The Official Day of Waiting Your Turn

I'm all about not rubbing in all the fun the Burgh Moms have when we get together, so I won't mention the circumstances under which Alexis and I found ourselves at the Pittsburgh Zoo yesterday. *cough SO.FUN! cough* I do, however, have to mention that among the attendees was Gina and her two kids, who I have named Her Majesty and The Prince. Her Majesty is an important part of the story that explains just how it was that yesterday became the Official Day of Waiting Your Turn. The Prince needs mentioned because I plan to clone him in miniature form, tuck him in my pocket, and take him with me everywhere I go. He is one useful (and cute!) little man.

So, Alexis is continuing her I'm Too Shy to So Much as Make Eye Contact with You Phase. It's really a joy having a 30+ pound kid glued to your body with her face buried in your armpit. Really. It's even more of a joy to have a 30+ pound kid decide that she's not real fond of being told what to do by someone twice her age. The more Alexis decided to loosen up and actually acknowledge the existence of some of the other kids at the Zoo yesterday, the more she realized that Her Majesty was irritating her. You see, Her Majesty had the nerve, no the AUDACITY to tell Alexis she couldn't go up on the super big and probably toddler crippling slides in the midst of the massive play area at that Zoo. When Her Majesty VERY politely told Alexis they had to stay on the smaller slides, Alexis had a cow.

A very big cow.

From that moment forward, if Her Majesty so much as glanced at Alexis wrong, Alexis turned into Tattler McTattleteron. She would come running to me, in tears, rambling about whatever it was that Her Majesty said. It was ALWAYS something that was very much so appropriate for a 4-year old to say to a 2-year old. Her Majesty may rule the kingdom, but she's doing it in a very polite way. The worst of Her Majesty's so-called offenses took place on one of the smaller toddler-sized slides when there was a whole gaggle of kids waiting. My little angel just sort of toddled her way around a few kids all the way to the front of the line and started to go. Her Majesty very politely told her, "You have to wait your turn."

Alexis had TWO cows. She blubbered and whined and moaned about how horrible and no-good Her Majesty was for being so awful as to have suggested that people should take turns when going down the slide. Alexis was not very amused when I told her that Her Majesty was RIGHT. You SHOULD take turns.

Fast forward to about half an hour later. We were patiently waiting in line to pet a deer. Alexis was still a little ticked off by being told by TWO people that you have to take turns. I was chatting to her about how nice people take turns and we have to be nice because it makes people happy and look! it's almost our turn to pet the deer! See how nice it is to wait and let everyone have a turn! It's going to be our turn next! Just wait another few seconds!

And then it happened.

They happened.

A gaggle of teenagers most certainly old enough to know better went plowing through the line, right in front of us, shoving kids aside and posing so that a woman who very obviously gave birth to at least one of them could take a photo.

Alexis had A Fit. A Royal Fit.

Really, I can't blame her. Why should she have to wait turns if other people don't do it? Gina is posting more about the gaggle of teens (her name for them is much more appropriate, but contains words that I try not to use here), so I'm going to leave it be. She'll be able to do the multiple fiascoes that followed much more justice than I can. Besides, she has photos of the brats and their so-called role model. (See, Alexis? That's why you have to take turns. Otherwise, somebody somewhere is liable to blog about how rude you were and they just might have very un-flattering photos.) I can guarantee you that the next time a gaggle of teenagers comes plowing through a place and their mother stands by and lets them? I'm going ballistic on the mother.

I suggest y'all teach your kids to take turns so I don't have to get all Angry B*tch on you. I mean, c'mon, I'm trying to teach my kid to be nice.







(BTW, somewhere along the line, Her Majesty was able to overcome the snob that is my child and the two of them became best buds. In fact, Alexis was asking to play with Her Majesty this morning, right after she asked, "Where'd Gina go?")

Enjoy the Weather? Or Blog? Enjoy the Weather.

Another Habit that Needs Broken

I almost forgot about this little video clip. It's from Game 6 of the Stanley Cup Finals.



I have four months to get the Toddler to knock off the first part of that clip.

Just to be clear, she's yelling "Shoot the puck," not something that happens to rhyme with "Shoot the puck" that may or may not fall out of grown-up mouths during Steelers/Patriots games around this house. After spewing what I happen to think is one of the more annoying things a hockey fan can yell, she then goes into something about Ryan (Malone) and then cheers for Flower (Fleury).

