Hoover

The kid can find anything on the floor; grass, dog food, small pieces of plastic, etc. Yesterday The Kid found one of those little pieces of plastic and put it in her mouth. And then swallowed. And then choked.
It's not like I just let her wander around a nasty house picking up potentially hazardous things off the floor. The carpet does get vacuumed...sometimes. The fact is, if you're missing something (coins,push pins, diamonds, Nazi gold, the holy grail) , The Kid can probably crawl around and find it; you'll just have to wait a few days to get it back.
So yesterday, I had left The Kid downstairs to play while I was cleaning up upstairs. I think it's important that I note that she was not by herself. My mother, father and Bubba were all in the same room with her, watching her. So, there I was, trying to find a home for half the crap we have thrown up there, when all of a sudden I hear it. The most blood-curdling scream in the world. The one that makes it sound like "I'm really and truly dying" cry, not just "I know that's not mine, but you took it away from me so I'm going to make you sorry" cry. (Yes, there is a difference). I run downstairs to see what the problem is and there's my child, sitting in her Gran's lap with the reddest face and eyes you've even seen, sobbing. "What happened?" I asked. "She swallowed a little piece of plastic and choked" my dad replies. He looks like she just drank a bottle of Drano and was now foaming at the mouth. I look back at The Kid."Did she spit it up?" I asked. Judging by the look on my Father's face, I begin to get truly concerned. "She's fine..." mom says, "I flipped her over, popped her on the back and she spit it right out." I pick up The Kid to get a good look at her. "Are you ok?" I asked. She's still crying a little. Maybe she's traumatized from her near death experience. She's whimpering and sucking in air; an Oscar worthy performance. "It's ok baby" Bubba tells her. "Here, this'll make it better" and out comes a Sonic cup. The Kid's eyes light up like Christmas. That all-organic, vegetarian, gluten-free diet I've had her on since day one means nothing right now as she grabs that red straw and gets a mouthful. She gulps down that cranberry limeade and gives us a big smile. I suppose that does make it all better. Or , it just helps wash down whatever else she shoved in her mouth when we weren't looking.

Let Your Freak Flag Fly

Day Two of our yard sale adventure and boy, the weirdos are out in full force. It's like a John Waters film, except not as cool. Or like "Napoleon Dynamite", just funny in a creepy way. And with more member's only jackets. Just a sampling of today so far:

• A mother-daughter duo who looked exactly alike. I felt like I was in 'The Shining'. I was half expecting them to ask me "Will you scrapbook with us? Forever?". I was on the verge of screaming (with laughter).


• The Kid got a free Spanish lesson from two Hispanic construction workers. Much more colorful than any episode of Dora the Explorer.


• A guy who inexplicably breaks into song. Less like Mr. Shuster from"Glee" and more like Buffalo Bob from "Silence of the Lambs".


• Some dude in a car who asked another random customer to "Go ask about those lawnmowers". I told Ms.Random Customer "If he can't get outta the car, I ain't gonna deal with him." Curbside service is extra, fool.

I also pissed off the elderly yesterday, so my week's complete. You wanna know the story? Too bad; I'll tell you anyway.

It was 7am and I had just woken up. I told Dad to wake me up at 6, so I was not so happy. I threw on some clothes and got out in the driveway asap. Outside, poking through my old crap is a man about 75 years old. I was brought up to be polite so I say hello. "I was here earlier" he snaps. Oh hell naw. It's too early and I'm running on too little sleep. I just give him the stare. "I was here earlier and you were still asleep. Your mother was out here by herself" he informs me. I pull down my sunglasses and look him dead in the eye; "Well, I was up all night with my baby, so if you'll excuse me" I reply as sweet as I can. Old Man River shuts his mouth. He looks at me like have leprosy. But that wasn't it. Not at all. I did exactly what I wanted to do; I made him believe that I was some unwed, teenage mother who still lives at home with her parents. I've never seen a man that old move away from a person that fast. Maybe he thought my trashiness was contagious, maybe he was looking for some rocks to stone me. Either way, I can cross that off my to-do list. Next up: 'tell a yankee how stupid they are all while using my best southern accent and prefacing it with "bless your heart". Then my week will be complete.

Way to stay classy Tennessee...

I know I'm not what you would call 'High-Class'. I worked at a Harley dealership, wore cut-off jeans and motorcycle boots to work on more than one occassion (in my pre-baby days mind you, I'm not that trashy), and have been known to frequent places that look like an opening scene from CSI at night. All that aside, I still know how to take a shower and shave my armpits when it counts. From the looks of people at my yard-sale today, I see that some individuals were born with out this 'hygine gene' or common sense in general.

Just a taste of things I saw today:

• A woman getting out of a minivan with a three year old riding on her lap.


• A gentleman who tried to pet my mom's large, man-eating dog through the fence.


• A guy who thought he could just 'take some stuff off my hands' becouse it's not like I'm selling things.


• A woman who told me her entire life story; and I mean every sad detail.


