An Introduction

On Saturday, I casually mentioned to Josh that I would like to get a goldfish. I was partly inspired by (I can't believe I am about to admit this) Dorothy, Elmo's pet goldfish. Lola loves Elmo, and occasionally Dorothy makes guest appearances on Sesame Street, and I just found myself sitting on the couch with Lola, thinking that it wouldn't be too bad to have a fish. It might be fun. It could even be educational because I could teach Lola about death.

Yes, those were my reasons: It might be fun, and I could teach Lola about death.

It sounded much more rational in my head.

As I told Josh about the potential goldfish in our future, he adamantly stated that he wanted nothing to do with it. That if I wanted a fish, that was fine, but he was not going to be the one to take care of it. He looked at me very seriously and very father-like when he said that. I told him that I was only thinking about getting a goldfish and that I wasn't making any plans. He seemed satisfied with my answer.

On Sunday, Josh went to a movie with a friend. When he came home, he walked through the door with a plastic container with a metallic blue betta fish swimming in its water and a bag of fish supply stuff from the local pet store.

"Suuuuuurrrprise!"

"I got you a betta fish," he said.

"They are much more durable than goldfish. This way, you can put off teaching Lola about death, for at least awhile." he added quickly.

I stood there, a bit surprised.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Why are you being so quiet?"
"Because I wasn't expecting you to go to a movie and come home with a fish."
"I'm being romantic."
"Oooooh, okay."

Thirty minutes later, after setting up his bowl (a previous thrift store vase) and making sure the water was the correct temperature and discussing his ability to survive the transfer from his current container to his new home, Josh poured the fish into the vase.

The fish belly-flopped right into his new home. After we watched him swim a few laps, and determined that he was indeed going to live, we introduced him to the family.

Archie was unimpressed. Annoyed that another being was entering our home, he glared at me and then proceeded to sulk on the couch.

Gizmo tried to drink out of the bowl.

Lola yelled, "FISHIE!" and tried to pet him. The fish was very responsive to Lola. We took this as a good sign until I later read that betta fish dart from side to side when they are really pissed off. So maybe, L and the fish were instead off to a rough start.

Then, Josh told me that I was in charge of naming him. I hemmed and hawed over this for at least 20 minutes. (Choosing a name for a pet is serious business.)

As I gazed at our new friend, my thoughts went like this:
The fish is a shiny metallic blue, with really beautiful fins.
His fins looks like big billowy flags.
He's male because the sticker on the side of his bowl says so.
He doesn't need a male name because names are typically all about gender and since this is a fish, I don't know his actual gender because I can't ask him.
Damn those blue fins are so pretty.
Almost sparkly.
Kind of flamboyant.
Would it totally be un-PC of me to assume my fish is gay?
I do like the name Gary.
My friend Maria has an uncle who is gay and his name is Gary, and his partner is also named Gary.
What about Ricky?
No, I like Gary.
Is it really bad that I think Gary is the perfect gay male name?
Am I going to subconsciously teach Lola to assume that all feminine looking males are gay?
She's TWO!
Do I subconsciously think that?
I can't decide.

"His name is Gary."
"Gary?"
"Yes. Gary."

So, here he is, in all of his glory. Please meet Gary, the newest member of our family.

It's National Poison Prevention Week

We all know that I'm a fan of the local poison control phone line. If you want to read more about how to contact poison control, click here.

A belated, but necessary, post

I'm such a slacker. The beginning of March has flown by, mostly because we spent the last week traveling around Southern California visiting family, eating food that we can only eat while on vacation, and holding babies. (More on that later.)

But, I've also found it difficult to motivate myself to sit down and write because, while I typically write about Lola's latest adventures, lately I find myself wanting to write more about myself and then I feel this weird maternal guilt because the blog is really for her yet I'm too lazy to start another blog for myself, resulting in me just not writing anything at all. (This run-on sentence fully demonstrates the back-and-forth arguments that go on in my head.)

The overall theme of my New Year Resolutions for 2011 was to focus more on myself, and less on Lola. She is only two years old, and yet I already see myself going down that typical fateful mothering path of putting needs of everyone else at the top of my To Do list while I wait patiently in the back looking for more time and energy to (magically) appear so that I can then do something for myself. (These feelings have been solidified by the newest season of The Biggest Loser. Not that I am obese, but I can see how easily people get to that place.)

My New Year Resolutions:

1. Live a healthier life.
I want to be stronger, physically and mentally. Oftentimes, I over analyze situations and then stress out to the point of where things become ridiculous. I need to fix that. I want to become more grateful for the things and people I have in my life and less envious of the things I do not have. I want to be able to go for a 30 minute run and not feel like I am going to have an asthma attack, and I want to eat less sugar. (I am a total sugar junkie.)

2. Utilize my creativity.My profession is pretty cut and dry. I spend most of my days reading forms and statutes and regulations, and then crunch a bunch of numbers. As much as I would like to think that I use creativity while working on my cases, I really don't. Not at all. Instead, I daydream about assembling my personal cookbook, sewing new curtains, and building a corner library for the bean. This year, I want to finish my digital photo book projects (uh, wedding photos) and pull out the pattern for the purse that I bought the fabric for, oh so long ago, and actually make the purse, and work on my Amanda Bean drafts.

3. Read non-parenting books.
This is a big one. When I found out I was pregnant in June 2008, I, being the researcher that I am, began reading every pregnancy/child development/breastfeeding book that I came into contact with. Since then, I haven't really stopped, and I haven't read any other genre either. I've certainly tried, but I ever book that I picked up, I ended up putting down, unfinished. At one point, I was so frustrated that I stopped attempting to read books all together and turned to magazines. It was then that I also realized there were no magazines out there that I enjoyed. It's clear that my taste and attention span has changed. That's when I decided that I needed to make book-reading one of my resolutions. I have set a few ground rules (subsections to my resolution, if I so may):
a) The book can't involve any sort of rape or sexual assault of women or children.
b) No incest.
c) No dying dogs.
d) Josh is in charge of picking out all of my books. (So far, this has been very interesting, but I will save the details for another post.)