Yes, we have created a hockey monster.

And, yes, she needs to quit yelling at the TV during games. I know that works for some people, but I'm here to tell you the players, refs, and coaches can't hear you. Shocking, I know.

(Sorry that this isn't a "real" post. I was too busy changing up the template again. You like?)

Thank Y'all

I love comments. Love, love, LOVE comments. I also love emails. Love, love, LOVE emails. But today? All day? Has been THE BEST! Y'all are so sweet to be concerned about my mental stability following last night's game. Seriously. SO SWEET!

I am totally fine. If I jump off a bridge in the next few days, it won't be because I'm at all disappointed in the performance of the Pittsburgh Penguins. I am nothing but proud of the fight the players showed each and every game and the class Pens fans showed after last night's game. All those folks who hung out after the game chanting, "Let's go Pens" and politely congratulating the Wings during the trophy ceremony? Every single one of them rocks.

I love me some Penguins hockey, I love me some Penguins players, and I love me some Penguins fans.

My biggest love, though? All of y'all who took an interest in the game(s) because you knew I was interested in the games. Here's a sample comment from Cecily that had me grinning for hours:

"Guess what! Our whole darn family watched last night. All of us squished on the couch. We all cheered for the Penins (I don't think Gracie and Isaac ever got that they weren't really called that). And even though it was the first hockey game any of us other than Jon had really taken an interest in, we were all way bummed. BOOO."

New hockey fans? Maybe. If so--AWESOME! New Pens fans? Maybe. If so--SO VERY AWESOME! And bonus--you gotta' love a little Penguins hockey bringing a family together.

All y'all who showed a little interest in whether the Pens won or lost, stay tuned. It's a young team. The best is yet to come.

It's not a matter of "if" they'll win that Cup, it's "how many times" and "when" they'll win that Cup.

We all know it.

Three Overtimes a Cranky Toddler Makes

There are some sounds that you just don't want to hear in the middle of the night.

The crash of breaking glass.

Dogs barking on and on and on.

The phone ringing, most likely signaling some sort of emergency.

Then there are sounds that you just don't want to hear in the middle of the night as you are firmly parked on the couch, pooping bricks and having a heart attack as one of the most intense hockey games you have ever seen goes into overtime.

Toddler feet plopping across the floor above you.

A toddler crying.

A toddler yelling, "MOMMMY!"

The first time Alexis woke up all sorts of cranky, I abandoned my station in front of the Penguins game and managed to settle her back into bed after a drink of water and a few hugs. Miraculously, I didn't miss any goals.

The second time the Toddler woke up all sorts of cranky, I thought it was absolutely reasonable that Mr. Husband should take a turn. I had already missed the entire first period putting the Toddler to bed and part of overtime putting her back to bed.

Mr. Husband wasn't willing to miss a second. His answer for a crying toddler was to snatch her up and let Alexis hang out with us downstairs. And that would be how the Toddler managed to cuddle with me on the couch, watching the Penguins fight for a win like I've never seen a team fight for a win before. She saw at least two periods of overtime Stanley Cup Playoff hockey. (Keep in mind that I do have feet and could have escorted her back upstairs. I didn't want to miss another second either. Even if I was on the verge of a catastrophic heart attack from the stress of that game.)

Surprise, surprise, surprise, the result of a toddler hanging out with her parents while watching hockey in the middle of the night is a very, very sleepy toddler. The kid had absolutely no interest in getting up this morning.

None.

When she wouldn't wake up, I finally just started changing her into clothes while she continued to sleep. That Herculean effort was met with moans and groans and whining. Apparently, a certain little someone didn't like the whole Let's Wake Up Six Hours After the Game Ended Concept. Finally, after several minutes of muttering, "No!" and "Go away!" Alexis said something that pretty much summed up the whole thing:

"Stupid."

I'm not sure if she was calling me stupid, saying that it was stupid to be awake so early after that game, or both, but she was very much so correct in her assessment.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go get some sleep.

Goodbye!

