Speaking Sass

Josie's sass has become it's own language.  The tone, the eye roll, the phrases.  I can't believe such things are coming from the mouth of my 5 year old daughter.

Despite what you might think, it's not an easy language to learn.  There's a very distinct way things need to be said.  Just telling your mom "I'm done with this," in the middle of a lecture isn't enough.  You have to hold your hand a certain why and leer both eyes with complete disgust.

Today, I decided enough was enough.

"Josie, you cannot talk like that any more," I told her while we sat together on the couch.

"I just like to speak Italian," she said.

"Josie, that's not Italian. That's obnoxious."

"Sorry," she said.  Had I finally made a break through?! "I just like to speak Obnoxious"

I should be proud.  She's only 5 and she's already fluent in another language.

Wow

That was an impressive break.  Guess you can't underestimate how busy three kids can keep you - and once you get on a role - it's hard to make it stop.

That's probably why there aren't many pulitzer prize winning authors who wrote something while their 3 children were  and under.

Getting Old

I have to admit putting on a brave face and proudly carrying my sweet Emily into a public setting is getting old. I’m sick of smiling politely and saying, “it’s just a birthmark.” I’m losing my patience for seemingly innocent young children who stare at her and point while they whisper to their friends.

I know I am strong. I know I have faced far worse circumstances. I know there are parents who wish their biggest heartache was having to deal with other people’s judgement of their child’s unusual birthmark. But, if I am really being honest, I’m tired of putting it into perspective and tired of counting my blessings. For once, I want someone to see my daughter’s face without first seeing the large hemangioma under her beautiful right eye.

I am grateful for the people who try to be polite and never say anything. I’m irritated by the people who smile uncomfortably and say, “What a beautiful baby,” No matter how hard I try to believe them, I can’t help but wonder if they are just saying it to be nice.

Sometimes a child will look at her, stop for just a second, look up at me and then smile before running away. I look around and see if I can spot their mother. To tell them that they’ve done a good job. So the next time their child dumps out the belongings of their purse in the grocery store, they can remember that, when it matters most, their child knows how to behave.

Today, Emily stared at herself in the mirror that covers the closet door. I looked at her out of the corner of my eye while I folded laundry on top of the bed. “How big is Emily?” I asked. She raised both hands and smiled while I said, “so big.”

I folded a few towels and then said, “Dance. Dance. Dance.” Emily raised her right arm, pinched her thumb and pointer finger together like she’s trying to snap and then twisted her body to the rhythm of her imaginary music.

While I finished folding the rest of the clothes, Emily sat and stared at her image. Does she see it? I wondered. Was she going to touch the red mark in her reflection and try to wipe it off? Instead, she started dancing again. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Explaining Emily’s birthmark to strangers isn’t the only thing that is getting old. Emily is getting older too. It feels like a race against the clock. After each laser treatment, I am hoping and praying that when the redness subsides there will be enough of it gone that Emily will be able to grow up without ever having to ask, “What’s this?” or “Why do I have it?” or “Why do people stare and say mean things to me?”

I finished the laundry and picked up Emily with a resurgence of strength, patience and understanding.
I am grateful that I am the one who has to deal with the comments, the looks and the ignorance.

For now, I will sweetly smile at those who look Emily’s way. I will politely explain that Emily didn’t fall, didn’t color on her face or didn’t do anything other than be born looking a little different than everyone else. I will gladly answer every single question and continue to hope that Emily never has to answer one on her own.

“Bring it on strangers,” I say as I pick Emily up in the air and tickle her stomach with my nose. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you,” I tell Emily as she crumbles in to a giggling ball. As I lower Emily back down, she nuzzles her nose into the nape of my neck and stays there for a while.

Bad Decision Playbook

People often tell me I should write a book.  Well, apparently Josie, my 5 year daughter, has already written one.  It is called, "The Bad Decision Playbook." It's a cross between a memoir and a how to book.

Every time I turned around or left the room for a minute today, I returned to find my daughter making an impressive assortment of bad decisions.

The only thing she could find to wear was a dress that was two sizes too small and at the bottom of Emily's hand-me-down pile in a plastic tub in the garage.

The only thing she could think to play was a game called completely destroy my room and rip the covers off my freshly made bed.  And then, it's important, apparently, to convince your brother to play the same game.

When I thought I just couldn't take any more, I decided to brave the cold and drive them to a park.  As I put Emily in her car seat, I looked up to see Josie, who was just in the car, was not in her car seat.

The only way to end a day of bad decisions is to make one that your mom repeatedly tells you not to. That's chapter 24.

"Josie, how many times have I told you not to climb back over the seat and into the trunk. It's dangerous and annoying," I said. Hoping to get advice from a pulished author on the topic, I asked Josie, "Why do you keep making such bad decisions?"

"Because it's fun," said a little voice from the back of the mini-van.

So there lies the moral of Josie's Bad Decision Playbook.  I'm just not sure who the lesson is for - her or me.

Like Tights

My daughter Josie reminds me so much of my mom.  They share certrain traits, like their strength, their energy, and their ability to appoach every situation with a can-do attitude.  Some days, they drive me crazy but most days they inspire me.

When I got home from the gym today, Josie was already dressed for the Super Bowl, but not in the red skirt and white top I had put out for her.  "Is that what you want to wear?" I asked.  I wasn't going to make a big deal of it, but I thought it would be fun to all wear red.

"Yes," she said as she twirled around in her leopard print skirt. "Is this okay?"

I appreciated that she even cared what I thought. "You can wear that, but I aslo thought we could wear 49ers colors. Lets go see my outfit and see what you think."

20 minutes later we were all in the mini-van wearing red, except for the 5 year old wearing animal print.  Even though she got to wear the outfit of her choice she was still mad at me because I wouldn't let her wear tights.  I told her that she would want to go on the trampoline. "Leggings would be easier."  She could just take her shoes off and run through the grass right to the trampoline.

Later that night, when I was getting the kids ready for bed alone, since Norm was still watching the game, I decided to skip bath. But I figured I should scrub the kids feets since they were outside without shoes.

Josie's feet were filthy.  And not just dirt filthy, but tar filthy.  I have no idea what was on that trampoline but it was not something that was definitely not afraid of soap. I gave in and soaked her in the tub, which helped. I even used Palmolive, which I vaguely remember is what they used to clean the baby ducks who get caught in oil leaks.  I got most of it off.

As I tucked her into bed, I said that next time we go to Uncle Steve's we should bring some soft shoes or socks so you can wear them on the trampoline.  "Something to keep your feet clean," I said.

"You mean, like tights?" she said as she looked me in the eyes and smirked.  I swear I was looking right at my mother. 

"Good night, Tina," I said with a smirk.

"It's Josie," she said and laughed herself to sleep.