No Santa

Our almost-five-year-old still proclaims that Santa is not allowed in our house!  We saw him at a plant nursery when we were looking at Christmas trees this year.  He was at least fifty meters away, but she went into an immediate panic attack, and we had to slink around the nursery to escape as soon as possible.  Her school Christmas party was Friday afternoon and when I got the warning that he was in the class next door, she instinctively knew that it was time to get out and get out fast. 

She met him for the first time when she was almost two at my work and had a very unsure look on her face.  Her grandmother and great-grandmother and I were all there, and I know the Santa.  The next time she met him was that same year, but with her cousins, aunt, uncle, dad, and I.  If nothing else, she was distracted.  When she was three, we took her to Lakeside Mall where there was a nicely dressed Santa and a train to ride.  Everything was kosher until we opened the gate to go stand by him for the picture.  She waived from afar, but that was the end of that and she would only ride the train around. 

Apparently, this is unusual in a child her age, although, I'm not offended or worried.  I only know what I know with her.  She has said it's his beard, but when her dad and I start naming our friends who have beards that she's totally comfortable with, that excuse fades.  The next excuse is that Santa is so big he scares her.  That could be at least partly true because when we tried to go see Elmo and Chase at a local toy store a few weeks ago, she had another panic attack.  When we escaped into another store in the shopping center, she explained that Elmo was much bigger than she expected.  She was assuming that he would be the same size that he is on Sesame Street. 

I love to costume and even have gotten her into doing it.  We never wear masks, but I have quite a collection of wigs.  She's even asked for an Elsa wig for Christmas this year, although, when she was younger, she didn't like when I put a wig on.  I think it was scary to her then since she was still trying to identify people and surroundings.  Maybe that's some of it, too.  Santa is a complete stranger and sitting on his lap to tell him something very special to you, and then inviting him into your house is a huge concept for a little person to fathom.  Even typing it out and reading it makes the whole idea sound super creepy to me, a forty-year-old woman. 

One of her classmates does not believe in Santa, so I asked her if that's what she wanted to do at our house.  She has always said and continues to say that he'll be ok when she's older.  Personally, I'm happy to skip the whole lying to her about it for years and just make her swear to not spoil it for her friends.  Maybe when she's another year older we can try that out, but right now she is the worst secret keeper and hide-and-seek player I've ever encountered.  Do not ask if she's excited to see what Santa brings her because she will most emphatically tell you that she is not!

Hell on Earth

Eleven years ago, I became a homeowner.  It has been nothing short of a bad investment.  Property value has declined, the neighbors have never been great and in some ways are getting worse.  I've gotten stuck running the HOA more than once and currently, while I'm an officer, I have my husband handle all of it because I'm so over it. 

In past posts, I have complained a bit about living here, but after yesterday afternoon we have come to realize that I have reached the bottom of the pit of despair.  The only kid who is our daughter's age that lives around here throws rocks at people's windshields, calls adults names, and doesn't listen or have any respect for anyone - much like his father.  Our daughter has lost interest in playing with him, but he doesn't get the hint.  My husband and I have both told his parents about issues we have had with him, but it makes no difference.  truthfully, I feel bad for the mother.  She is in an emotionally and physically abusive relationship with his father and likely doesn't see a way out so she stays. 

Additionally, the father is "Sanford and Son" with three boats that he never uses, a broken dirt bike, a broken motorcycle, a broken golf cart, and a giant tool shed and a tree house that he built with no permits.  He owes the HOA thousands of dollars from not paying over the last several years, and has had a lean place on his property.  Again, it makes no difference.  That's all on one end of the building. 

Our immediate next door neighbors supposedly have maggots and other unsavory inhabitants in their unit because, until last weekend, they hadn't taken their trash out in quite some time.  We are assuming that their parents must be in town for Thanksgiving since their front porch is the cleanest I have seen it in years.  We had a roof rat in our place after Easter that supposedly came to visit from their place.  The two brothers that live there are at least nice enough people.  The third brother that used to live there is the one who used to keep me up at night with loud music and parties, one of which my car got keyed at by a guest when I called the cops.  My whole car had to get repainted because across my hood, the guy wrote "KUNT" and drew a line around the entire car body. 