• And a guy who felt it was ok to let his stupid tiny dog crap all over my Mom's front lawn.

And this is how The Kid felt about it all:

Woodchuck

The Kid has teeth. They're not just baby teeth, they're these sharp little puppy teeth that she likes to use to bite ANYTHING; me, her father, toys, and furniture. Yes, furniture. I found this out this yesterday.

The fact that my child has decided she has a taste for wood and varnish is actually my sister in law's fault. 'How is that?' you may ask. Well, I'll tell you.

When The Kid was about 9 weeks old, she refused to take any sort of nap during the day. I tried, believe me, but the only time she would close her eyes was when she would pass out while nursing. I would be terrified to move for fear of waking her up so there I sat, Kid fast asleep on the boppy, slack-jawed and drooling my own breastmilk all over me. Disgusting, I know. She also refused to sleep more than two hours at a time at night. I was at my wit's end. I had just gone back to work and was routinely falling asleep at my desk. For some reason, snoring at work is frowned upon. Imagine that. Since I getting fussed at by my boss (who had the only other office upstairs. I guess I was interrupting her crossword puzzle time) I asked my sister in law for advice. Since she has two girls of her own I figured she had all the answers. Little did I know she was the 'Sleep Nazi'. The minute I said something about sleep she started babbling something about 'set naps' and chanting something like "It's not logical, it's biological". I thought she'd lost her mind; or become a scientologist at the very least. Before I could say 'Tom Cruise' she explained it was all about this magical book. Healthy Sleep Habits, Healthy Baby was supposed to be the answer to all my problems. Sleep schedules, set naps and 'crying it out' were all things I saw when I skimmed trough the book because I was half-asleep and couldn't read through half-closed eyes. It all sounded like good ideas, but I'm lazy and it was just easier to let The Kid sleep in my bed physically attached to me like a human pacifier.

Jump ahead 7 months. I finally picked up the book again. Did you know 9 month olds need two naps a day? Did you also know they have to teach themselves to fall asleep? Well neither did I. So I read, and read, and decided to do it. Yes, it sucks to let your baby cry, but having a 5 year old scream "WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ME ANYMORE?!" while crying and trying to climb you like a rabid lab monkey because they don't want to go to sleep sucks alot worse. So, I did it. I let her cry. It really wasn't that bad. She eventually went to sleep, and she stayed asleep for hours. Praise Jesus (and Dr. Weisbluth).

About two days into this adventure I decided to check in on her during her morning nap. She was up on her knees, hands and mouth on the crib rail trying to gnaw her way out. After explaining to her that ash was not a suitable food group and putting her back down she fell asleep. I didn't think anything more about it until Tuesday. That's the day she woke up from her nap with black flecks all around her mouth. I thought it might have been the blueberries from her lunch, but when I went in her room I saw it. She had used her teeth to scrape off a fair amount of paint from her crib rail. Like a woodchuck. Lovely.

Goober

"Yeah, I got a cookie in your floor. Whadda ya gonna do about it? "

Ooo-Zay

Bubba and I took The Kid to the zoo last week. It was...uhh...an experience. We went with Bubba's oldest sister, her husband, and their two girls. Bubba said it was MILF central. For some reason I only saw the people who shouldn't have procreated in the first place, thus making me feel better by comparison. All in all it was a productive trip for all.

"And the Parent Of The Year award goes to..."

Well, I learned my lesson. Babies, changing tables and hairbrushes don't mix. I found this out the hard way.

It was a couple of Fridays ago and I was getting the kid ready to go to my mother's house. As I usually do, I put The Kid on the changing table so I could put her diaper and her clothes on. She's at the stage now where she's the biggest wiggle-worm/temper tantrum-thrower, so I sometimes hand her something to play with, like a hair brush. Those little distractions usually buy me about 20-25 seconds, so that means I have to get her taken care of in about 15.
Anyway, I had just put her diaper on and I needed to get her outfit so I sat her up on the table with the hairbrush in her hand and sat down to go through her clothes.
*Those of you that don't have children: Read the following carefully!*
* Deadly Mistake #1: You never, ever leave a child on a changing table alone.(If you do, you're an idiot and a poor parent and you should-and will- be beaten about the head with a hairbrush.)*
So, as I was trying to pick out an outfit from the piles and piles of clothes it dawned on me to check on the kid. About the exact time I had that thought something struck me. Literally. It was a hairbrush, connected to a baby's arm, connected to an ENTIRE BABY.
Yes, The Kid wanted to brush what little hair I have and thought she could just lean over the side of the table and do it. What she ended up doing is almost killing us both. When she landed, The Kid could have cared less. After sitting there stunned (probably more from that fact that she landed perfectly upright in my lap than from the near-death experience) she proceeded to crawl onto the floor and start playing with the brush again like nothing happened.
After my initial shock from the realization that I almost grievously injured my child wore off, and I stopped hyperventilating, I laughed. Yes, because I'm That person. Parent Of The Year, right here folks.