Twenty-One Months

At her ripe old age of twenty-one months, living with Punky is like living with a parrot.  She repeats the last word of all our sentences.  No matter what the word is, she attempts it.

I lost track of all the things she says now.  Most of it is clear, but some of it is still in "Punkese"...a language only her parents seems to understand.  Well, Mama anyway.  Daddy gets it about half the time.  But the most noticeable change this month has been her first attempts at conversation, where she is initiating and trying to tell us things other than something to satisfy a need, like a snack for example.

And finally, she has mastered the word "no" along with an accompanying head shake.  When she learned to say "yes", it was the only answer we got to every single question asked.  Then, "yes" was replaced with "okay" and that lasted a few weeks.  Now, she answers "no" to everything.  It makes us crazy, but it's so damn cute.

She got a new set of flashcards from her Aunt P and she's already mastered most of them.  I'd like to get her a few more sets for Christmas since they still top the list of her favorite things to do.  She has learned so much from them and I want to keep encouraging her.  I still think she will be an early reader.

Of course, her biggest accomplishment this month was her first pee on the potty.  Her first poop came five days later.  And neither have repeated since.  In fact, she seems to have entirely lost interest in the whole potty thing.  We've eased up on the idea; I definitely don't want to push her if she's not ready.  She'll get it eventually.  Hopefully sooner than later.

She still going full speed in the monkey department.  Her newest fascination is standing on the end table and shaking the lamp.  I can't even guess at how many times we've had to pull her off there in the last week or so.  She has also attempted to climb up the side of a shelf unit we have behind the toilet in my bathroom.  She probably would have succeeded if she didn't yell "Climbing!" while she was doing it.

Last night we sat on the floor and played with her dollhouse.  At this point, her imagination is limited to a only a few specific activities when she plays.  Ringing the doorbell, climbing the stairs, taking a bath, and going potty are about the only things her dolls ever do, but it keeps her amused.

She has quite the collection of little dolls/figurines from various toys plus some random leftover pieces from my childhood, and they all seem to end up in her dollhouse.  As a change of pace last night, she decided to shove Mama doll, Daddy doll, two Wonderpets, a Care Bear, Fozzie Bear, Elmo, Cookie Monster, one Cabbage Patch kid, a horse, a cow, a pig, a farmer, two chairs, one table, and the potty out a second story window in her dollhouse and giggle her butt off each time one hit the floor. 

She's a handful at times but I really love this age.  She is so much fun!  Every day she surprises us with something she says or does.  She makes me laugh; she wears me out.  One year ago today she had her nine-month check-up.  I just can't believe how fast she is growing up... 

One Last Week of Freedom

And blogging will be the first thing to suffer as I get lost in a world of riddles and trivia...just when I finally got back on track with posting.

Four years ago my mom and I participated in a trivia contest of sorts.  We had four months to solve and submit our answers to fifty questions that were mind boggling to say the least.  In most cases, hours and hours of research were required to solve a single riddle and answer the question.  And it totally consumed us.

I would say about ten questions were easily solved, twenty weren't too difficult but still required research, another ten were tough but solvable after days of discussion and research, and the final ten were next to impossible.  Of those last ten, there were three that we absolutely guessed at...and obviously we guessed wrong since we didn't win the million.  I would give my right arm to know what those answers were, but the answers were never released.  Talk about a kick in the ass.

I found out a few weeks ago that the company has finally decided to do another contest (I am not posting the name because I don't want every search engine on the web pinging my blog).  Same basic concept, only this time they have gone high tech and changed the format.  Instead of providing a book with all fifty questions and giving us months to solve them, they are releasing only five questions a week for ten weeks.  The questions will be revealed on their website at midnight each Monday, and you only have until the following Sunday to submit your answers electronically to them before the next set of questions are released.  Ouch.

I understand the reasoning behind the new format.  For one, in the last contest, so many forums popped on online where people spent months discussing the answers and comparing notes.  I'm sure they will exist this time too, but it will be a whole different ballgame with only one week to solve each of the ten sets of five clues.  It will definitely curb some of the cheating.  Also, having to score hand written entries was no easy task I'm sure.  Especially since the rules clearly state that errors in spelling and/or punctuation make an answer incorrect.  

