Bye Bye Binky

Quickly after Moanna’s return home from her extended vacation in Maryland, we began to notice a lof of new tricks, habits and quirks. She is till Moanna, but she is now Moanna to the tenth degree. She is a bit more sassy, a lot more talkative and turning out to be very stubborn or determined (depending on your perspective). She has also picked up some good manners, goes potty by herself, is open to a few more foods and does not ask to watch TV as often. She is still a love bug, still wants to go outside all the time and still wants all of your attention exactly when she wants it. Like I said,  she is Moanna but to the tenth degree.

One of the biggest changes that came home with Moanna was the lack of a binky. That is right, no binky. For anyone that has had to take a binky away from their child, you know this is an exciting milestone but the process of dreadful. I can tell you that detaching Moanna from her binky has not been easy, and it has taken a couple of trys for it to stick.

We began attempting to ditch the binky probably a year ago. We started limiting it to just naptime and bedtime. Then Moanna would have a cold or sprout a tooth, and to keep her from being completly miserable we’d give her the binky to bring her comfort. Yes, the binky gave us comfort too. I have no shame in admitting that there have been times that I have handed Moanna a binky to save myself from having a breakdown. As parents, you do what you have to do to get through a really rough day.

Moanna came home from her previous trip to Maryland binky free as well. We were prepped by Grandma Annette and Papa Bob that Moanna had not had a binky in quite some time, so I ran around the house hunting for all of the binkies that Mo had hidden for emergencies. I bagged them up and threw them in the back of my closet.

The first few days were not awful, but she did cry for them at night. Then she started to get sick, and wanted the binky more and more. I was also sick and wanted a binky. A few days into our misery of this illness, Moanna started to get very sick. She was not breathing well, she could not sleep, she didn’t want to eat or drink anything, she was pitiful. Finally, after she and I cried and coughed for over an hour, I gave in.  I was having flashbacks from a year ago when she was life-flighted to a hospital because her oxygen levels were too low. I couldn’t take it anymore, and I wanted her to find some form of comfort while this virus was setting up camp in her tiny body. I knew that until she relaxed and got some rest, she would not gain the strength to reclaim her health. I did feel a bit of defeat when I tore into that bag and whipped out a binky, but within seconds of popping the binky in her mouth Moanna drifted off to sleep. She was a new girl when she woke up, and my defeat felt like victory.

We allowed her to keep the binky for naps and bedtime. We didn’t feel that it would be fair to yo-yo on the binky and confuse her. At the time, we were also focused on pottying and did not want to disrupt any part of her routine for fear of setbacks. Call it weak if you want, but there is only so much you can take on at a time with a toddler. If you throw too much at them, they will win, and you will find yourself holding up a white flag.

When Steve came home last Sunday with Mo, he told me that Sam (Grandma and Grandpa’s cat) had thrown the binky in the trash. Wink, wink. He told me that Moanna was fine with it, and she had not asked for it the entire weekend he was in Maryland to visit with his parents before returning home with Moanna. I was not fully convinced, but when bedtime came she happily went to bed and never even mentioned the binky. Good job, Sam.

Tuesday Moanna, and my little brother, Evan, were playing in her room, when Moanna found a binky under her bed. If you recall, I cleaned every corner of that child’s room, so I have no idea how that sneaky thing hid so well. She came out of her room with a binky in her mouth and tears in her eyes. At first she did not want to give it up, and Steve and I looked at each other like, “What are we supposed to do?” Thankfully, my mom, Grandma Kelly, responded quickly. Grandma Kelly explained that to Mo that her binky was like an old friend that you don’t want to give up, but sometimes outgrow. She convinced Moanna that we should put the binky up high where she couldn’t reach it, but could always see it. I didn’t think Moanna would buy it; I was worried that we may have to send Moanna back to Maryland for Sam to throw that binky in the trash too, but Moanna handed over the binky. We hung the binky on a hook high in our living room, and Moanna hasn’t asked for it once.

