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

What's Up?

“Do you want the small brush? The medium brush? Or the large brush?” I say to the artist.  

This week we’ve decided chalk and pens are for amateurs.  We agree that swirling and sweeping our brushes across blobs and dots of paint is the only way to go.  

“More purple Bal La Lee”.  

Did I mention The Cousin digs purple?  I did too when I was of the toddler age.  

I still do.  Purple is one of those gorgeous shades that no one can really deny its beauty or place in the world.  Teaching kids to make purple from red and blue is like offering them a small package of magic. THEY LOVE IT!

And so The Cousin proceeds in forward motion and she is so into it.  She sees no end in sight.

“More, Bal La Lee”.  "Again, Bal La Lee".  It’s somewhat frightening because you know; being the adult and all, that painting can’t go on endlessly into the night, right? But you also know, that even though you hold the cards, she holds the tantrum that is waiting to explode when you say that  it’s time to clean up the paints and brushes.  

Ahh, the almost 2-year old tantrum. It’s a special, special thing.

Sometimes I still have them.  But The Cousin's tantrums, though dramatic, don't last that long. She had a teeny weeny one today. Hell, she was tired. We turned on Pandora to our Raffi station and she wanted to hear Baa Baa Black Sheep. Since I don't subscribe to the Premium Pandora, where I'd have to pay, I get the freebie which doesn't allow you to choose specific song titles. Every other f@*!ing song came on except Baa Baa Black Sheep. I tried to sing and dance to the others, which usually makes her laugh and forget about the tantrum tornado that lay in wait, but not this time. 

The Cousin's technique consists of throwing her toys, throwing herself on the floor and flailing her limbs or choking Sweet Pea. That's it. Then it's over.

We had some "mini-episodes" today.  Nothing major.   

Although I feel pretty damn confident in many areas, I've never professed to mastering this job.  

I actually could use a nanny support group if the truth be known.

I came very close to calling my union rep today because had the tea been hot, I would have been fired. No doubt.  I put my cup up high enough, or so I thought.  But 'too high' and 'too challenging' are not in Sweet Pea's vocab and thank the Mother of God herself, the Moroccan Mint had cooled.

Yea, it's really funny.  Mommy's gonna think it's funny when the tea stain doesn't come out 

of your shirt or she sues my ass for child endangerment.

The other setbacks today were minor; simply one nanny's inability to set boundaries.

"Yep, I know I wasn't supposed to get into your bag"

And her inability to keep Sweet Pea's socks on.

I remember when my freshman English teacher at Camarillo High School had us write an essay entitled "Wednesdays".

It took me forever to even get a visual because at that time in my life, as so many other times, Wednesdays could be summed up in one word:   Boring.

Those days are gone, my friends.  My Wednesdays are nothing remotely close to boring now. 

There's something way cool about The Cousin's style.  Today's look is reminiscent of the young 

16-year old boys I see walking home from school, pants down below their asses, boxers in full view, skateboards under their arms...

And what about the bed-head? I am such a feeble opponent. 

She didn't want it brushed, so I didn't push it.

What's Up, Bed Head Girl?

It’s so cool to walk around downtown with The Cousin and Sweet Pea all bundled up and tucked in their double-decker Cadillac of a stroller. People are super-oober nice to me. No seriously. 

I mean I feel as if I’m actually reaching celebrity status.  Men smile. Old ladies say, “Hello” and tell me how terrific I am; what a great job I'm doing.  Other moms nod at me as if we’re in the same club and we have oodles in common.  I feel young because a few (a very slight few) ask me, “How old are your children?”  Now that’s worth a million bucks for sure. But then there’s the ‘assumers’, “Do you and your husband live here in town?”  But I’ll tell you what really clinches my jaw. 

It happened today.  So, I’m sitting on a park bench after power-walking for 30 minutes, singing my heart out in hopes they'll crash.  Finally, they’re both out.  It’s heavenesque. 

So I park the rig in the sun, put the sun protector flaps over their little faces, take off my glasses, close my eyes, lean back and soak up the rays. The only sound I hear are a few sparrows chirping in the distance. Gone are the screaming tantrums.  Gone is the hustle, bustle and mayhem of 2 babes throwing books, spilling juice, pulling their diapers off.  It’s just me, the sun and a few restful thoughts.

Then suddenly, some oblivious dude with a long gray beard and a SF Giants cap approaches the stroller, pokes his big ‘ole head in and with a voice that sounds like he’s just smoked a pack of Marlboro’s says, “Hey! Are the cuties twins?”

My Nirvana comes to a screeching halt and I instantly want to strangle him. 

The Cousin opens her eyes first. 

She’s petrified of the bearded man and starts to whimper rather loudly. I have absolutely no urge to be polite. 

I shoot him a look. He gets off easy though because I really just want to head-butt him.

I encourage The Cousin not to wake Sweet Pea, which is a joke.

Soon, we're all wide awake and we head for the park.
Today, The Cousin's dad meets us there and I have never felt so free.

It was quite pleasant actually.