I have no clue how many entries they received last time around, but I'm sure it was much less than the number of teams who initially signed up for the contest.  It was easy to get discouraged by the level of difficulty and many probably dropped out of the race.  Not everyone has the time needed to research the answers in depth.  Last contest, I had tons of time.  This time, not so much.

My mom and I spent hours on end discussing the possibilities and deciding who would research what, both in person and through a multitude of phone calls each day.  My evenings after work were almost solely dedicated to research along with the weekends.  I even had some time at work back then to read a bit.  

Now I have a super demanding job...and Punky.  I'm tired and sleep deprived the way it is, and it's about to get a whole lot worse.  I won't have the luxury of free evenings and weekends this time around; my only opportunity for research will be however long I can manage to stay awake every night and during Punky's naps on the weekend.  I don't know how I'm going to pull it off; if the questions are anything like last time, I'm screwed.

Why even bother doing it?  We've waited four years for them to have another one and there's no way we can pass and not even give it a shot.  Even though it was incredibly intense, we had so much fun doing it.  It was an amazing feeling when we finally came up with an answer after days of research.  I was at work when I received the email about the new contest.  I was so excited that I couldn't resist jumping around my office like a little kid at Christmas. 

The first set of questions will be released next week.  I am anxiously awaiting the stoke of midnight next Sunday night.  So, given the fact that I need to work and my kid still needs to be fed, washed, clothed, and played with every single day, blogging will logically be one aspect of my life that ends up on the back burner those ten weeks.  I'll do my best to fit it in but the posts are likely to be short and sweet while my thoughts are focused on the west.

Monster Love

Elmo out-ranks us as the object of Punky's affection these days.  That little red monster gets more hugs and kisses in an hour than we manage to squeeze out of her the entire day.

She totes him from room to room.  She talks to him.  She feeds him snacks.  She shares her sippy cup.  She makes him do tumble sets.  She lets him jump on the bed.  She chews on his eyeballs and sucks his nose.  She sleeps with her arm around him.

One night this week, I dared to put her to bed without Elmo.  I had no clue where he was and I didn't think it would be a big deal.  I mean, she had her frog that she's slept with for over a year now.  But apparently the frog no longer cuts it.  She carried on in her crib while I desperately scoured the house in search of where she stuffed him earlier that day.  I finally found him in the cabinet under the TV.

Tonight we sat on the couch with her flashcards.  And Elmo.  About half way through the pile, she paused for a snack break.  She ran to the end table and grabbed two cheese crackers out of her bowl.  One went in her mouth; the other went in Elmo's.

After chewing and swallowing hers, she climbed back up on the couch to continue our game.  It caught her attention that Elmo hadn't eaten his cracker.  Rather than simply taking it like she's done a thousand times, tonight she decided to use her tongue and french kiss it out of his mouth and into hers.  Fuzz and all.

Watch your back, Elmo.  I'm keeping my eye on you.

An Appology is in Order

...for all the parents I laughed at, scoffed at, and snarled at over the years. 

For all the times I wondered what the hell you did wrong to have your children behave like wild animals in a public place, I am so sorry... 

For those that I called horrible parents under my breath while walking past your tantrum-throwing little brats, I am so sorry... 

For all the dirty looks I gave you while you stood by and did nothing to stop the shrill screams emitting from your little darlings, I am so sorry...

And for all the times I had sworn my future children would never act that way, I hang my head in shame.

Punky's dad suggested we get the weekly grocery shopping done tonight...his only day off this week.  I would've have preferred a quiet night at home, but agreed nonetheless.  Punky and I had gone shopping alone the last few weeks because of his work schedule.  Rather than waiting till Saturday and facing that task again, I opted for tonight.

So, with Punky's dad tackling the grocery portion of the store, I thought she would enjoy walking around with me instead of being stuck in the cart like she has been the last several weeks.  We made our way through the baby department, and the shoe department, and electronics without much incident.  She touched a few things, pulled a shirt off the rack, and dropped bottle of baby shampoo.  No harm done.

Then we headed to the toy department.  No shopping trip is complete without at least a quick stop there.  Besides, Santa needs ideas for Christmas.  If something on the shelf caught her attention, I'd have a clue what to put on his list.

We took our time meandering up and down the toy aisles.  We looked at baby dolls, bikes, and tons of musical light-up toys that all basically do the exact same thing as the ones she has now.  She hugged a few stuffed animals and pushed all the buttons on the toys she could reach.  We finally made it to the last aisle and I didn't gain a single idea for Santa.  Sigh.

