Love and Thanks

...an appropriate topic with Valentine's Day just around the corner, don't you think?

Punky is all about the love these days.  She loves, well, everything apparently.  Once in a while, something hits the "don't like it" list, but for the most part it's love all around...

In the past twenty-four hours, I've heard each of the following phrases spew from the lips of my dainty, little girl:

"I love boogers!" (This one she chose to scream across the room at me when I walked in to pick her up at daycare yesterday...and I made the mistake of saying, "What?"  So, of course, she yelled it again.)

"I love earwax!" (Out of the blue for no reason at all.)

"I love potties!" (Now if she'd only learn to use them.)

"I love boo-boos!" (Maybe her way of coping with the black and blues that still cover most of her body at all times due to the sheer gracelessness she inherited from her mother.)

"I love dust!" (Her response to my attempt at getting her to come out from the corner by the toilet in my bathroom by telling her it's all dusty back there.)

"I love meat!" (I think this one is truth; she always asks for seconds.)

"I love diapers! I love water! I love crayons! I love pillows!  I love my blankie! I love cars!  I love stop signs! I love toothbrushes!  I love refrigerators! I love ice! I love ceilings! I love germs! I love stinky socks!"

There were more, but you get the gist...

"I love you, too, Mommy." (Tonight when I tucked her in to bed.  The embarrassing "I love boogers!" incident is forgiven.)

Now for the thanks...to daycare...

Thank you, daycare, for calming our fears over peanut allergies by totally disregarding our instruction.  I know it's silly, but Punky never tasted peanut butter.  With my history of food allergies, I was holding off as long as possible...like till she was old enough to say, "Hey, Mom! My throat is closing up! I can't breathe! Call 9-1-1, please!"  

We told them she never had peanut butter when we signed her up, and that we would give it to her when we felt comfortable, and we'd let them know when that happened.

But alas, there she was, inhaling a huge PB&J when her dad picked her up one day last week.  Sigh.  Part of me truly is thankful that they pushed us across that hurdle, but mostly I'm ticked at their lack of attention and respect for our wishes.  And hell, if they screwed up this simple request, what else will they do?  I'm rethinking the field trip permission slip already...

Thank you, daycare, for causing round two of that wonderful stomach bug to invade our home this past week.  Punky coated the living room Saturday night, in the same fashion as before, but at least this time her dad was home to help with cleanup and it didn't result in another ER visit.  My turn came Monday night.  Punky's dad pulled up the rear on Wednesday night.

And yes, I did ask if it's going around the daycare, and I was told, "Oh yeah, the kids have been like little puke fountains erupting all over this place the last two weeks!"  See?  I'm not blindly pointing the finger at them.  But it we are forced to endure round three of this shit, someone's going to die.  And we're going to need new carpet.

And last but not least, thank you, daycare, for filling my upcoming Sunday afternoon with the task of writing out almost thirty valentines to a bunch of kids I've never even met, and figuring out how to attach some sort of candy, trinket, or other token object to each one as to not appear cheap and heartless in comparison to the other moms, and crafting some type of Valentine's Day bag/box/bucket contraption to collect all the junk treats I was already warned that Punky will be bringing home that day.  Ugh.

But first I need to buy the damn cards.  And figure out what treat to attach that is safe for all the children at daycare.  And I'll probably need to pick up some construction paper, glue, and whatever other shit crafty people would use to create the treat receptacle.  And I need to find some hearts to trace cause I sure as hell can't draw one.  Well, I can, but they always tend to look a tad deflated on one side.  And I can't send her to school with lopsided hearts.

Oh, the pressure.  I hadn't even considered this aspect of daycare and I am fully unprepared for the task at hand.  I better get my act together.  St. Patrick's day will be here before you know it and I'm sure I'll need to come up with some imaginative green food to send that day.  Or teach Punky to dance the jig and dye her hair red for the occasion.  Or sculpt a four-leaf-clover from of a mixture of play-doh, sequins, and the marshmallows from Lucky Charms cereal.