Saturday, April 24, 2010
family: there's got to be ...
I can safely say that I never imagined myself in this particular situation:
It's afternoon on K's birthday and the cupcakes have been eaten, the bounce-house bounced on, the guests dined and relieved of their presents, and the girls put into bed for and woken up from late-breaking naps (which means a late, long evening for us because they don't be ready for bed any time soon), and now I'm sitting on the living room couch trying to bottle-feed a "pees in his potty" dolly that is K's current favorite gift, while simultaneously watching L shift from step to step on the stairs during a poorly executed timeout she got for hitting K after I convinced K to use her words to tell her sister that she didn't want her to play with one of her toys rather than simply pushing L down and grabbing the toy back. M has gone out for takeout food.
You still with me?
So, this dolly is an anatomically (and apparently, digestively) correct boy doll that is supposed to "drink" water out of his bottle and then pee in his blue potty when you push on his stomach. The only problem is that we can't seem to get him to take much out of the bottle (insert joke about weaning him a little too early). So K has asked me to feed him while she busies herself with other things "because being a mother is hard work."
I briefly consider telling her that I've done my time feeding and changing babies, but it's her birthday after all, so I keep my mouth shut.
There's gorgeous afternoon sunshine pouring through the west window, and yet all I can think about is how L won't sit still and take this timeout seriously, and how I'm holding a plastic boy doll, trying to get 4 ounces of water down his throat so we can then squeeze is out of his tiny plastic penis.
L (jumping down the steps): Ok, guyth, I coming. I coming guyth!
me: Your timeout is not done!
L (on the floor now and racing towards us with a maniacal laugh): Watth out guyth! I coming!!
Where she got this "guys" thing I don't know, but in this particular situation it manages to both infuriate and disarm me. I shake my head and keep bottle feeding the baby.
Later, during a subsequent timeout for hitting me after I took a beer bottle away from her (see below), I lift L up to place her back on the landing where she's supposed to be sitting and she yells, "Blath off!!" The only thing I can do is start laughing. Or crying. Cwying. I opt for the laugh. Barely.
K got 2 birthday phone calls this morning, including one from Grandmama in Alabama and one from our good friend Sheila here in town.
Talking to Grandmama:
K (smiling): Hello! What? Yeah. It my birthday. What? I got a doll and a horse with Lisa and some books and... What? Bye.
L: I want to talk to her.
M: Mom, L wants to say hello. (hands the phone to L)
L: Hi Grandmama, yeah. (motioning to a toy horse on the table) You see this horthie Grandmama? It K's horthie. You see it? (motioning to the kitchen table) You see this book? It K's book. Yeah. Bye.
About the beer bottle....
The girls like when I blow on the tops of beer bottles to make those deep, ship-leaving-harbor whistles. And the girls like to try it too. So sometimes I let them try and this time when I was done with my beer I gave L the bottle and she blew on it a few times before sticking the neck in her mouth. M told her not to do that ("You'll break your teeth"), and I said I'd take the bottle away if she did it again. "I not do that again, ever again!" she said. And then promptly did so. And I took the bottle away. "But I need thomthing to blow my teeth!" "To blow your teeth?" I asked. "Yeah." "No." And she hit me. Timeout and "blast off!"
Happy birthday afternoon K! And L. And M....