Anyway, the last aisle was full of Punky's favorite things: books, balls, and bubbles.  I'd no sooner grab one toy out of her little patties, and she'd grab another.  It would've been fine, none of the things we breakable, but lucky for us there were other people shopping in the same aisle.  And Punky found it totally amusing to whiz balls at them.  And she has one hell of an arm.

In defense of my perfect little angel, I have to say they started it.  She dropped a ball and it innocently rolled their direction.  One of them tossed it back...and so the game began.  Of course, Punky didn't understand that they weren't there to play ball with her and she kept lobbing balls at them even after they stopped returning them.  I was left to chase after random balls rolling down the aisle which left her the perfect opportunity to grab and throw more.  With some creative maneuvering, I finally managed to get the situation under control and I told Punky it was time to go find Daddy.  In other words, time for her tiny hiney to sit in the cart for a while.

She apparently got that hidden meaning and immediately threw herself down on the floor.  When I tried to pick her up, she made her little body as stiff as a board and did everything in her power to escape my grasp.  Then she started whining and shaking her head "no" for all she was worth.  Then came the flailing arms and kicking legs.  When I finally managed to pick her up, the tears came.

In reality, the entire tantrum episode probably lasted a mere fifteen seconds.  But it seemed like a lifetime because I knew they were there.  Other people in the store.  Staring at me.  Rolling their eyes.  Giving me that disapproving head shake.  Wondering what I screwed up to have such a little brat.  Thinking I'm a horrible mother.  Swearing they would never have kids that act like that in a store.

I wanted to keep my head down and get the hell out of there but I glanced up just in time to see her.  A mother with a baby in her cart and three other little ones in tow.  Brave woman.  She gave me a been-there-done-that sympathetic smile and a nod that seemed to imply it happens to the best of us.  Then she quickly turned her attention back to her own pack of wild monkeys who were attempting to scale the shelving.

I guess it doesn't matter how good a parent you are, all bets are off the minute the little shits start thinking for themselves.  I'm sure there are many more embarassing public moments to come.  No worries, I can always pay her back when she's a teenager and terrified that I will embarass her in front of her friends.  A certain potty picture comes to mind.

Old Habits Die Hard

Last week at work was brutal.  I had high hopes for today and the start of a new week. 

It was just as bad, if not worse.

Everyone wants something, it's never ending.  And everyone thinks what he wants or needs is more important than anyone else's wants or needs.  It's a lot to juggle, and it's really impossible to make everyone happy all the time.  The phone rings constantly.  People are in and out of my office all day.  The interoffice mail piles up while I desperately scramble to finish one single task without interruption.  As tensions mount with the continual decrease in business this year, people are stressed and I've been on the receiving end of their frustrations a lot lately. 

When I look back at what I've accomplished in the last four months in this new position, I have mixed emotions.  Sometimes I'm proud and feel like I made some much needed contributions, and other times I feel like I'm swimming upstream with boulders tied to my ankles.  When I have a success, the sense of accomplishment is quickly ripped away by a new crisis rearing its ugly head.  

On my lunch hour today, I took a long ride and actually burst into tears.  Twice.  An altercation with a colleague right before lunch pushed me over the edge.  I haven't felt that way in years.  I'm not sure what to make of it.

When I returned to work after maternity leave last year, I was different.  I posted before about finally coming to the realization that a job is merely a job.  Becoming a mom altered my perspective.  My job used to define me, but post-baby it became something I had to do from from 8-5 Monday through Friday and nothing more.  Then I was forced into this new position.  And apparently some of my old mentality seeped in during the transition.  It was sneaky; I didn't see it brewing in the corners of my mind.

But today it came out of hiding.  I took it personally.  I let it get to me.  I had a moment of weakness and cracked under the pressure.  I reacted to my job as if it were my life.  And it's not.  It's only a tiny part.  Very tiny.  The part least likely to be remembered years from now.  Yet somehow today I let it consume me.  It sucked me in, chewed me up, and spit me back out again.  

I hope this episode was just a bout of temporary insanity.  A brain fart of sorts.  With any luck, I'll sleep it off and wake up tomorrow ready to tackle my responsibilities in the proper perspective.  If I even mange to fall asleep tonight, that is.