A 2-parent family is definitely helpful.  With him on "swing duty",  I'm able to watch Sweet Pea and she actually doesn't have a chance in hell of eating leaves or wood chips.  I'm on it.

She did, however, eat peach yogurt earlier in the day. 

She's like a garbage disposal.  Man, I couldn't shovel the stuff in fast enough.

What's Up, Yogurt Lovers?

I think Wednesdays are under-rated. Hump day. Didn't we call 'em that once upon a time? 

We're half-way there; trying to make it to the weekend. But what exactly is our hurry?

These girls are "minute by minute" in a moment that could last briefly or for hours.  They don't give a damn what day it is. Every day is a great day!

They are blissful most of the time, and because they are... I am.

Well, it's almost 8:00 p.m. Nightie night all!

~tpg

Elephants, Stars, Balloons: A Montage

                                                       This is how we begin our day.

Sweet Pea's content at the moment because she's guzzling a bottle full of her mom's freshly pumped breast milk. That's Lambie on The Cousin's lap. Or is it Lambert?  They all have f@#king names.

Lambert

Lambie

Sheepie

It's very important, during emotional meltdowns, (The Cousin's not mine) to know which one she wants.

The Cousin and I bonded big time yesterday while Sweet Pea was napping.

We played with scoops and shovels in bubble water...

And ate applesauce with mega doses of cinnamon.  

It's not that we don't enjoy Sweet Pea's company. But Sweet Pea has become a beast. Seriously. 

I've seen the change in just 2 short weeks.  Nothing, and I mean nothing, stops her from applying the 'bulldozer method'. Nothing gets in her way on the blanket. Nothing distracts her from her focus. Nothing says "unhappy" quite like this...

Sweet Pea's lungs are as massive as her body and she doesn't give a shit about the cutesy little Playskool toys, the PVC-free corn starch rattles, the soft plush bunnies, the teething rings.  

She now hates conventional infant toys.  She bypasses all of them, plowing through the childproof barricades, trampling every damn toy in her path, in order to get a tag, a Dasani h2o bottle, a magazine, 

the A+D diaper rash ointment tube or her cousin's feet.  All these items have one and only one destination: her mouth.

                  I didn't get to feed her the oatmeal.  Her mom's only "allowing" it at night.
Hmmm..trust issues with the nanny?  I did, however, secretly slip her a faint smear of The Cousin's banana and she about gnawed my finger to the bone, which pretty much told me,
bring it on!

And another thing.  Somehow, Sweet Pea didn't get the memo that states:
Babies crawl before they stand.
This presents a problem for the nanny as you might imagine, because she's pulling herself up on everything, at a jackrabbit's pace, and of course, what goes up...quickly goes SPLAT.

You know, choice words do go through my head, but I can't say what I'm thinking when it all falls apart, because The Cousin is a f@!#ing parrot and I'll get fired.
But when Sweet Pea bonks her head, all hell breaks loose.

Sweet Pea eating a red chair.

Sweet Pea eating a book appropriately titled.

The Cousin has many strengths, but her forte is not clean-up time.  She actually dislikes clean-up time with a passion. I'm trying to set a good example, but the god's truth is, clean-up time's not my specialty either.

Basically yesterday was all about primal survival.  When I got them both in the double stroller (with the help of Sweet Pea's mom and the grandma, both of whom conveniently dropped by to see if I was above water) it was as if a melodic breeze and the motion of a moving stroller worked some sort of wizardry and they both conked out.  When I'm walking with them, I do everything humanly possible
to avoid loud noises such as barking dogs and sirens.  I even silence my cell. Yesterday, I could have stabbed this dude in the jugular and left his body for the crows.  He was using a leaf blower inches away from us.
When Sweet Pea started to stir a bit, my deodorant instantly lost all effectiveness.
"I'm gonna kill that mutha if he wakes them up." 
Upon returning home, I had to carefully lift the monstrosity of a stroller up over several large cement steps to get them inside without waking them. Once in the front door, I wheeled the whole damn thing into the back bedroom, put on the humidifier for background noise and closed the door.  I then proceeded to stuff my face with carob covered malt balls and stare catatonically at Dr. Phil.
I'm sure all the stay-at-home moms or insane nannies all across America were doing the same.
I'd probably sum up "Nanny hood" with this simple one-word logline:
S O S!

It's like the army.  5-minute showers. A wipe of the drool with your own shirt sleeve.  A spoonful of cereal on the run. You can't even take a piss alone.
The Cousin follows me into the bathroom and watches.
And because I can't leave Sweet Pea alone on the floor anymore, I have to either harness her in the Johnny Jumper or strap her in the swing and that goes over like a fart in church.

Well, that's the story on this morning after. It's no joke that I was asleep last night by 8 pm.
I do have one last pic for the montage. I'm teaching The Cousin how to change a diaper.
(I wasn't born yesterday y'all and I see it as beneficial)
So, it isn't age-appropriate. So the hell what!
I think she'll be ready to help me out next week.
~tpg

The Cousin "in training."

"Sucka!"