...in which Eliza leads story time

You can lead a kid to bed, but you can't make her fall asleep. Eliza went down happily for her nap today, but when I still heard her bumping around a half hour later, I went to check on her. I gasped when I saw the tall chest of drawers toppled over on the floor with two drawers entirely removed. There was Eliza sitting straight up in bed, "reading" the Alice's Adventures in Wonderland pop-up book (by the incomparable Sabuda) to her stuffed animals and dolls, all thoughtfully propped up against the pillows so they could all witness the fabulous paper engineering.

Although I hope I was successful in impressing on her the danger in climbing furniture (oddly, I didn't hear any crash from downstairs, and it's the only thing over 4 feet tall that's not bolted to studs), I couldn't find it in me to be too cross about her playing story time with her animals.

I do need to relocate Alice and Wonderland so it doesn't meet the same fate as the shredded pop-up Hanukkah Bugs. It had been on top of the chest of drawers, which I naively thought was out of diva's reach. Eliza is usually very gentle with books, but she can't resist feeling up pop-ups.

She's going to kill me . . .

. . . if she doesn't kill herself first. I'm not a paranoid person, but I find myself wondering on days like this if she'll make it to adulthood.

We were upstairs cleaning the bathroom when Eliza wandered away from me as she often does. Three minutes passed, and I went to make sure she wasn't making a mess. I went through the house calmly, room by room, calling her name, and she didn't answer. My heart started to beat faster. Something was wrong - I knew it - she always answers no matter what she's doing. I ran through the house yelling her name. I nearly vomited.

The locks on the patio and garage hadn't been undone, so I could only guess that she had gone out the front doors although they were closed. I ran out the door to the right and saw a mother and her preteen sons playing in the driveway. They hadn't seen her but promised to split up looking. I ran back to the house thinking maybe she was lying unconscious somewhere, but she was nowhere.

Back outside again, by that time I was on the phone with Chris, crying and nearly hyperventilating. He was trying to keep me from completely losing it, but I was imagining the worst - being the mother of a dead child. I went all the way down the road to the left, looking behind every bush and car.

As I was rounding the bend, I saw the neighbor with Eliza and fell to my knees crying harder from relief. The neighbor found her at the side gate in the process of turning the handle to go out onto the main road. Eliza didn't look worried in the slightest, and in fact, seemed baffled why her crazy mother was crying in the middle of the road. In her arms were a stuffed cat and snowman, and around her neck were the fabric balloon wall decorations that had once hung in her room (before she ripped them off the wall last week).

Once Eliza was at home safely tucked in bed, I e-mailed a friend: "I hate what she does to me. Why?? This is the dark side of having a too-smart and too-adventurous child. I hate wondering whether she’s going to make it to adulthood."

OK, I know she doesn't do these things to give me a heart attack. She just thought it sounded fun to go exploring outside the house.

In order to get out the front door, she had to unlock the deadbolt on the main door and unlock two locks on the metal mesh security door that turn in opposite directions. I found the doors unlocked but closed. What a thoughtful child she is to carefully close doors behind her, something the cat resents, having been locked inside rooms so often (damn those paws without opposable thumbs!).

I thought about installing a fourth lock on the front doors, one at the very top - six feet off the ground. But then I tried to look at it through Eliza's eyes and saw the distance from the top of the love seat to the top of the door is right around her height. That might buy me twenty seconds, I thought. I spoke with a friend on the phone who suggested an alarm on the front door, something her mother had done many years ago. I feel a little better hearing stories about her older sister, who was just as adventurous as Eliza; they make me think maybe I'm not as horrible of a mother as I feel on days like today.

Three minutes. That's all it took. The time I spent searching through the house for her calling her name was time she used to get farther away. I hate to think what could have happened to her if she had gotten out to the main street.

training for the Olympics?