Men and Their Nuts

Not those nuts, geesh.  Mind out of the gutter, people.

I'm talking nuts...as in nuts and bolts, screws, washers, and other tiny, metal pieces that fall into the same category.  And end up scattered all over the house.  Well, my house anyway.  Mine apparently has a problem with his nuts, but I imagine there are other men who suffer from the same disease.

The arrival of my new dresser got me in the spirit of organization.  You know how it goes.  You get something new, something nice, and it prompts you to try to bring all of your old, not-so-nice stuff up to par to match the new addition.  Kind of like nesting while pregnant, same principle really when you think about it.

Anyway, I spent the last few evenings, little by little, cleaning out the closet and filling my new drawers with the items appropriate for dresser storage.  I cleaned all my perfume bottles and lined them up symmetrically in front of the mirror.  I went through the jewelry box and organized all that crap.  When I finished, the dresser looked beautiful.  And so damn out of place in the room.  

So, the aforementioned mood struck and I turned my attention to the rest of the bedroom.  It will still be old, mismatched furniture, but somehow cleaning and organizing it would make it fit better with my shiny new dresser.  I started with his nightstand, the top of which is usually a sea of half-empty diet Pepsi cans and...you guessed it...nuts.

I armed myself with an old baby food jar and collected the tiny pieces that were scattered among the rubble.  If I count the ones that rolled off at some point and ended up on the floor, I had four screws, seven nuts, six washers, and some other unknown tiny piece of metal in my jar.

I moved to the headboard of the bed.  Add two more washers, one screw, and a drill bit.  I hit the jackpot on his chest of drawers where I found four large bolts with anywhere from three to six nuts screwed on each, the largest items in my collection thus far.  I needed a bigger jar.

I headed for the kitchen.  I had already deposited a handful of such items on the counter the day before that I collected from the floor of the closet while cleaning.  A mere foot from my pile, two more washers were shining in the afternoon sun coming in through the skylight.

The kitchen window sill added more pieces, along with his bathroom counter, his computer desk, the entertainment center, the dryer, a glass vase in the dining room, and one lonely screw that I stepped on in the pantry.  Good grief.

His nuts are totally out of control, multiplying and dispersing themselves in every nook and cranny of our living space.  He has a work shed filled to the brim with like items but some apparently feel the need to migrate into our bedroom.  I have no idea why these tiny things need to be scattered all over the house, or what they've come from in the first place.  It's not like they need to be within arms reach at all times.  It's highly unlikely we'll ever have an emergency in the middle of the night that can be resolved with a single washer hanging out on the kitchen counter.  And besides, the tools are all out in the shed.  Go figure.

Post-Worthy Pee

Today, for the very first time...drumroll please...Punky peed in the potty!

And I missed it.  I was at work when the amazing feat occurred.  But still, I couldn't be more thrilled.  Especially after the other night...

Earlier this week, Punky's dad and I were discussing the fact that we need to kick this potty training thing into high gear.  I've had the potty seat for a few months, and she sits on it sporadically, but we never established a routine to make it a part of her daily life.  Some days she may try once, three or four times if I'm home with her on the weekend, and then not at all for days at a time. 

We haven't really been sending a clear message and all of her attempts thus far have failed.  So, the plan was to make sure she tries before bed and her nap, and also after her nap and when she first wakes up in the morning.  That way, we would at least establish a potty routine and guarantee her tiny hiney four chances a day at success.

Anyway, Tuesday night she sat on the potty for five minutes before bed.  I kept her there as long as I could, but I ran out of things to amuse her.  As soon as I put her on the changing table and reached for a diaper, she started to pee.  Ugh!  I went off on a tangent as I wiped her up and then put her down so I could clean the table. 

"You were just on the potty!  Why didn't you pee on the potty? You obviously had to pee! That's what potties are for! You're a big girl now!  Mama does not like cleaning up messes like this!"  Blah, blah, blah...

I was so wrapped up in my lecture and cleaning that I failed to notice Punky's next move.  She climbed up on the bed, still naked from the waist down, and proceeded to empty the rest of her bladder all over the blanket and pillows.  I turned around just in time to see the final sprinkle. 

(Re-read previous lecture only much louder and much angrier than you read it the first time, and top it off with some colorful curse words, a few foot stomps, some flailing arm gestures, and the joy of doing a load of laundry at ten o'clock at night).

