The Rabbi

Rabbi with The Cousin and me

This is what I look like by noon. You can only imagine what I look like by 5:00 pm.

I've had f*!@#ing Hava Nagila stuck in my head for the last 48 hours. 

So, The Cousin got a new toy. By the time Sweet Pea's mom came home at lunch to offer up a little "boob action" for Sweet Pea, I had listened to, danced to and sang Hava Nagila so many times, I thought any slight trace of Jewish heritage I might have, would jump out of my skin and slap me up the side of my head... hard. 

"More, Rabbi, peez"  was what The Cousin requested OVER AND OVER AGAIN. So I'd squeeze the Rabbi's left foot and the Hebrew folk song would begin again.  Even when I hid Rabbi behind a pile of dirty clothes, The Cousin would find him. It's not that I hate Hava Nagila. It's alright. 

But I'm sure you'd agree; when you hear even your favorite melody 100 times in a day, it sucks. 

Sweet Pea isn't at all interested in Rabbi.  She does her own thing and her own thing is fine by her. I dig that about her. I honestly do.  Our struggles are lessening actually.  The only real one we have, and it's a "doosey", is on the changing table. She still fights me like a caged bull and I still hold her two little ankles up in the air like a plucked chicken.  I'm all about not getting the poop all over the table.  She's all about winning the battle. She and The Cousin are such polar opposites in so many ways.  And though it's The Cousin who's being prepped for the toilet, it's Sweet Pea that thinks she's ready...

"I can do anything and my age has nothing to do with it."

Th Cousin not so much...

"Rabbi, pleez."

The Cousin is very cooperative about diaper changing. She remains still and lets me get the job done quickly and efficiently. She loves a clean diaper and has happily accepted the nickname I've given to her: "Clean Machine".

"Clean Machine" and I have bonded and, as y'all know, it happens during Sweet Pea's naps. This week we made pink play-dough. Totally took me back to my teaching days when play-dough was actually used regularly in Kindergarten and even 1st grade classrooms, not just for fun, but for the healthy development of fine motor skills in young children. Kneading the dough, cutting it with plastic knives, rolling balls of it into worms, etc is proven to help young kids in their abilities to hold pencils, use scissors, connect blocks and manipulatives.  And there's the whole brain connection with other areas such as language arts and math. But hey! Now our public education system has nixed the play-dough (and other "play" experiences) in favor of scores. We go straight to the test, and of course, the bubbling in of Scantron sheets beginning at age 5.
It's all about the data I've been told by my teacher pals.

But The Cousin and I, we know better. She poured in all the ingredients, including the strawberry JELL-O for color.

We just had to spend a little time working on not eating it.  Once that concept sunk in, it was smooth sailing and lotsa fun!
And, it kept her mind off Rabbi for a good 45 minutes!
~tpg

A Day in the Life of...

I can't get no privacy at home or on the job.
At home, it's constant.
The cats follow me to the toi toi  and lurk around me, sniffing and trying to get under my thighs and into the bowl while I sit and attempt to do my business..
At The Cousin's house, both girls also follow me in, even after I've bribed them with toys, tippy-cups and cereal bits to keep them distracted so I can have 30 seconds of peace and solitude while I pee.
But, no.
The Cousin runs in and stares at me with those eyes.
"Bal La Lee. What you doing?"
"I'm going potty." 
"Going pottee?"
"Yep."

In crawls Sweet Pea.  She resembles my cats. She lurks around on the floor trying to get up and into the toilet bowl. I can't even wipe.
I'm making all kinds of lame attempts to get them into the other room,

"Can you go get me your Cat in the Hat book?" I say to The Cousin in hopes she's feeling cooperative and hoping Sweet Pea will follow her out like a shadow.  No dice.
You can't always get what you want and they stay right there like shit in a diaper.

The Cousin's parentals are starting to introduce the toilet concept to her, so they bought her an Elmo toilet.  I think it's kinda funny.
She digs Elmo, so to them, it makes sense that she'll want to sit on Elmo and go potty.  Hmmm.
I'm thinkin she might be intelligent enough to not want to shit on Elmo's face.
It's going to be a long road and I'll tell you why.  For starters, many of The Cousin's toys are in the living room, she therefore likes to drag the Elmo toilet to the living room for playtime.
I move it back to the bathroom, telling her it's not a toy, which obviously makes no sense to her whatsoever.
When diaper changing time comes, I ask The Cousin if she wants to sit on her "big girl toilet" and go potty.  She says, "Yes".  So, I put her down from the changing table, butt-naked, and she walks down the hall to the bathroom.  I'm feeling very cool and optimistic and I'm secretly hoping that I am the one who makes this break-through happen!  We get to the Elmo latrine, I joyfully encourage her to sit down and she simply says, "No."
In fact, The Cousin sees a much better solution.

She puts Kitty on the toilet.
Kitty goes everywhere with her these days, and it's Kitty that needs to be "potty-trained".
I actually hate that term, "potty-trained".  The whole 'training' of a baby kinda reminds me of
training a mule or a dog in a way, but whatever.  What the hell do I know? I'm just the nanny who aspires to win the "2013 Nanny of the Year Award" for getting the kid transitioned from diapers to the pot.
I'm also the nanny who would LOVE to change diapers 5 times in a day rather than 10.

During Sweet Pea's 30-40 minute morning naps, The Cousin and I always slip away to
'project-land'.  Today, we dipped chalk in water and made cool drawings such as "purple rain from the clouds" and "grass at the park" The Cousin's favorite color is purple, hence her "Prince-like" reference to rain.

It was a cloudy, cold and overcast Wednesday, so the girls and I decided to stay inside and wear our sunglasses.
It made sense to us.

Sweet Pea's outfit is the bomb. Her little knitted sweater-vest is a throw-back to the '70's.
I totally dig her look and it suits her personality.  She's a mighty strong little girl and don't we want girls to be that way? Of course we do. We need more of 'em.  I will spare you my "men rule the whole damn world" soapbox today, however I will say this.  Her strength drives me to drink.

Actually, the 3 of us drink together in the afternoon.  It's our "after walk, after naps ritual".
I make the beverages and we sing a song that I made up in a 'desperate moment of resorting to anything to keep the peace'.  It goes something like this, give or take a few weird words:

"It's drink time! It's drink time! Let's quench our thirsties now! It's drink time! It's drink time! 
We're gonna show you how! Cheers! Cheers! Cheers!"  
I mix up the tune. Usually, it's similar to Row Row Row Your Boat or something like that.

Sweet Pea's 'beverage of choice' is warmed boob milk. The Cousin's is an organic pear and green veggie smoothie and mine is straight vodka.
Just kidding.

I'm grateful that I'm not Sweet Pea's mom and it's not my boob. Because lately, I'm having to do a lot of "finger sweeps" in Sweet Pea's mouth to remove, paper, faux leather, yarn and other debris and damn her teeth are GINORMOUS AND SHARP! I'll leave what those fangs must feel like when they bite down on her mom's boob to your imagination.

Well, that's the story, folks.
Except that when 5 o'clock comes, and the papas walk in, I bolt!
You would too.  Cheers!
~tpg