Further Proof that My Kid is Awesome

If you have kids, you know this kind of thing just can't be staged. I was in the kitchen throwing together a complicated dinner consisting of frozen pizza when the Pens game finally came on the TV. Dude. The kid can name three Pens players. Actually, she can name four, but for some reason she didn't bother to mention "Cindy" (aka Sidney).



I'm keeping this kid.

Too Busy Watching the Game to Post Right Now

Raising a Burgh Baby the Right Way

There is no way that the Toddler will remember the Steelers winning the Superbowl when she was just nine days old.

She certainly doesn't remember how we lent her lucky mojo to her Grandpa's Colts for Superbowl XLI.

But how perfectly Burghtastic would it be if some of her earliest memories are of attending Penguins playoff games?

(Really crappy video, but it was SO FUN to be there.)



(Somebody got a new lens for Mr. Canon for Mother's Day. That someone is a very happy camper.)

Yeah, What They Mowed

(We actually thought about buying that property. I'm glad the owners decided to make good use of it while it's still on the market.)

Having the Two of My Life

THIS is it.

Right now.

This IS it.

Two. Two is the age that I would want to redo if I could. Two is the perfect age to be alive.

The most upsetting thing that can happen when you're two is to be told "no" when you want to watch Dora the Annoying Explorer.

When you're two, it's gloriously fun to yell, "YELLOW CAR!" each and every time you spot a little ray of sunshine on wheels.

A peanut butter and jelly sandwich is a perfectly acceptable, and preferred, lunch for someone who is two.

When you're two, a hug is just a hug, and you can give anyone an instant jolt of happiness by giving them one.

A productive evening for a two-year old is when you get to play with Play-Doh AND read six books.

If you're two, it's cute when you pronounce "big truck" with a "f" where the "tr" should be.

You can pee your pants when you're two, and no one thinks anything of it.

Singing your ABC's perfectly from beginning to end is just cause for a party when you're two.

Two is a spectacularly fun age to be alive.

But since I can't go back and be two again, I'm going to blow bubbles for someone who is, and I'm going to blow those bubbles as if it's my job. Which it is.

32 isn't all that bad either.

Today's Forecast: Windy with a Chance of Daffodils

The Burghificaton* of the Toddler: Part 2

* Burghification: Exposing a child to all of the things that make Pittsburgh great.

****************************************************************
I know, I know, I know. We're usually all "Steelers, Steelers, Steelers," but really, we are some Pens loving fools around this house and have been for many moons. It's just that hockey season is so LONG. If I talked about it all the time, I wouldn't have time for anything else.

Anyhoo, we ventured to a Pens game last night. Many a person would think we were crazy to take a 2-year old to an event that involved sitting still for a really long time. To that I say: It wasn't her first game (she went to one last year, too) and we knew she could handle it. Think about it, there's lots of lights, cute boys moving around really fast on the ice, clapping, popcorn, and M&M's. That sounds like a recipe for a good time. And it was.

One of the people who thought we were crazy was the very sweet woman seated next to us. When she first saw that we really were going to sit in those two seats next to hers, she gave Alexis her best, "You're really cute, but I'm going to want to hurt you in about an hour, aren't I?" face. Sorry to disappoint, fellow Burgher. Yes, my daughter rocks and actually watched the game. Well, she watched the first period anyway.

She spent a good portion of the second period trying to figure out what happened to the blimp they fly around the place that drops free stuff on people's heads. It had long been put away, but it didn't dawn on her until a few minutes into the period that it was gone. So she kept asking me. And asking me. And asking me. And that is how I missed a goal that was scored no more than 20 feet in front of me.

Near the end of the second period, I had a glaring reminder of why the Penguins are far classier than the Pirates. Not only are the players good peeps who make the best commercials ever, but the organization as a whole has its head screwed on right, all the way down to the mascot. While the nasty ass Pirate is single-handily responsible for the Toddler's phobia of large costumed people, Iceburgh (the Penguin) was very sweet to her. He snuck up behind her and planted a big ol' smooch on her noggin. Initially, I have to admit I thought it was Mr. Husband planting his lips in dramatic fashion, but then I realized he's not quite that fuzzy. Iceburgh was kind enough to back away a few feet when he realized Alexis wasn't as charmed by his lips as I was, and even tried to play peek-a-boo with her. She didn't buy what he was selling, but he still gets some kudos for not being a jerk and getting a kick out of scaring her (like the jerkface Pirate did). (Anybody else ever notice that the Pirate reeks of cheap beer? Do you think it's because he's drunk or because a ton of girls have thrown beer at him after he groped them? Both?)