So far, and for the first time in a very long time, I'm doing very well on my resolutions. I'm happy that I set some this year, and if you don't mind, I will be writing some more about them here.

More Spinning

Just watching this gives me motion sickness. I think it's pretty obvious who will be taking this kid on the teacups at Disneyland.

Sheesh. When did I become so old?

A whole lot of two.

She is 34 and a half inches tall. (65% percentile.)
She is 25 pounds (35% percentile.)

I couldn't resist putting her stats in an adult height predictor/calculator that I found online. According to that thing, she will most likely be 5'5" as an adult. I can't imagine her being taller than me.

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Other current Lola facts:

Her favorite songs to sing are"The Wheels on the Bus," "The Alphabet Song," and "Itsty Bitsy Spider."

She can properly identify things that are purple. According to her, everything else is "blue."

She can count to fourteen. All. by. herself.

Her favorite dinner meal is gnocchi with gorgonzola cheese.

Her favorite snacks are goldfish crackers and freeze dried mangoes.

Her favorite book is Farmyard Tales.

Sometimes she refers to Josh as, "Daddy (LastName)." She also refers to Archie in the same manner.

Every time she sees or hears a motorcycle, she yells, "Curtis! Motorcycle!"

Every time she sees or hears an airplane, she comments on how "Airplanes go to Grandma's house."

She believes everyone has a mustache. She often points to her mustache (upper lip) and comments on other people's mustaches too.

Every night when I ask her which pajamas she would like to wear, she says, "Moon jammies!" Usually, I have to tell her that they are dirty. Then, she says, "Mommy, clean them up!"

She loves using Skype to talk to my parents.

She loves accessories: necklaces, bracelets, sunglasses, hats, headbands, purses. She can't get enough of them.

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Tonight, as I put her to bed and told her that I loved her, she said, "I love you soooooo much." And it was adorable.

Happy Birthday, Bike!

Lola loves bicycles. A few weeks ago, I asked her if she wanted a bike for her birthday. She said, YES!! (note, two exclamation points.) Ever since, whenever someone mentioned something about her birthday, she would say, "Bike?" And then, we would sing, "Maybeeee for your birthday," knowing full well that the tricycle that we bought her (in December) was sitting in the garage, waiting for February 7th to arrive.

On Monday, her birthday, I excitedly told her it was her birthday. I made her banana pancakes, and even stuck a candle in the stack, while I sang "Happy Birthday" to her. She wore her homemade birthday crown while she ate, but the importance of the day didn't seem to quite register with her.




(Don't worry, I cooked her a new pancake.)


Later on, we met up with her friend Zander at the local park for some lunch and cupcakes. When she saw Josh carrying the tricycle across the park, she made the connection.






Happy Birthday, bike. Happy Birthday, Lola.

Mother of the Year

Last week, Lola had a cut on her thumb. It wasn't a huge abrasion, but it was noticeable enough that she spoke of it often.

"Mommy, thumb, owie," she said, putting her crayon down, to look it over.
"Lola, would you like a band-aid?"
"Yes!" Her eyes light up, excited for the prospect of something new, something sticky that she can mess with.

We go into the bathroom. I take her thumb in my hand. The cut looks a little red, so I remove the hydrogen peroxide from the locked bathroom cabinet and place it on the counter while I search for a cotton ball.

Right as I find one, the dogs start barking.
"Daddy home!" Lola yells. She runs from the bathroom, looking for Josh.

We find him, carrying in some groceries. I help put away the milk and the cheese. I ask him how his day was. We begin to talk about our upcoming date, set to take place later that day. I tell him that I already scoped out the cafe's daily menu online.

Then Josh yells, "Lola, NO!"
I turn to see what is going on.
Lola says, "Lola, drinking," as she holds the opened bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

Josh and I both panic.
He grabs the bottle.
I grab Lola.

"What do we do?" he asks.
"Uh uh uh. We need to call Poison Control."
"What's the number?"
"I don't know! Call 9-1-1."

Josh calls 9-1-1.

Lola rests on my hip, smiling as she watches the commotion.

I race to pull out a toddler book, one where I vaguely remembered reading instructions for what to do if your child swallows something harmful. My mind races. My mother always had the poison control number on the refrigerator. Why did I never take the time to look up the number and put it on the fridge?

Josh tells the 9-1-1 operator what happened. She transfers him to the poison control hot line. He then retells the story. The woman asks us to smell her breath. Lola laughs as I place my nose halfway in her mouth. The woman asks us if Lola has vomited, whether her belly hurts, if her clothes smell like hydrogen peroxide. We tell her no, no, and no. She tells us to keep an eye on her, and Josh promises her that Lola will never be out of his sight ever again.

He hangs up.
We look at each other, exhausted.
How our little girl, the one who refuses to drink anything but water and vanilla soy milk, would take a swig of some nasty hydrogen peroxide is seriously baffling to me. But, also, clearly, very possible. I usually pride myself on Lola's ability to at least try something before she decides that she doesn't like it. But now, my stomach felt sick.

Lola wiggles out of my arms and runs to her kitchen, pulling out toys, acting as normal as can be.

The next morning I open the paper, and this is what I see.



As soon as I read the headline, I laughed. Hard.

Apparently there are lots of health benefits associated consuming with hydrogen peroxide. I believe it, but I also now have the poison control number on my fridge.