Thank heavens for grandparents and Sam.

I think the difference between this time and previous attempts at taking the binky away was that this time Moanna was ready. She came home from Maryland a bit more grown up, a bit more independent and a bit more confident. Something inside her turned, and she was ready to be a big girl. I think it is true for all of us, until we are ready, really ready, to let go of something or start the next phase of life, until something inside us turns, we are not going to make the changes in our life that are going to move us forward and push our boundaries. It takes confidence and independence to make big girl moves.

While cleaning Moanna’s Room…

My domestic streak is still running strong. Tonight I began to take on Moanna’s room. It’s bitter-sweet when I have to go through her things and pack up the stuff she’s out grown. It is a quest that I have been dreading. I have been procrastinating in a similar way that I used to when I had a huge paper to write. (I still maintain that I work best under pressure; I find most of my grades to be supporting evidence of this theory.)

I start the project with no real intentions of what will go where. I had no plan. I just started moving stuff, sorting stuff, throwing stuff – no idea what the end result would be. Roughly five minutes in, it hits me.  All of her toys with lots of parts (blocks, tool set, doll house, Mr. Potato Head, art stuff) will go up high on the shelf in her closet. It’s not because I don’t like these toys. I just don’t like picking them up every single day. OK, Let’s be honest. I don’t pick them up everyday because I don’t have that kind of time. I am tired of stepping over them and on them every single day. So these toys are going high up on a shelf, and I will call them Top Shelf Toys. Weekly, daily, just for fun or whatever, I will rotate the toys, so only one is out at a time. Moanna will get to rediscover her toys all the time instead of just throwing them all over my house because she’s bored with them. Some people have Top Shelf Liquor; I have Top Shelf Toys.

Unfortunately, the high from my Top Shelf Toys idea quickly wore off when I started digging through the toy box and other nooks and crannies of her room. First, let me just say, I bumped into a smart mouthed toy vacuum cleaner, and I did not appreciate what he had to say. “Hehe, this place is a mess, hehe.” SERIOUSLY. That is what he said. Second, let’s review the list of shocking (some of them humiliating) things I found in Moanna’s room.

1. A marshmallow
2. My silver braclette
3. A nacho chip of sorts
4. Glass beads that I decorated my wedding with
5.  A dead beetle
6. A dirty diaper

Yes, that’s correct, a DIRTY DIAPER. I think it has almost been a year since Moanna wore diapers.  How gross! How embarrassing! I found it in the back of her closet in one of those super-duper-diaper-trashcans. I can’t tell you if the diaper smelled horrific or not because the lid was only open the nanosecond it took me to see the diaper and then slam it shut in horror. Why, after a year, would I even think, “Hmm, what’s in here?” I should have never had that thought, and nothing should have been in there. This is how my universe works people.  Wouldn’t it be hilarious (hilariously mortifying) if we gave the super-duper-diaper-trashcan to  someone, and they found the diaper? Can you imagine?

Needless to say, that was the end of my cleaning streak for the night. Done. No more. Over and out. Call again later.  I can’t stomach anymore.

By the way, did I mention that this is how I spent my last night of vacation? No joke. Tomorrow at 8:00AM, I will return to Corporate America. A smart Mom would have opted for a bubble bath and a magazine. Not me. I’d rather spend my last precious hours of vacation with the lippy toy vacuum cleaner who chants, “I told you so. I told you so.”

Artsy Fartsy

With our hectic lives, Steve and I have little time or money to date and enjoy time together with just the two of us. When we do have free time, we are trying to drink up as Moanna as possible because we are afraid of how much it is going to cost us to put her through therapy because all Mommy and Daddy do is work.

Now that Mo is living it up out of town, Steve and I have been able to spend some time together. Granted, most of that time has been spent cleaning the house and plotting our future. Last Saturday, however, we spent the day playing in Charlottesville. We went to the outdoor mall. The streets are lined with little shops, art galleries and food. We are typically very cheap people; any extra money we come across goes to debt. However, there are four things that are sure to get us into trouble. They are art, book stores, good food and traveling.