After her run in with Iceburgh, Alexis was pretty clear on how she was going to spend the rest of the game: keeping an eye on him. He stationed himself one section over from us the entire third period, making it pretty easy for her to make sure she knew where he was at all times. She talked to him (from afar, of course), showed him her little Iceburgh baby, and kept making me look at him. That would be how I missed all but one of the third period goals (For those of you keeping track, I missed five of the Pen's goals because Alexis kept making me look somewhere else. If you would like to get some of our good luck karma around for the playoffs, feel free to buy us some tickets.) Even when the Toddler's little body started to alert her it was time to just go to sleep, she managed to keep one eye open, just to make sure no mascots tried to accost her.

After the game, we celebrated Alexis' re-birthday. (Note to the people who decide who has to have a ticket for these kind of events: If the kid isn't heavy enough to sit in the seat without getting folded up, I ain't buying her a ticket. Screw your "Two and up" rules.) We vowed to return sooner, rather than later. It will be a few years before we can go through the Steelers game portion of the Burghification with Alexis, so she'll just have to enjoy lots of Pens games until then.

Random Notes:

- There is ALWAYS some jagoff wearing a Steelers jersey at a Pens game. This games' jagoff had good enough seats that I have to think he can afford to drop a few bucks on a Pens jersey. Get with the program, Mr. Jagoff.



- Most amusing conversation I overheard:
Kid: Dad, what do the players do after the game?
Man: The take showers then go out drinking.
Kid: Do they get dressed before they go drinking?

(Useless trivia: There are three prominent Pens players who aren't old enough to legally go out drinking--Crosby, Stall, and Letang. As such, I won't be touching the fact that clothing might or might not be optional for that there drinking.)

- Second most amusing conversation:
Guy: Starting that one out early, huh?
Me: Pshaw, she went to a game before she was one.
Guy: That's how you do it. Hey, maybe she'll get to see the Bucs win in her lifetime.
Me: I don't think anyone is going to see the Bucs win in their lifetime.
Guy: Probably not.

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I hope everyone had a happy Easter!

The Burghification* of the Toddler, Part 1

*It is a word because I say it is a word.

Take a Little Ride on the Short Bus

- I discovered a new pattern last night involving the Toddler bed: Lights On--Toddler gets in and out of bed 50 times by herself. Light Off--Toddler cannot get in or out the bed by herself. I feel like I should stand at the lamp and flip it on and off over and over just to see what she will do.

- You know it's been a rough week when I am ecstatic--ECSTATIC I tell you--that Alexis only woke up once last night. Even more exciting is the fact that the wake-up call came immediately after a thump loud enough to wake a Daddy. OK, so it's not cool that she fell out of bed, but it's totally cool that a little rolling and crashing was the only thing that woke her up. (She was totally fine, not a single mark anywhere.)

- This is NOT right:



While some people are running around all excited that it was in the mid-60's the past two days, I am not one of them. It's going to get cold again. It is, after all, January and Pittsburgh we're talking about here. It's going to feel 300 times worse when it happens than it would have if the temperature had just stayed steady. Ever go on vacation to the beach in the middle of winter then return home to freezing weather? That is what it's going to feel like. I'm not looking forward to the cold wind slapping me in the face and reminding me that I live in the North.

- Since a few of you asked a little while back, the new job is Training Manager for a big, international construction company. It's a new position and involves building the department from the ground up. Since I know you're curious, I think it's OK to reveal that I look smokin' in my hardhat, steel-toed boots, safety glasses, and bright orange vest. Especially when I'm up to my knees in mud. I'm headed to the World Trade Center work site next month; I'll try to get a picture so you can see just how big of a dork I can be.