Our house now has two fewer towel bars than it did a few days ago. Yesterday, Chris found the towel bar and towels on the floor of the hallway bathroom, but no one saw Eliza do it. Then this morning, I was in the master bathroom when right in front of my eyes, Eliza grabbed the towel bar and started swinging: Wheeeeeee!

"Please let go! It's not . . ."

*crunch*

". . . a toy."

Eliza fell down on her tush, bar still in hand. "Uh-oh. I fall down!" Indeed.

rise and shine

I woke up this morning to the sound of the upstairs gate slamming shut. It took a couple minutes to become fully awake, but my first thought was annoyance that Chris (the last one up last night) had forgotten to lock the gate behind him, and who knows how long Eliza was downstairs alone. A little later I heard, "the hands are yucky!" and went to help her clean off whatever she got into, which was clear and somewhat viscous. C soon was up and cursing, wanting to know if I'd seen the mess. I hadn't - I supposed she'd gotten into lotion or such and that I'd find the bottle soon enough. In the washer and dryer nook (located on the upstairs landing) was a slick of our eco-friendly laundry detergent on the floor, more on the clean clothes in the dryer, and one of her stuffed cats was covered as well.

It took the two of us together at least 20 minutes to get it all cleaned up. The hallway bathroom sink was filled with suds that would take a bit to go down, but wouldn't you know it, Eliza couldn't keep her hands out of that and had the chutzpa to complain that her hands were yucky again.

Hours later, I finally have a few minutes to myself while C is watching E downstairs. What a start to a Sunday morning.

scene of the crime

She strikes again . . . twice in one day. These were just the two major messes (there were several minor ones including the pile of cat barf - it appears both my "kids" are conspiring against me). Any time I set about cleaning up one mess, she'd run off and make another while I was busy.

The first photo shows my carpet blanketed in calendula flowers (used for baths, balms, and such). Also scattered about are empty bottles for essential oil mixes (the full ones are hidden up high in my closet - shh, don't tell her).

A little later, she made a mess in the kitchen while I was tending to another mess. She emptied out a bottle of rosewater and bag of salt; the resulting paste was thrown in Nikita's bowl, apparently. All these items were 4 shelves off the ground. I can't win.

I am determined to install Tot Locks this week (they're supposed to be more fiddle-proof than standard child locks) for my sanity if nothing else. I really should be doing it right now, but I'm so exhausted from this morning that I need an internet break while Eliza naps.

Lavender Fields

C: Let me get this straight . . . we're driving two hours round-trip to see what . . . ?
me: Flowers.
C: Exactly my point.

By the time we hit the winding dirt roads that did a number on our little car's suspension, Chris was already wishing I'd never had the idea to go to Lavender Fields for its annual festival. It wasn't much of a festival, to be honest, but it sure was a beautiful farm.

I'd heard to expect bees in the spring, but I was surprised there were still so many being nearly July. There were thousands of bees buzzing everywhere. It's a good thing I'm only squeamish about creepy-crawlies, not flying insects. Eliza didn't bat an eyelash.

Eliza wasn't interested in the cooking demonstration, but she did take a shine to the little fountain. She insisted on plugging the water duct with her finger, which didn't stop her from complaining about getting wet. Still, she was having fun, so we just sat back and let her hang around the fountain for a half hour.

Soon Eliza's attention turned to the llamas over the fence from a neighboring ranch. She kept calling over to the llamas, but when they wouldn't come over, she decided that she needed to hop the fence to join them. (Her father pulled her down after I snapped a photo of her mischief.)

Eventually, she started to run out of patience, so after grabbing a couple things from the gift shop, we headed back home. I don't think I'll go back again while Eliza is so young, as it was a long way to go for something she didn't much appreciate, but I was happy to visit.

she strikes again, part 2

The following is a cut-and-paste from an e-mail:

The cut lip was just the beginning, as it turns out. There was dried St. John’s Wort spilled all over the bathtub and bath mat. Then Chris came home early (5:30) and complained, “don’t you watch her?” Minutes after he accused me, Eliza ripped down the shade in the bathroom, ripping the window screen right in front of his face!! As frustrating as that was, a small part of me was relieved that he could no longer say it’s because I wasn’t watching her closely enough. He was sheepish and apologetic after that. A little later back downstairs, she was having a tantrum and started throwing fruit – including heavy melons – from the fruit bowls. She threw almost continuous tantrums from 6 to 8 until she did nothing but scream and refused to eat a bite of dinner.

