The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly of the Return to Daycare

Alexis made her glorious return to daycare this week after a too quick 3-week absence. It didn't take long for things to turn right back to the way they were.

Because of a change in schedules, I have been bestowed with the glory that is the morning drop off. There's a very good reason I don't do drop offs--I can't take the pain. On the first day, Alexis gave me a super-sized dose of pain by ripping my heart out and tearing it to shreds. In other words, she had a total and complete meltdown and made it real obvious that she wanted to stay with me. Her teachers swear that she calmed down shortly after I left, but her tears haunted me all day.

And then came Tuesday, and she no longer cared that I was alive. She cheered when we pulled into the parking lot and took off running once we were inside. I didn't even get so much as a kiss goodbye. And that's how it continued the rest of the week. I'm glad she likes school and all, but would it kill the kid to at least say goodbye? I'm not looking for another meltdown, but I bet there's a middle ground in there somewhere that would leave me feeling loved, but not too loved.

Alexis learned a few new things at school this week. First the good--she learned to count all the way to 8. You could have knocked me over with a feather the first time I heard her do it. Now I keep making her do it over and over because I still can't wrap my brain around the fact that my little tiny baby who just a year ago still couldn't walk, suddenly knows how to count. I feel like I should throw a "She Can Count!" party, but maybe that's a bit overboard.

The other thing she learned is that merely saying "No" when asked a question is really not quite enough. You should say "No way" just so that you make sure that your parents know just how ridiculous their questions about what you want to eat, whether you need a diaper change, and what you want to do really are. And the sassier you say it, the better.

I'm guessing that the same kid that taught her the art of sass is also the one that breathed on her and shared his/her grimy little toddler germs. Oh yes, it took a mere three days before the daycare-induced runny noses returned. By last night, a little bitty cold had grown to a full-sized cold.

I have previously mentioned that Alexis like to take everyone down with her when she's sick, and she did a masterful job of it last night. She ended up in our bed after several trips back and forth between the rooms to tend to her crying. I really have no concept how the child survived her first few weeks of life given how completely stupid I become in the middle of the night. Bringing her to our bed was dumb in and of itself, but then I managed to stay oblivious to the fact that she had a fever for hours. Other Moms I know check their kid's temperature the second they sneeze. Despite the restlessness, whining, and crying (oh, and the fact that her forehead was hot--duh!), I just couldn't seem to figure out what was going on. Then it took me an additional hour or two to realize that I could do something about the fever. I finally stumbled around the dark house, bumping into walls and falling down stairs, for ten minutes in search of the elusive baby Tylenol which was located in the medicine cabinet (where it belongs). I administered it it to one pissed off Toddler and she was able to sleep soundly for the four hours that followed. She woke up a new woman and you wouldn't even know that she was miserable for the greater part of the night. Unless, of course, you look at the bags under my eyes. They tell the story like you wouldn't believe.

On the Other Hand, He's Pretty Cute When he Cleans

One of my favorite things about blogland is occasionally discovering that I am not alone in my way of thinking. I might be insane, but so are some of you. And a LOT of you are insane because your husbands/significant others think it is a genius idea to buy expensive plastic crap with lots of wires. Thank you to everyone that shared your similar story. It actually made me feel a little bit better. I still want to chuck the Wii into the Ohio River, or at the very least sell it on eBay, but knowing that I am not alone somehow takes the edge off of things.

Since I so thoroughly whined about my husband and his magical annoying abilities yesterday, I thought it might be a good idea to tell you some of the really great things he does (in between spells of driving me crazy). Conveniently enough, Red Pen Mamma tagged me the other day with Crazy Eights. She did several, but my favorite was eight things she's grateful for. I think I can work with that.

I am grateful that my husband:

1. Is a diaper master. I don't have to ask, he just changes them. In fact, if we are both around, it is his job. Even Alexis is aware of who is in charge of wiping her butt. If she poops and he is around, she tells him, takes him a diaper, and waits for assistance. She has been known to pass me by in her moment of need.

2. Will cook dinner. He doesn't like to do it, but he will. Granted, if he cooks dinner it is usually of the instant variety, but there is not much better than a frozen pizza that finds its own way into the oven when there are 18,452 things on your To Do list.

3. Does the laundry. All of it. Always. OK, so he dug his own grave on this one, but he's been doing it for many years at this point and very seldom complains about it.