Yeah, I was mad.  I know, stuff like this is bound to happen.  The joys of parenthood and all that crap...  I get that there will be accidents, I just wasn't in the mood for one that late at night.  I did the proverbial count to ten...okay, more like eighty...to calm down and we got back to the bedtime routine. 

That whole episode made today's success that much sweeter.  Punky's dad called me at work so she could tell me what she did.  "Mommy pee potty," she yelled into the phone...the three sweetest words I've ever heard.  I only wish I was home when it happened.  Another milestone moment missed in the life of a working mom...

Now granted, it may be another six months till she does it again.  She had plenty of other tries today but didn't repeat her morning miracle.  It was definitely a step in the right direction and it made me finally see that there is a light at the end of the diaper tunnel.

Punky will probably hate me for this, but I can't resist sharing a potty picture.  Once he realized the big event really happened, Punky's dad grabbed the camera and snapped a picture of her proud moment.  How stinkin' cute is this? 

Return of the Water Babies

Swimming class started again on Saturday.  I didn't find out about it until Friday afternoon.  I thought it would start more towards the end of the month.  But it was a nice surprise, and it gave us something fun to do this weekend.

I was a bit off my game Saturday morning.  Once again I was reminded of how lucky I am to have Punky at home instead of daycare.  There's rarely an occasion when I have to get us both up, dressed, fed, packed, and out the door early in the morning.  And let me just say, it's no easy task.

It would help, of course, if I could be a responsible adult and get out of bed when the alarm rings the first time.  I'm a snooze button junkie.  I had it set for 6:30 that morning...knowing I needed to shower (really to shave my legs) before getting Punky out of bed.  I finally got up at 7:30.  We needed to leave by 8:30.  The race was on...

When all was said and done, we left the house only five minutes late but then road construction set us back even farther.  Class began at nine; we got in the pool around 9:10. 

Last session, the lifeguard really didn't teach anything; it was just an hour of free swim.  This time, they plan on teaching for half the class.  Let's face it, there's only so much instruction babies can take, so most of it was just singing songs, kicking their little feet in the water, and bouncing them around a bit.  They wanted them to try to put their little faces in and blow bubbles, but it didn't go over well in this age group.  I thought Punky would do it...but she didn't.  Probably because mama yells every time I see her do it in the bathtub or her little pool.  It scares the crap out of me.

All in all it went well.  I'm glad we have something special to do together every week and she truly loves every minute of it.  When we got out of the car in the parking lot of the gym, she knew exactly where she was and what she was there to do.  She flashed me one of those smiles of anticipation and giggled her hiney off while we walked to the door. 

Now if I can just get my ass out of bed a little earlier for the next nine Saturdays... 

Like a Kid in a Candy Store

...or in Punky's case, a kid in a furniture store.  What was I thinking?

We went dresser shopping tonight.  I'm desperately in need of one.  The closet is overflowing and I have piles on the floor.  To be honest, we could really use an entire bedroom set.  Not a single piece of our current furniture matches any other, and it's all old and falling apart.  Even the set I have at home down state is forty years old so it's not even worth it to move it up here.  But all new stuff is not an option financially...so I settled for one fairly cheap dresser.  It'll do for now.

Anyway, I never considered the ramifications of taking Punky into a furniture store.  The opportunity never presented itself until now.  I'm surprised we weren't asked to leave.  

Display after display of bedroom furniture, complete with perfectly inviting beds.  A virtual sea of bare matresses for sale.  Couches everywhere.  And then there was the kids' section.  High beds with ladders and stairs.  The temptation was irresistible.

I think Punky jumped on every bed in the store.  Twice.  Most of the bare matresses.  Many of the couches.  And one particular child bed fascinated her to no end.  It was probably close to five feet high, with drawers and compartments underneath for storage.  It didn't have a traditional ladder; it had a cool carpeted staircase that ran up the one side of it.  She must've climbed those stairs, and jumped on the bed, at least a hundred times.

Punky's dad had the job of chasing her around the store, and pulling her off the furniture, while I took forever deciding on a dresser.  Hey, these things take time.  When we finally left, he was beyond frazzled.  Punky had a blast though...  