Near the end of our day in Charlottesville, we came across a place galled The Glass Palette. It is an interactive art studio where you create your own glass masterpieces. You browse through the different example pieces to get an idea of what you would like to make. Once you choose the shape and style, the staff teaches you how to cut glass, and shows you where everything is. After that, you are free to run wild.

We chose to make a full-fused rectangle plate. Steve wanted something controlled and symmetrical. I wanted something free and chaotic. Most couples would have been smart and each done their own art projects, but not us. We stuck to sharing one piece of glass, and started to compromise. Steve got to choose the colors and add a few right angles to the edges of the glass. I got to have chaos in the middle.

Steve’s primary job was to pick the pieces of glass, and cut them into various shapes and sizes. My job was to take those pieces and arrange them. On one end we put the pieces of glass very close together, and has we traveled to the other end, the pieces of glass got further and further apart. Our vision was to create something that looked like an explosion. After the pieces were layed out, we had to glue them down. That was the only part that I could have done without. It was a wee bit tedious, and  I was ready for the ice cream Steve promised me.

Once you are done with your art project you must part ways with it for a few days. It must be baked twice. The first time is to allow the glass to fuse together, and the second time is it to mold it into its proper shape.

On our way to get ice cream, Steve and I pondered what the finished product would look like. Would the colors hold up? Would the pieces melt together? Would the mail man dare to break it?

After sampling a dozen or more ice cream flavors, (cucumber mint, red peppercorn, chipotle chocolate and so on) Steve settled on pistachio and peach, and I had lavender and raspberry. Ice cream in tow, we went back to discussing the future of our art. Where would it go? What would we use it for? How long will it take to get here?

When the box finally arrived on Thursday, we tore into it like it was Christmas. Wide eyed and giddy, we inspected every inch of the glass. Some of the colors had changed. Some of the shapes had changed. Overall, it was perfect, just how we wanted it to look.

Currently, the plate lives on our coffee table. When Moanna comes home we will have to move it to safer ground.  It matches nothing in our living room. We don’t care; we want everyone to see that we are talented, veteran glass artists.

Domesticated

I am a little embarrassed to say this, but here goes. Yesterday evening – gulp – I ironed my duvet cover. Even more embarrassing – I enjoyed doing it. Gulp. Yes, that’s right, “Hello, My name is Renee, and I love playing domestic goddess in my spare time.”

Prior to my vacation, our house had turned into a scene from a natural disaster (also embarrassing). Walking into our living room was almost as stressful as walking into a corporate bankruptcy case. Clothes had not been put away since Christmas. Papers had not been filed since we moved here nearly a year ago. OK, papers still haven’t been filed; I promise I’ll try to get it done before vacation runs out. We have boxes of stuff that have never been unpacked. Dusting, vacuuming, and mopping only occurred when absolutely needed, or when company came to  visit. Drastic measures had to be taken before the hurricane began to spawn tornadoes.

Since Steve and I are not taking our honeymoon until after the New Year, I committed to using my time off to get our home in order. You know, to give us a head start before the next hurricane comes ashore. My goal was to turn our home into a meditative retreat. I want people to walk into our front door and say, “Ah, this is better than a day at the spa.” Hey, don’t laugh at my dreams. I don’t laugh at yours, do I?

I tell you this to give you background information leading to my domestication addiction.  It all started about a week ago with rearranging the linen closest. I got rid of some medicine that was out of date, and organized each shelf. Something simple, nothing to panic about. Then, it moved to the kitchen. I totally turned my kitchen inside-out. Nothing is where it used to be. I hope Steve was paying attention during orientation. If not, he may starve, but that is a sacrifice I am willing to make. From there, things started to spiral out of control, and that is when I found myself ironing the duvet cover. I’ve not been able to pull myself out since.

I really don’t know what went wrong, but I am loving my homemaker-staycation-vacation. Creepy…