that took up most of your hip and your tummy and some of your little girl-thing was even affected. 

at this point i knew it wasn't just a spot to not be concerned with. i was afraid it was a bug bite of some sort.  so i took you immediately to the doctor. 

 you are literally the happiest kid i have ever met, but you wouldn't know it by the trip to the doc today. you cried the entire time we were there. the nurses were shocked, too, because they know you (even though you haven't been there often, you are a memorable child...) and they know you don't really act like that ever. so you must be bad-off.

doctor barely even got a glance of your hip when i took off your diaper to show her and she said "ok we need to culture that, take bleach baths, and get her on antibiotics right now" and then hurried out the door before i even could process what she just said. 

BLEACH BATH?!??! WHAT ON EARTH?!?!?!?

i immediately envisioned you hating me for the rest of your life.  i will undoubtedly be the unlucky person having to administer said bleach baths, because no amount of begging or bribing or weeping and gnashing of teeth will convince your father to hurt you. then i quickly moved on to worrying about how many towels we would ruin along with my clothes and the bathroom rug. (though, i'll be honest... not all of my worries were particularly in that order....i like my clothes. and the bathroom rug is super old, so i don't mind letting it go, really....) 

the doctor came back in with a needle and a culture kit. 

the needle, which i will be referring to henceforth as The Needle was the size of....and i'm not even exaggerating, Jovie....angelhair pasta. i know. angel hair pasta is thin as far as pasta is concerned. but a freaking NEEDLE?!!?!?

i sang "the Noble Duke of York" your favorite song to you while she slammed The Needle into your hip and literally ripped it out of you to lance the skin. that's when the room went white and i wasn't entirely sure who was more angry and/or upset about all of this....you or me. 

i don't know what came out of the spot after that. i couldn't watch anymore, but if the size of the hole is any indication, it was probably a small animal. maybe a squirrel? ack. i have to stop thinking about this. 

moving on. 

she drew a line around the infected area with a permanent marker and dated your leg 3.21.12 and told me that if the redness goes out of the black line to call her immediately. to give you a bleach bath twice a day until this goes away, to wash it in surgical soap twice daily and to keep antibiotic ointment on it. if the spot closes and gets puss filled, guess what? we get to repeat this morning!!!! oh heaven. 

anyway. enough descriptions on this. it's ghastly to think about. but i will tell you that you are incredibly sick. you are normally extremely energetic, but today you have just laid on the couch. i created a pallet for you with my favorite pillow and my favorite blanket. got you snuggled with milk and your giraffe that you sleep with and we have watched cartoons most of the day. you won't really walk. if you do, you walk like an old woman or....how i walked for a week after giving birth to you. (i know...what's the difference in my walk after your birth and an old woman's? because it's surely not the age, right?) 

and i'm worried.

i am sad for you. 

there is a lump in my throat. 

you've had one cold so far in your lifetime and it didn't stop you from doing anything. 

but today. you just lay there. and i can't help you.
you are so feverish. 

you are so incredibly sick.
and i feel like this is my fault even though it's really yours. : /

and i swear to you, if you get worse, i will be SO MAD AT YOU. and you will be grounded, young lady. do you hear me?!?! GROUNDED. 

laughing in our sleep

this morning, while i was still laying in bed making sheet angels, your daddy starting laughing really loud. something was apparently hilarious, but i have NO CLUE what. so i rolled over to see what he was laughing at.

i assumed he was looking at his phone and got a funny message or email or something.

he was asleep.

your daddy laughs in his sleep a lot. it's so adorable. and it makes me laugh, too, even though i have no idea what is so funny.
this morning, however, he was slightly awake, so i asked him what was so funny and he said "Jovie and the cow udders!"

"what?"