Maybe I'll take her back there when we're bored in the winter and looking for something fun to do.  She'll enjoy it just as much as any other indoor playground.  Of course I'll need to buy something again to keep them from throwing us out...  If we go enough times, I can get the entire bedroom set piece by piece.

The Phone...The Phone is Ringing!

For those of you in the know, aka parents of children under five, yes...that is a Wonder Pets reference.  I can't help it, those silly songs get stuck in my head for days at a time.  At any rate, the phone did indeed ring and it wasn't a cute baby animal on the line.  It was his job.  And rather than feeling the urge to help, I wanted to dive right through the handset and choke the guy on the other end.  

I still deal with occasional insomnia.  I'll sleep fine for weeks but suddenly get hit with a couple of rough nights.  Stress is almost always a trigger.  Whenever I start to feel overwhelmed and exhausted and need sleep more than anything...I'm certain to have trouble getting it.  Last night was one of those nights.

I went into bed at 11:20.  The prospect of sleep looked great in the beginning; I was exhausted and struggling to keep my eyes open long enough to see a TV show end at 11:30.  I rolled over and fully expected to pass right out...

I entered that pre-sleep daze where your mind runs wild and flashes random thoughts and images as it de-stresses and prepares for deep sleep.  That's the critical point for me.  If so much as one of those jumbled images strikes a chord, all bets are off and I snap right back to an alert state.  Last night I snapped.  In a matter of minutes I felt fully awake, alert, and no longer tired.  The clock read 11:38.  Dammit.

I spent the next hour tossing, turning, sighing, and groaning as I desperately tried to find a comfortable position and turn my mind back into mush.  By 12:20, Punky's dad had enough of my grunting and went in the other room to sleep.  I continued my struggle and the last time I looked at the clock it was 12:46.  I probably fell asleep around 1:00.

First ring.  I jumped from my sleep and frantically tried to find the damn phone.  Second ring.  I knocked the lamp off the nightstand.  I felt so dazed and confused.  Third ring.  I knocked the baby monitor off the nightstand.  Almost drugged even.  Fourth ring.  I knocked a pile of magazines off the night stand.  My heart was pounding in my chest.  I caught a glimpse of the clock with my one half-open eye.  1:22 a.m.  

The answering machine picked up just as I found the handset and attempted to say hello.  A loud booming voice filled the room accompanied by the high-pitched, shrill screech that happens when the phone is off the hook too close to the answering machine.  He burst through the bedroom door just in time to hear the jerk on the phone cheerfully say that he was just calling to tell him not to come to work early for overtime.  It had been canceled.

It took me another thirty seconds to fully come out of my dopey, groggy, confused state.  And when I did, I was wide awake.  And pissed.  Pissed as hell.  And that effing jackass was lucky he hung up by then, or he would've gotten a mouthful.  

Unfortunately for him, Punky's dad got it instead.  I turned on the light to clean up the mess I made trying to find the phone and rambling strings of colorful language spewed forth like lava from a volcano.

Are they out of their effing minds?  Seriously.  What company calls employees at home at 1:22 in the effing morning?  He was supposed to go in for 3:00 a.m.  You mean to tell me they had absolutely no clue he wouldn't be needed until 1:22?  What kind of effng management do they have at this place?  Do they have any experience with production planning at all?  How about the basic concept of respect for their employees and their families?

It's bad enough he's been working these crazy shifts and mounds of overtime for over a year now.  He's exhausted and stressed.  We never spend any quality time together as a family and are at each other's throats the whole hour we get to spend together most days.  But the company keeps pushing, and pushing, and pushing.  I don't know how much more of it we can take.  

And sadly, this isn't the first time they've called him in the middle of the night.  No matter how many times he tells them not to, they keep doing it.  Our whole house was awake at 1:22, including my mom and the baby.  

Punky tossed and turned for a bit but eventually fell back to sleep.  My mom did as well.  He went back to bed in the other room when I was finished ranting and raving.  I, on the other hand, was right back to square one and figured I'd be up all night.  I've gone to work on a half hour's sleep many times.  I'd survive it, but I surely wasn't happy about it.

Sometime after 2:39 I did actually doze off...but was awake again at 3:45 when Punky woke up crying.  Sigh.  Again I watched the clock until close to 5:00, then managed to catch a few five-minute snoozes before the alarm started going off at six.  