I forgot to mention that she entirely refused to nap yesterday, then she threw a tantrum in the middle of the public library, and I had to carry her out while everyone gave us dirty looks. All that and the above all happened in a single day.

* * * * *

I forgot to mention that a roll of toilet paper was unraveled yesterday evening. In light of everything else that happened, it was overlooked.

she strikes again

Eliza had a wonderful time at playgroup today. To my relief, she didn't eat any of the "beans" (some sort of green berries, which could be poisonous for all I know) she picked off a bush. Once I saw what she had, I didn't take my eyes off her until we left.

Just when I thought she was having a less-mischievous-than-usual day, she pulled a stunt while I was in the bathroom. Can't she be out of sight for two minutes without all hell breaking loose? I found her with her father's razor in one hand and blood above her lip. (Yes, the razor is kept in a drawer with a child lock.) It was only a small amount of blood, which didn't require a bandage and looked like nothing once the blood was wiped off, but it still scared the crap out of me. How many times has she been told not to touch the razors? She stopped trying to grab kitchen knives last month and will now say to herself, "Don't touch - that's sharp - that belongs to Mommy and Daddy."

And before I forget, another bit of today's mischief was emptying dried St. John's Wort all over the carpet.

Some days she scares me.

fearless

Elaine's post today was very timely for me. A few hours ago, Eliza swallowed a half vial of tiny crafting beads, which she had nabbed from the craft tower in the garage while I was loading the car. They're so tiny that they weren't a choking hazard, and a friend was amused to point out I should expect a glittering potty tomorrow. (Like when Eliza was a baby and I was able to read words in her diaper - I found out C had let her chew on a magazine page.)

Benign mishaps may be amusing, but I've always found it very troubling to have a kid who has never met a safety device she couldn't beat. She has even foiled multiple layers of security (e.g. getting past the lock on my bedroom door then past the lock on my master bathroom medicine cabinet and finally past the "child-resistant" top on ibuprofen). Ever since then, I stay in my bedroom upstairs until she wakes up from her nap.

I use all-natural homemade cleaners (think baking soda and vinegar), but there are still things in the house that could seriously harm Eliza if she ingested them, including my stash of organic essential oils.

She's just 2 years old, so there's only so much she understands. She has made great progress in the common sense department since she was the daredevil 1-year-old who injured herself so often that she dripped blood (not just scrapes) at least once a week and required a couple emergency room visits. She's still a daredevil, but that wild spirit is now infused with an understanding that some things are not safe. She no longer tries to go head-first off the back of the sofa, but she still doesn't get (or doesn't want to get) that swallowing anything other than food can be dangerous regardless of how many times we tell her.

can't catch me!

"Run, run, fast as you can. Can't catch me... I'm the ginger man." Her chanting would have been more charming if she hadn't been acting it out at the grocery store. No wonder it took me two hours to get out of there.

isolated

"Mommy's so sad."

No kidding. I've been feeling isolated for weeks. About a month ago, C had emergency surgery, which meant he couldn't bike in to work for a couple weeks, the consequence of which being that I was stuck home without a car unless I cared to waste an hour between two round trips of carpooling. Only a couple days after he resumed biking, he got a flat tire. Eliza and I walked the bike to the shop that day to have it fixed. Just two days after that, he crashed his bike into a parked car, mangling the front fork. "Didn't I just see you?" the bike shop employee asked. Unfortunately, this wasn't as easily fixed as a popped tire. I just got word that the special-ordered part would take a couple weeks to arrive.