"she's peeking through the udders in that picture", holding his fingers up like udders he tried to show me how you were looking through the udders...then he fell back asleep.

i have no idea, dude.
so weird.

this picture - to my knowledge - does not [yet] exist.
but your dad's silly dreams DO exist.

i hope your fantasy world is as silly as his for your sake, because that seems like fun. :)

this, too, shall pass

oh. dear.

you swallowed your barrette. 

well. i'm about 85% sure that you swallowed your barrette, and 15% positive that it spontaneously combusted and disappeared into thin air. each situation (to ME) appears entirely plausible. 

your hair is always in your eyes. it's so long that is just sort of stays there. you are only a year old and already at that awkward "growing out" phase of hairstyling. this will be the first of MANY times you will be in the awkward hair phase. i'm not too worried about that. i do, however, put a clip in your bangs to keep your hair out of your eyes because i am a nice person. 

because you are MEAN person, you insist on pulling it right back out, handing it to me and announce that it is finished with a big fat "THERE!" : /

we go through this approximately 230498948573948-309 times a day. but. i will NOT relent! i have a point to prove to a toddler, i suppose. that I WILL get my way!

today, as we left the office for the day, i clipped it in  your hair, grabbed your hand before it could pull the clip out, and gave it a playful ::smack:: and said "Nu-NO!" and you giggled and we got in the car and headed home. however, about....halfway home, i heard you cough in a really odd manner and then in the rearview mirror, i saw you projectile vomit onto your sweater. you had the STRANGEST expression on your face, and i immediately noticed the absence of your barrette. 

oh.no.

i slammed my breaks, pulled onto the curb of the street to get out of traffic and nearly broke my leg clamoring out of the car with my 4" wedge booties wobbling on the curb. i climbed in the back and saw that your eyes were watering, you were red, and vomit was everywhere. but. no hair clip. no where. GONE. you were breathing fine, which was my first worry. i know that if someone is choking and they cough, that they aren't going to suffocate, so before i even pulled off the road i knew that was one good sign. 

another good sign was that you weren't sliming. sliming is the technical term that doctors have given someone when an object is stuck in their esophagus and your body's natural tendency is to get it out. so...your body creates more saliva to wash it down. this makes you slobber profusely, but it also can have a bad effect if the object is BLOCKING your esophageal tube because it's an endless cycle of creating saliva to wash down the object while creating more "blockage" by just adding more spit on top of the object. 

this makes a person gag and throw up. 

you did none of this. 

in fact. you just said "HI!" in your THICK texan accent (no clue where you got THAT ::ahem:: mom)

i kinda shrugged it off and thought that i would see the barrette when i got you out of your seat at home. 

so i climbed out of the backseat, tripped again on the curb and got back on the road. 

but you were acting...off.

you would just sit there. then start to SCREAM. and then smack your mouth, and pull at your bangs again. 

this is CLEARLY what a chimpanzee trained in sign language would do if they were trying to say "hey mom. this kinda sucks. i swallowed a fancy piece of plastic coated pink polka dot metal and it kinda hurts"

so. i called your doctor. 

first thing she said was to not panic. which i wasn't. you were breathing. you weren't sliming. so i wasn't only mildly concerned. but then she told me to take you to the ER.

WHAAAAAA?!?!?

the ER? this is BIG. there is blood. there are sick people. gunshot wounds. amputees. this is kinda scary. 

DO NOT CALL CHRISTOPHER, KRISTA. DO NOT CALL CHRISTOPHER. 

i made it to the children's urgent care center. still having not called your dad, because i am able to handle this emergency on my own....crap....i don't have his social security number....i have to call him. 

once.

twice.

three times.

no answer.

so i text "this is an emergency" that shouldn't cause him too much alarm, right?

my phone rang immediately.

"WHAT'S WRONG?!?!?"

"well....don't panic....but.....i had to take jovie to the ER...."

"WHAT???!?!"

"i need your social security number"

"WHAT.HAPPENED?"

"she swallowed a barrette. she's breathing. it's ok. i just need your social"

needless to say. i think he was worried. 

anyway. he just got home from work and wants to hear the story first hand...so i'll make the ending quick and with less exaggeration elaboration.

the doc came in, smiled and said "she's ok. do you want an X-ray?" 

which would have been fun having an X-ray of your little tummy to document that little teeny barrette in your tummy, but....since it really didn't do any good to have it or not have it, save for the knowledge that YES, the barrette was swallowed or NO, the barrette was not swallowed it evaporated instead...

i chose to simply inspect your muddy diapers for the next 1 to 3 days looking for your barrette so that we can wash it off and put it right back in your hair again. 

because...i still have that point to prove to you. that i WILL get my way!