I'm not quite sure how I got through work today.  It's all just one big blur.  I guess I'll find out tomorrow when all of today's stupid mistakes made from sheer exhaustion come back to bite me in the ass.  Right now I'm going to bed, and hopefully to sleep, and god bless any poor soul who dares to ring the phone tonight. 

Summer's Last Hoorah

Labor Day weekend...the end of summer.  Sigh.

Punky and I went home Thursday night.  Friday we shopped.  Saturday we visited with friends and family.  Sunday was the annual corn roast at my uncle's farm.  And today we made the long drive back to reality with nothing but autumn on the horizon.

The weekend was nice but every year it makes me sad.  I hate to see the summer end.  This year it feels like we hardly had one.  Between Punky's dad working such crazy hours, me coping with a new job, and no real vacation to speak of...the summer seemed to pass in the blink of an eye and we haven't got much to show for it.

Okay, so we had some fun...I guess I'm just a bit cranky.  I'm tired.  And hormonal.  And dreading the work day tomorrow.  So, before this turns into a total piss and moan post, let's just change the subject.

On Friday I took Punky shoe shopping.  I wanted her to wear sneakers to the corn roast on Sunday, but I had a feeling her current pair was getting a bit too small.  She wore sandals most of the summer and I had a hard time when I tried to put her sneakers on last week.  Turns out her feet are now measuring about size five and a half; her old sneakers are a five.  It explains why I had to stuff her feet in them.  And why she wanted them off five minutes later.

Anyway, she now has two new size six pairs of sneakers.  One pink, sparkly, light-up, girly girl pair...and one practical, white, normal pair.  She'll be out of both of them by Christmas, I'm sure.  The only thing worse than how quickly she outgrows shoes is how much they cost to begin with...almost thiry-three dollars for two teeny, tiny, pairs of sneakers that will be too small for her feet before they even look a tad bit worn. 

Punky and my nephew played rather nicely this weekend...with only one minor incident.  We're not really sure what happened.  They were in his room and suddenly we heard a loud bang.  The sound all moms recognize: head meets floor.  She was crying and screaming and all he kept saying was, "I didn't do it."  About fifteen minutes later, he told her he was sorry.  So, yeah, he obviously did it...but we don't know exactly what it was.  She must've forgiven him because the next day they were buddies again.  Then again, he could've done whatever he did because she smacked him.  Her meter's been getting stuck on less-than-angelic rather frequently these days.

The corn roast on Sunday was about the same as other years.  Tons of great food and lots of small talk with family.  The highlight for me was getting a picture of Punky playing my uncle's drums.  My mom has a picture of me playing his drums when I was roughly the same age that Punky is now.  I thought it would be cute to have one of Punky doing the same.

She absolutely loved it.  Drums.  Real drums.  She spent the summer beating on everything in the yard with any stick she could find.  From the lawn chairs, to her toys, to the gas grill, and even the cars if she could sneak a tap in before we stopped her.  My little drummer girl.  She was in her glory with a real drum set and she quickly caught on to the various noises it produced.  She went from one drum to another, hitting a cymbal in between from time to time, and smiling for all she was worth.  Again, a reminder in case anyone forgot or dismissed the previous warning: if anyone is crazy enough to even consider buying her a drum set, keep in mind it will stay at your house for use when she visits.  Mama's not budging on that one.  Period.

Punky missed her nap on Sunday because of the corn roast.  Later that night, she was a bear.  She dozed off in the car on the short ride home, but I woke her because it was too early for her to go to bed for the night.  I was afraid she'd be up at four a.m.  Yeah, big mistake.  

I should've just let her sleep, and gotten some myself.  Instead, we did the nightime routine and then fought with her until close to midnight to get her to sleep.  She was over tired...and completely freakin' miserable.  She didn't want to play, she didn't want to sleep, she didn't want to do anything but cry, and whine, and moan, and groan, and carry on so bad that I actually had to walk away from her a few times and count to ten.  It was bad, really bad.  Another confirmation that she is definitely not ready to skip naptime.  In hindsight, I should've let her nap before going to the corn roast, even though it would've meant arriving later in the day.  Apparently, I'm a slow learner.

Anyway, we are back from our trip, safe and sound.  I have no idea when we'll have the opportunity to go home again.  I don't have any more time off of work until November.  And right now, November seems years away.  At least I'm trying to convince myself that it does.  November brings snow...