- Alexis loves to sing. I mean, really loves to sing. Every moment that she spends in the car is a moment that she spends composing beautiful music. Sometimes she sings along with whatever I have playing on the stereo. The girl does "Maneater" WAY better than Nelly Furtado. Since she seldom convinces me to listen to crappy pop music, she frequently relies on her favorite Signing Time songs for material. But lately, she has started to sing kid songs she learned at daycare. I'm a big fan of "Circle, Circle Little Star" (please don't tell her those aren't the real words--I adore her version), but the tune she sang today was the BEST. It started out as your standard "Wheels on the Bus." She got the first and second verses right, but when she got to the third verse, she proved herself a genius by doing a little substitution for "baby":

"The Daddies on the bus go WAH WAH WAH
WAH WAH WAH
WAH WAH WAH
The Daddies on the bus go WAH WAH WAH
All through the town."

Truer words have never been sung by a one-year.

Yay, Snow! Now Would You Please Move?

I love snow. I really, really do. You would think that after 14+ years of living in North Dakota I would have had enough of the stuff, but no. I heart it so very much that I want to hug it and squeeze and fold it up and stuff it in my pocket. The melting thing wouldn't be so great, but I love snow!

What I don't love is Pittsburgh snow. Really it's not the snow's fault--it's the fine people of Pittsburgh. They seem to forget that it actually does snow here. Every year. I have lived in many places (17 addresses since high school), visited many more, and I have never seen anything like the complete panic that overcomes Pittsburgh the first time it snows. Every year. (Did I mention that it snows here every year? It does!)

The biggest problem? The drivers. Oh, how I hate Pittsburgh drivers when there is snow on the ground. There are two categories of Pittsburgh snow drivers: the Stoppers and the Psycho SUV Speeders. The Stoppers stop. They are physically incapable of putting their foot on the gas when there is snow within a five mile radius. They MUST keep their foot on the brake. Tap-tap-tap. Must. not. move. Snow? Stop! The Psycho SUV Speeders are, of course, those crazy people that think they are invincible because they are driving around in their overpriced 4x4 SUV. To be fair, they don't bother me as much as the Stoppers since they can usually be found in the ditch and out of my way. It's the Stoppers that keep me from getting anywhere. Remember that North Dakota upbringing? It means that I know how to drive in the snow. I swear to it. So everybody needs to just move the heck out of my way and let me go on with my bad self.

Both types of Pittsburgh drivers are guilty of one of my biggest pet peeves. They are convinced that you must lessen the distance between yourself and other cars whenever the weather is less than perfect. Instead of maintaining a two foot gap in between themselves and the car in front of them, they lessen it to two inches. I suppose it's because they think that will help prevent the snow from ever hitting the road. (Note to fellow Pittsburghers: It doesn't work. Back away from that bumper. Increase your following distance in the event of foul weather. I promise it won't hurt.) There's nothing quite like being trapped behind a Stopper and having someone else so close to your booty that you can clearly see their beady little eyes in your rear-view mirror.

There's also nothing quite like beady little Toddler eyes staring you down for expecting her precious feet to touch the ground when there is snow present. Dear lord, my beady-eyed daughter is a Stopper. She takes this whole "born in Pittsburgh" thing entirely too seriously, and clearly got the memo about how to act when it snows. I'm not exaggerating one iota when I say the girl has her foot firmly on that brake. She ain't moving in the snow. Won't walk. Won't move an inch. Stops. Whines. Won't move.

How are we ever going to make pretty little snow angels and construct the ice castle of my our dreams if she just stands there, frozen in place, crying and whining because of a few snowflakes?

Buh-bye Pretty Flowers

First thing this morning, I glanced out Alexis' bedroom window then did a double-take as I stared at the death everywhere. First frost. I would be really sad that my Morning Glories and Zinnias are dead, but I'm kind of looking forward to putting up the Christmas decorations soon. Since the garden and my snowmen can't coexist, it's for the best, I guess.

For a final farewell to summer/fall, I thought I would share some garden photos. I never remember to take pictures of things like that (I always figure I'll do it later, then later again, then it just never happens), but I did a slightly better job this year. I totally missed all the spring bulbs, containers, and roses, but at least I tried.

First, in order to truly appreciate my obsession, you have to see what our yard looked like when we bought our place. It's the townhouse on the right.



