Mommy fantasies

This is how I might look if I managed to get my kids back in (only not so hot)

I am not one for gushing. In fact, I often prefer complaining, but this morning I had just stumbled out of bed and was sitting blearily on the pot when Oliver opened the bathroom door and said, "Mommy, I am going to make you happy." Which, based on the rest of the day, was absolutely clairvoyant and spot on. Sometimes I love my kids so much I want to put them back in my body so I can get closer to them. Is that weird? I mean, really, what's weirder, wanting to put my big three-year-old kids back in my body, or wanting to sneak off to the airport, fly to Marrakesh and start my life over as a rich bohemian who can totally pull off the caftan look? Because these are the things I waver between.

A thing I like

Looking at the literary tattoos on Contrariwise (which I found out about on the Green Apple blog) is addictive. I actually think tattoos are kind of juvenile (I have one; wish I didn't) but many of these are moving. The one above, from the Giving Tree is a tribute to the guy's mother who he calls "my giving tree." Corny? Maybe. But I'll take it.

Cluck cluck here—a chick video

They are growing.  I swear.  We've had our chicks for five days and they are BIGGER.  They still poop in their own food and fall asleep like they've been cold-cocked, but they are starting to seem distinctly chicken-like.  There's a beadiness about the eyes and these funny little chicken mannerisms like pecking and scratching and stretching one foot out behind them. Are they cute?  Oh yes they are.

Which, of course means we have to get going on building a coop.  Before we know it, the eight weeks will be up and our little birdies will be pullets and ready for the great outdoors.  I can't wait to start tossing them bugs. 

A thing I like

Mustache napkin rings.  Need I say more?

A leash just seems cruel

Oh sure, she looks all innocent here

When Magnolia was one day old and weighed less than five-and-a-half pounds, one of the NICU nurses handed her to me and said, "This one is ferocious."  At the time I loved the description.  I thought it meant she was a fighter, that despite her small size and her less than ideal birth, she was going to be fine.  And, of course, it did mean that.  She is now a bright, funny 35 pound girl who can do imitations and likes to eat brie. But I am starting to suspect that the description also portended a certain character trait, a willfulness that would eventually just kick my ass.

It's bad enough that she looks right at me like some snotty teenager from The Hills and then runs down the sidewalk, or worse, into the parking lot, just to assert her dominance and test my limits.  But she has also taken to reminding me of me.  I know this happens, that all your worst traits will get mimicked back at you, that as parents the most powerful thing we do is teach by example, with our actions.  But do I really need a not-quite-three-year-old rolling her eyes and dramatically sighing "fine" with the trumped up exhaustion of a put upon bureaucrat?  I do not.  This is just the type of mirror I do not need right now.

What I do need is some advice on what to do to get her to listen to me.  Yelling?  Doesn't work; she laughs.  Time outs? Sort of, but I hate the dynamic they set up. Reasoning?  Sometimes, but only if we talk before the event and plan out the desired behavior.  What I need is something that will stop her from running away from me in dangerous places and from acting as if she has no respect for me at all.  Suggestions?  Techniques?  New cocktails? I'll take 'em all.

A thing I like

This blog which my friend Miranda, who is the source of many good blogs, just sent to me. I especially like this post about the slow loris, which I've never even heard of, who likes to get tickled.  You have to watch the video.  It's strangely mesmerizing.