moosh in indy.

What you say: “If you do that one more time, WE WILL GO HOME.”

What you think: “For the love of Pete please KNOCK IT OFF because I spent an hour getting ready to come here and I really don’t want to go ten minutes after getting here.”

Anyone experienced with the 3′ and under set know that as soon as you bend one rule with a toddler they are on you like flies on poo. They suddenly feel entitled to get away with tantrum murder. I’ve been lucky thus far in my parenting career. Generally if I have “that tone” in my voice when telling the moosh to mind me she listens without further argument. And let me just tell you there have been moments when I had no consequence or punishment in mind, I just threw the “mom tone” out there hoping it would fool her. *phew* most of the time it does. But then there’s those times when you throw out a consequence that you don’t really mean, and you’re left praying that your kid shapes up or your faced with the flies on poo dilemma.

Take for example our trip to the pool today. We had finally gotten there (Have you ever taken a kid swimming? The toys, the sunscreen, the potty, the snacks, the swimsuit, the towels, the bikini line, THE UTTER PREPAREDNESS OF IT ALL.) and after an hour the lifeguards took a break and everyone was to get out of the pool during the guards break. the moosh pulled some attitude after I told her to get out of the pool.

“You pull attitude again, we go home.” I said (thinking that would be enough to set her straight, HA HA said the parenting gods.)

She did the ugly grunt/growl at me, stomped her foot, scrunched her nose and yelled “NO!”

Decision time.

Two hours to get to the pool for only one hour of swimming. Do I abandon all that hard work on principle?

Yes, yes I do. Flies on poo Casey, flies on poo.

“I asked you not to be mean, we’re going home.”

Cue the tears. OH THE TEARS. To see the moosh with her wet mop of curls, over sized mermaid sunglasses, wrapped in a pink beach towel with her chubby thighs sticking out bawling the saddest cry a small person is able to muster is a sight no one can look away from. People want to hug her, give her candy and unicorns. (I want to hug her and give her candy and unicorns too, but PRINCIPLE!) I’m left dragging a haggard, sad, chubby little water baby out of the YMCA all because she didn’t listen to me.

Now I’ve only had to abandon a well planned activity once before. It was the zoo, early last year. An hour to get prepared and travel there and less than ten minutes inside the gate when Tantrum War II broke out.

Principle sucks sometimes.

Another time the moosh was in her car seat just as we set out on a ten hour drive to Kansas City. Whatever she was doing was unacceptable and I turned to tell her “IF YOU DO THAT ONE MORE…” I stopped myself. What the heck was I going to do to a kid strapped in a car seat? Leave her at the side of the road? She knew it too. She looked at me as if to say “You’ll do what MOM? Put me in time out? Really? I’m right here. No going anywhere. Bring it.”

But I’m pleased to say that the moosh listens perdy darn well for a three year old. And if it takes days like today to give merit to my scary mom tone then so be it.

You’ve done this too right? Everyone? The whole “I’m saying it but I really don’t want to mean it” thing? How scary is your scary mom tone?

Cody and I were going to get a new car. We looked at new cars. We test drove, we compared, we fell in love, we decided (Toyota Camry Hybrid, black with leather moonroof smart key heated seats and ooh uhmm mmm). And then we ran into all the crap that deals with loans and law school and limits and blah blah have I mentioned graduate school blows?

Anyway.

Instead we’re going to be practical *snort* and fix his 1998 junker in hopes it will last ten more years long enough to drive it dead. (We’ve already put twice as much into fixing it in the last year than we bought it for. gag gag gag.)

So it’s in the shop with a two thousand dollar quote. BUT! When repairs total over $250 at this particular shop you get a loaner car while they fix your busted up car. Sweet right?

Sooo, you’ve got a young mom with a camera, a car seat and a Cheerio wielding toddler in your office, what kind of car do you pick for her? (You get to choose from the Chrysler, Jeep, Dodge line.)

Pacifica?  Maybe.

Caravan? Sure!

300M? Totally.

Neon? Okay, if you have to.

But apparently Bruce figured me a sassy (albeit impractical) kind of gal. So he hooked the moosh and me up with a two door convertible. Uh huh, that’s right.

(If you own this car I’m not making fun of you, it’s a lovely car. Just not so practical in Indiana for a mom. Just sayin’.)

See how the top is down and the sky is kind of gloomy? Like it’s about to rain? Yeah, that’s because it was gloomy and about to rain. And kind of cold. And yet we were the ones driving down the road with the top down because I was the one stupid enough to show the moosh that the damn roof came off in the first place.

But the moosh is in love, she believes this car to be the reincarnation of AWESOME.

And this is how I became the dork driving a bright blue car down the road in 58 degree weather with looming rain clouds, the roof open and a small curly headed banshee shrieking with joy in the backseat.

I never wanted kids. Even in the delivery room with my ankles by my ears I was seriously rethinking the decision to bring a needy, dirty, messy, loud, life encompassing being into my life.

It didn’t come easy to me, the whole mothering gig. I still don’t feel like it does. A while ago I admitted to not loving her right at first. And there’s still days that I count down the minutes to bedtime. Parenting is, well, amazing. Watching them “get” things you’ve taught them. Having “I love you mommy” whispered into your ear. the moosh is so much a part of my life after four years that we’ve become a team. We are left alone so much we have a relationship that she may never have with anyone else. That I may never have with anyone else. It baffles my mind how well I know her, how well she knows me. This doesn’t mean that parenting is easy by any means, it sucks sweaty dog balls sometimes. And yet I am so grateful that I get to be the one to be her mom, that I get to be with her, through good times and big hairy tantrums. And through it all, for the most part, the job of a mother stays thankless. But I’m okay with that.

What I’m trying to say, is that when the beast is asleep and I’m left looking at pictures of her something happens in my chest that I have yet to find a way to describe. Maybe you other moms know what I’m talking about. It’s a tingle. A swelling of your heart, a quickening of your pulse. An intense desire to go in the other room and kiss that little chubby sleeping hand that smells of cookies and bananas. To pick her up and rock her because these days are so numbered. To feel her wispy little hairs tickle my nose, to hear her slow soft breathing. To nuzzle my nose into that warm spot right on the back of her neck that always smells of sunscreen.

I love her so much it hurts.

She’s growing up so fast.

I hope one day she can realize that her mom loves her so much that she can’t even find words to describe it.

And I hope one day she will have a little person of her own to care for and that she will be knocked flat with an overwhelming indescribable love for the warm little body in her arms.

While I want everything in the world for her, I want nothing more than for her to be happy.

You will always be my baby, moosh.