I know some of you are wondering, so I'll just spill the story on how that came to be. When we first were living together, I did the laundry. One day, I was taking towels out of the dryer and folding them. He felt the undying need to inform me that I was folding said towels incorrectly. At first I was confused. I stared at him as if he had grown a few extra heads. He mistook that look as me wanting to learn the "correct" way to fold towels. He didn't mistake the next face that I made because it was accompanied by lots of words like, "You have got to be kidding me" and "Just shut up and walk away, will you?" A lovely little disagreement ensued and the outcome was that he could just do all the d*mn laundry himself, thank you very much. Ten years later, it's still his job. For which I am eternally grateful.

4. Cleans the bathrooms. (Let's get this part out of the way right now--he's mine, you can't have him. And yes, he cleans the bathrooms.) We divided up the chores years ago with me getting the kitchen, dining room, and living room. He took the bathroom and bedroom. I would much rather wipe a kitchen counter every single day than wipe a toilet once a week, so it works out quite nicely for all parties involved.

5. Joins in on my holiday insanity. If he weren't married to me, I can guarantee that he would not have a single Christmas decoration anywhere. It's not his thing. But yet, he will be up on the roof putting up lights tomorrow. He will probably, at some point, comment about our Scrooge neighbors not at least putting up one little thing. And he will mock the neighbors that do hang a few lights for not even coming close to having a yard that looks as good as ours does.

6. Buys me flowers for no reason. How can anyone not love that?

7. Is a great Father. One of my favorite things to do is to eavesdrop on him and Alexis playing. Many nights they go upstairs before I do and will listen to Signing Time music. They sing together, they laugh together, they bounce on the bed together. It's the best sound in the world.

8. Is a great husband.

I'm feeling far too lazy right now to tag anyone else with this lovely little meme, but if you want to go for it, just leave a comment and consider yourself tagged.

He's Not Just Annoying, He Looks Ridiculous, Too

Two nights ago, as I was writing a blog entry, my husband paused in his activities to ask me, "Are you writing about me?"

As you may know, I was not writing about him. I told him as much, to which he replied, "Why not? I know I'm driving you crazy."

Honestly, THAT was the understatement of the century. But I replied, "Whatever" and went back to typing on my laptop.

I was going to let the whole thing go and not write about it, but since he pretty much invited the commentary, let me just tell you one of the ways my husband can make me insane in no time flat.

I know it's a common boy thing, but my husband takes the art of obsession to levels never before witnessed in the free world. If he gets it into his head that he wants something, he must have. it. NOW! NOW! NOW! As with most men, usually his obsessive craziness is directed towards some sort of electronic item. I've been around that block with him a few times, so I can tell you that he will obsess, buy, play for a few days, then abandon that thing he previously could not live without. There's quite an extensive graveyard of various discarded electronic items scattered all over our house. Come to think of it, I probably need to stop thinking about it before my face turns purple and my head explodes into a million little irritated pieces all over the dining room walls.

His latest obsession was with a Nintendo wii. Why? I have no idea. It's not like he actually plays any of the video games we already own. In fact, I haven't seen the man play a video game in probably five years. Even then, it was because I pretty much forced him to let me kick his butt in a little game of Mario Kart. I like to play video games. He likes to call me a geek for doing it.

So when he started saying he wanted a wii, I was extremely grateful that they are not exactly easy to come by. Unfortunately for me, his obsession reached a level to where he became willing to spend his every spare moment scouring Pittsburgh and Mr. Google until he found one. The same man who does not have time to hang up his coat spent HOURS searching for a wii. And succeeded. (Insert cuss words here. Lots of cuss words.)

You would think that the facts that I wasn't working at the time, Christmas is so close, and that I made scowly face when he told me he was going to buy it would deter him. You might also think that the fact that I said, "Do what you want" in a whiny, scolding tone would set off his "BEWARE--Your wife is setting a trap" alarm, thereby slowing him down. You would be wrong. He bought it anyway, explaining that he might just turn around and sell it on eBay and that I should just think about how much money he would make with the move. I knew very well that he was lying like a rug at the time. The odds of him being able to resist the urge to open that box and play with some brightly-colored cables was about as good as the odds of monkeys flying out of my butt.

I was right. He opened the box, hooked up the over-priced hunk of plastic, and borrowed a few games from a friend. Then, just so that he could add insult to injury, he started playing the stupid thing in the same room I was sitting in. Do you know how annoying it is to have a 200-pound man pretend bowling in your living room? I know! I know! It's less annoying that having that same man pretend boxing in your living room! Every. freakin'. night. And he knows it's annoying because he told me so.

Excuse me while I go smash my head through a wall.