My mental well-being has been permanently damaged by all of the drama here and I truly hate that we are stuck here for our child's first several years of life.  The plan is to sell my husband's place near Lafayette within the next few months and then work on getting out of my place which is where we live. Apparently, people who live near us think I'm a "crazy lady" as a teenager called me yesterday, but I don't care.  Maybe that will make them all leave us alone until we can get out of this hell. 

Death

The first time I had to deal with death was when I was either in kindergarten or first grade when the family dog had to get put down.  During the day, he had been hit by a car and injured so badly that that was the most humane option.  He was my parents first child.  My dad met me on the front lawn after school and told me Soapy was gone.  That was my first heartbreak.

When I was in elementary school, my maternal grandmother passed away.  It was a very hard time for my mom and I feel like the grieving I did was more for her, or that's how I remember it now.  Great grandparents, other grandparents, and a great aunt died before I was in high school.  My maternal grandfather passed away in 2009.  He lived with us after Katrina and my mom was his main caretaker for years until he passed.  That was a tough one to go through, also.  The next big heartbreaks I had were when the family dogs, Rusty and Dash, were put down within a few years of each other because of age and health issues.

Just last week, my husband's grandfather passed away.  He was 96 years old.  Tomorrow is actually his 97 birthday.  By the time I met my husband, Paw-paw was already fairly deep into dementia.  He never knew my name and I'm not really sure that he ever understood that I was his grandson's wife.  I never knew him like all of his family did, and that's okay.  In a way, that made it much easier for me to comfort my husband when his heart broke.  Although I cried several times, it was because I know what he's going through, and it reminds of me going through the similar situation with my grandfather.

Our daughter is around the same age I was when I dealt with losing Soapy.  She doesn't quite understand what death means and she has a lot of questions.  Explaining it is one of those abstract concepts that we have to be really careful about what we say so we don't cause more confusion.  There was a helpful article on a parenting site that warned about leaning too far into the heaven explanation because you don't want to make your child think that they will only be happy when they die and go to heaven.  That's what we were kind of brought up thinking, though, so that leaves us really lost at what to say about it.

Have you had to explain a death in the family - pet or human - to the five and under crowd?  Do you have any advice or tips?  Our girl sort of gets it, but still doesn't really get it.  My main concern right now is that her not getting it gets her dad upset because it makes him continuously think about the loss.

Friends

The last few days we have been learning lessons about friends. The lessons aren't planned, but happening naturally and nonetheless.

The gender differences are showing up earlier than I thought they would, but I really think that's what the basis is for these "issues".  Boys want to play with boys a lot of the time because they're like-minded and can be dirty and rough.  Just to clarify, my girl is pretty girly but she's also got a big attitude and doesn't mind getting messy. 

Anyway, one scenario presented itself yesterday when she was with a set of brothers. The older they get, the more they want to play ball and run with other boys while she wants to climb, slide, and swing.  There was still some overlap play, but she's only interested in playing football for so long and the boys weren't really interested in swinging. 

The second instance happened today when we got home from school and work.  She thought plans were set in stone to meet up with another boy to decorate pumpkins.  Apparently, the comment made about plans was said just to be sweet which ended up hurting feelings when there was no follow through.  Nothing really to be mad about as a parent, but I also understand her sensitivity to the situation. 

Trying to explain how things work, like different family dynamics and everyone not wanting to play the same game, is not easy. Even choosing words that a four year old can understand to explain the most basic concept involved was tough.  I don't know that she really understands, but art projects and the Barbie show on Netflix are soothing enough. 

The other lesson involves a furry friend that doesn't belong to us.  She had a play date with a cat and has been asking to go back over ever since then.  The challenge there is not only explaining that we can't just stay over at this friend's house, but that the cat doesn't always want to have a human companion - specifically toddler - trying to do tricks with him. 