Oh, the ugly. We got rid of the baby poop brown a few years ago and I conned Daddy into ripping out those horrendous shrubs and put in a few zillion perennials and pretty trees. Of course I don't have a photo of just the front of the house, but trust me when I say it looks a million times better. Here's some garden photos:

My favorite part is the pond that we tucked under the kitchen window. You can't tell from these photos, but it's actually kind of big--as in 800 gallons big. At the beginning of the summer it housed four fish, but we lost two this year. One was a 20-pound Koi that was significantly smaller than the beast, Ernie. He's probably about as long as Alexis is tall and just might weigh as much as her. Alexis does her part and feeds them any time that we let her.





When we move, which will happen in the next year or I'm throwing a hissy fit, we I plan to take it all with us. I've had some of these plants for over ten years and already moved them from Ohio to two different houses in PA. They will survive one more. And the fish are definately going. I don't know how, but they are.

So long Fall . . . now bring on the Christmas decorations!

If the Shirt Fits

And with that, I'm off to a Pens game. Daddy and Alexis will be holding down the fort all by their lonesome selves tonight. Go Sydney!

RIP to One of Martha Stewart's Friends

Alexis has given all indications that she is ready for a big girl bed for a while now. I, however, am not ready for that milestone. Every time I think of her sleeping in a bed with an accessible escape route, I think of her wandering downstairs, standing on the kitchen counter eating cinnamon raisen bread in the middle of the night. She does it during the middle of the day when I turn away for a millisecond, surely she would take to wandering the house appeasing her every unfulfilled desire if left to her own devices.

I'm all about the compromise, so I gave Alexis a big girl pillow in her crib to tide her over for a little while. This occurred maybe two weeks ago. Last night, I went to put her to sleep and discovered this:



I don't know if you can tell from the picture, but that is one seriously shredded pillowcase. It was a brand new pillowcase devoid of any rips, tears, or loose threads when she got hold of it. What is going on here? Do all toddlers turn on their bedding like that? Or just this one?

Run In Peace

You would think that a full day of just me and the Crazy One-Year Old would wield some funny story or lifelong lesson. But really, it didn't. She was about as boring as boring can be (Except at lunch when I had the audacity to give her yogurt after she asked for -you guessed it- yogurt. Never let a one-year old tell you what they want. They lie like dogs and will try very hard to trick you with their backwards logic.).

Since Alexis let me down today, I shall revert to Saturday for some good times. We had some friends over and, oh, how Alexis clung to "Aunt" Estee. She clung like the odor of dirty gym socks in a locker room. We're talking about Category 5 stalking here, people. Estee could not walk in or out of a room without her shadow toddling behind her.

The one, and only one, exception came about whilst I was putting together part of the cemetery in the front yard. If you are assembling a cemetery, then you can be sure that your one-year old will suddenly find your every move to be utterly and completely fascinating. She followed me around, installing fence, placing tombstones, and running electrical cords. I would say she was a great help, but then I would by lying like a dog.

Once the cemetery was essentially complete, Alexis took to running laps around and through all the tombstones, generally yucking herself up with her fantastic running skills. Did you ever see the Friends episode where Phoebe runs? That's what she looked like, except perhaps a little bit crazier. And I was left to wonder, is it creepy that my one-year old gets her kicks out of running around in a cemetery?

Random Stuff

* Yesterday's Steelers game? ROCKED. I think I might be starting to like Ben, even if only a little bit.

* Daddy and I? Really freakin' immature. Alexis was walking around all over the place telling us both to sit yesterday. However, it sounded a whole lot like, "Mommy, sh@t" and "Daddy, sh@t." And we giggled. Why, yes, we are a couple of ten-year olds. What of it?

* Wal-Mart employees? Should totally feel stupid putting out all that Christmas and winter crap. It's 90 degrees outside. Save the fuzzy slippers for a week or two. Also? It screws with my head when there is an aisle of school supplies next to the Halloween stuff next to the Christmas junk next to the flowers. Pick a season and go with it, will you?

* Your mission? Cheer like crazy for Tony Romo tonight. I am currently down three points for this week's Fantasy game, but I'm counting on my new boyfriend to make it all better. A victory would be extra sweet since I'm head-to-head with the guy that just bought an English Bulldog based on my breeder/importer recommendation. He's already broke, now let's go for broke loser status. How does it feel to know you're about to beat by a girl, Gandolf's Goons? Probably about the same as it feels to know you just spent over $2500 for a dog that is going to destroy every piece of furniture you own. Have fun with that.