For now, I have the car since C is out of town on business this week. I would much rather have him around than the car, but it's going to be hard being housebound these next two weeks. I guess I had better take advantage of having the car until he comes home.

Maybe we'll go to the Thursday playgroup tomorrow. I really miss them, but they're meeting so far from my house this week, and I'd feel like a shlub burning up that much gas. But since I haven't been in a month now, and our next opportunity won't be until after Pesach, I just might do it.

As if the bike/car woes weren't enough, this afternoon Miss Eliza thought my cell phone needed a bath. I sent an e-mail to C, who told me to take out the battery and let it dry overnight before trying to use the phone (I don't hold out much hope).

So next week, we're home alone with no car and no phone. When it rains it pours.

food frisbee

Today has been trying. Between suffering a 7-hour-long headache* and being woken up at 5 a.m., it's astounding I didn't lose my cool. At a meeting/potluck today, Eliza threw an unprovoked fit, grabbing my plate and throwing it on the carpet. I clenched my jaw and squeezed my hands, allowing myself a minute to cool down before I snapped. It's bad enough when she throws food at home, but this happened on someone else's carpet with a half dozen witnesses watching as I spent 10 minutes picking currants out of the carpet and mopping up cashew butter. "Let's clean up," I said, but Eliza (who is usually quite willing to help these days) would have none of it.

She wasn't upset after she threw the food. "Huh? How'd that get there?" her expression seemed to say. I wish I knew what brought it on.

* More on that in a later post.

future chef

Being Valentine's Day and all, I had to splurge on dark chocolate this week. Eliza got her hands on it before I could put it away. I thought I got it all, but when she came back down from being upstairs for a couple minutes, she was carrying a frisbee with chocolate and tap water (she's fond of the sink):

"Look, Mommy, I made the chocolate soup!"

Her pretty striped dress was wet with chocolate stains, but she looked so pleased and took another sip in my presence, declaring how much she loved chocolate soup. That's a new one!

She is going to be on cloud nine tonight when she finds out we're having Chocolate Cherry Crème Cupcakes (from Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World). [update: here's a photo from the next day]

"cupcake bliss"

squash bombs

I should have known better. One minute she's smiling at me from the grocery cart with a twinkle in her eye, and the next it's bombs away for the butternut squash. I thought I had persuaded her to keep the squash next to her in the seat since the cart was full. She patted the squashes ever so gently and told me it was OK. OK my eye. For dinner tonight: cracked squash à la gosse.

This came at the end of a long morning. Eliza kept slamming my cookbook closed, making it very difficult to search for recipes. Then he decided she only wanted to pick out the tofu bits for breakfast (of course, who doesn't?!) and wouldn't touch the brown rice or vegetables that were part of the dish - all other offers of food were turned down as well. Then on the way to the store, she complains of hunger. I had never eaten at WFM before, but I figured we'd pick out something to satisfy her. We sat down with a blueberry-banana drink from the juice bar for us and a whole grain fig bar for her. But that wasn't all.

A woman came by handing out free bags of some kettle corn snack - "great for kids - no trans fats or corn syrup." Uh-huh. Sixteen grams of sugar per cup; holy guacamole, that's more added sugar than she has in a typical month! Enjoy it, sweetie - it's your lucky day. HaShem has a sense of humor. This I know. Just ten minutes before the squash incident, Eliza decided the only thing more fun than eating the sugar-bomb kettle corn would be to dump the bag out onto the floor. The kicker of it was that I couldn't let her out of the cart to "help" because she'd be off and running.

Usually, our grocery trips go smoothly, but today I was thrown a curve ball. Once home, she asked to go upstairs for a nap, and she told me, "Mama's sad. Want a kiss?" She has been going through a phase acting indifferently to me, so I haven't had many of those this month. I've been in a blue funk all week, trying my best to hide it and keep my chin up in public. I accepted the kiss, told her I love her, and only after closing the door allowed myself to cry.