There's been lots of crying and pouting with all of this, and my heart does ache for her to an extent; however, I also know she's got to start learning these tough lessons and they will only help her in the long run. 

Number Four

This is the year of four.  We just celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary, our daughter turned four at the beginning of the year, I'm going to turn 40 in a few weeks and my husband will turn 40 in the fall.  The prophet, Google, says the number 4 means good things like stability and solid direction.  Unfortunately, that is the exact opposite of what I've been experiencing lately.

I had a sinus infection for over a month and took lots of steroids and antibiotics.  I'm finally well, but my allergies are going insane and that might be because we have a rodent issue at home.  It/they found Easter candy and had a field day eating that and all of our produce. This morning was the first in two weeks we haven't found poop anywhere.  Maybe it's because we got a big new trap, or maybe it's the essential oil spray I shot everywhere I could think of yesterday afternoon.  The office is moving so we're all stressed about packing everything before the annual convention we're attending that starts this weekend because when we get back, there's only two days left to finish packing.  And if that wasn't enough to deal with, this morning my daughter and I were in a car accident on the way to school.  It was a hit and run which caused a domino effect across the highway involving five vehicles. Thankfully, the person who started it all was caught later this afternoon.

So where's this sense of balance and stability that's supposed to be happening?  I've tried praying, yelling, screaming, posting on Facebook, venting to my husband and friends, but nothing's getting better.  I usually feel better after I talk, but the universe is just not letting up. Another thing that's always in the back of my mind (and my husband's) is how desperately we need to move. We have seriously outgrown this place. No matter how much stuff we get rid of, there just isn't enough space for three people to comfortably live in the 1100 or 1300 square feet of our home (whatever size it is). There is no where but the bathroom to have privacy, and if the TV is on downstairs you have to watch it or hear it because of the layout of the place, and the only spot to sit upstairs are our beds.

Supposedly, numbers have a lot of power and meaning. Things surrounding our daughter's birth, like the time, date and post-birth recovery room number at the hospital after all contain 125.  Maybe "lucky" number four just hasn't yet revealed itself to me, or if it has, it's not been positive.

Words words words

"Hello.  My name is Jillian.  How are you today?...Thank you!"  versus "Roar!", followed by psychotic laughter and some growling sounds - which is more pleasant to hear from a child, especially if you're trying to give them a treat?  Manners: we could still stand to work on those. 

We all know the saying that's been around forever - "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me".  BIG. FAT. LIE.  No one is immune to words.  The only way we become numb to things is by training our brains to block out the hurt or negativity, and that comes with practice, which is the painful part. 

A mom we often talk to at Little Gym revealed recently that she can't stand clutter and mess.  She would just die if she ever came to visit out house, but that's besides the point.  She said that she is constantly telling her son when he asks for different art supplies to have at the house, "no, honey, that's just for school" so she doesn't have to deal with the cleanup and setup.  I kept my thoughts to myself, but in my head I was wondering if her son had a strong desire to be creative and she was unknowingly crushing his artistic spirit because she's a neat freak, and he'll grow up to think doing art and creating things is wrong or bad because it's messy. 

You may have read our Facebook post a few weeks ago about what our daughter said at school while she was playing in the kitchen center.  She called her imaginary kids, "crackheads" and asked them what type of beer they wanted.  She swears she said "root beer", but we're pretty sure she didn't.  Her teachers weren't sure what to make of it, although they know what her dad does for a living.  Unfortunately, she learned the other word from me.  She's learned lots of probably undesirable phrases and words from me.  We spend lots of time in the car together driving to and from school, and rather than cursing when other drivers do things, I call them names, like "crackhead", "pee-poo", "poopyhead", "hippy", etc.  It could be worse...right? 

"Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind" - Dr. Seuss.  That's true to a certain point.  My husband isn't quite sure what to do with us when LP and I get wound up if we're both tired at night.  We feed off of each other's silliness and laugh hysterically in our fits of delirium.  But that saying doesn't mean we should feel free to sling around hateful and mean thoughts either.  It has been brought to my attention recently how often people judge each other.  It really hurts when it's done to us, but when you catch yourself doing it and then realize how regularly you do it (even if it's in your head and not out loud) it can be quite eye opening.

It is a challenge for me to completely stop cursing, but I know I need to.  It's taken me an incredibly long time to filter as much as I do, and having so many things in my head to keep track of now as a mother and professional the judgmental thoughts aren't present nearly as much as they used to be because there's no room.  But they're still there.  As always, we have to remember to think before we speak, even when we're trying to be funny.  Little ears pick up everything we say and can be easily influenced, especially when they love and admire the person who is saying it. 

Lenten Cleanse

"The moment I have realized God sitting in the temple of every human body, the moment I stand in reverence before every human being and see God in him - that moment I am free from bondage, everything that binds vanishes, and I am free." - Swami Vivekananda

Early Mardi Gras is never a good thing in my book.  When I used to walk in a parade, it meant freezing temperatures with not nearly enough clothes on for that kind of weather.  Now it means at least one of us is likely to be sick during parade season, and this year in particular, it also meant not enough of a break from last year's holiday meals before king cake season began.  Between last Thanksgiving and this Mardi Gras, I gained ten pounds. 

This is the third year in a row that I've given up sugar for Lent.  I went to Ireland in 2012 and while I was there, discovered the grass fed cattle.  Not only is the meat better for you if animals are grass fed, but the dairy products are, too.  I felt like everything tasted better, and I'll bet that the use of high fructose corn syrup is much less common if used at all in their foods, too, although I didn't start checking ingredients labels until a couple of years ago.  Now I regularly check labels, and it's sad  sugar is used in so many things.  Palm oil is another very commonly used ingredient, as is high fructose corn syrup - palm oil isn't so much an issue for us as it is more of a concern for primates habitats (yep, I'm a tree hugger), but hfcs is awful for human consumption. 

Nineteen days into Lent, I've failed more than a few times, but the fail today was pretty intense.  It actually started on Friday night when the hubs and I got home from Cirque de Soleil.  We'd gotten seafood dinners from Rouses to scarf down before the show because our little one was diagnosed with strep, and the sitter wanted minimized exposure so we had to cancel dinner plans at Maypop.  Dinner was fried food - shrimp, fries, and hush puppies.  When we got home from the show, we were both hungry again, so I finished off leftovers and went to bed.  The next day, I had more fries and then began the tummy troubles from way too much fried food.  Today I woke up dehydrated - weak, crampy, lethargic.  I drank an entire 2 liter of pH balanced water (Evamor) over the course of a few hours and eventually felt much, much better. 

But then...by this afternoon, it was getting to be nap time and I didn't want coffee.  Or I did, but it hasn't been agreeing with me lately mentally, so I decided to do an experiment.  Little one and I went to Starbucks and I got a green matcha frapp and a brownie with chocolate chunks.  Green matcha tea is good for you but all the sugar that goes into a frappuccino and the whipped cream is not, and the decadent brownie tasted really good, so all of my taste for sweets hasn't yet diminished.  When we got home, the tummy revolt began!  When all was said and done, I felt like I had taken a huge step back in my sugar detox.  Last week I had even participated in a flush and was doing pretty well - I lost two inches around my waist! 

After a soak in Epsom salts and essential oils and drinking tons more Evamor, plus having delicious homemade chicken noodle soup courtesy of the hubs, I'm feeling better.  Still not as great as I was earlier today, but not nearly as bad as post coffee shop.  The sugar addiction is real, y'all.  And the further into my detox/Lent we get, the more reason I'm seeing to continue limiting my sugar intake, but also our daughter's.  She doesn't understand value or time yet, but I'm trying my hardest to explain that we need to eat better and we don't have to buy everything just because it looks good or we're hungry at that moment.  As parents, we've got to set good examples for our kids and take care of ourselves so we are able to take care of them.