I could change the timestamp and fake it

I realize I have missed two days. Technically, I said 30 posts in 30 days, I didn't say there had to be one everyday, not to split hairs. But to be fair, at some point this month I will have two days where there are two each day or two days where there is one really good one each day (note to Zoe, help your mother out and speak your first word this month, or maybe learn to read. I could really use the material).

Anyway, we have Nana and Popa in town for a couple days. Last time they were here Zoe was not quite walking so her mania is a fun surprise for them. Last night at dinner Zoe refused to eat her turkey and veggies obviously savvy to the fact that with a grandmother around she would certainly be able to make an entire dinner out of sweet bread. She was right.

Elephant sounds and squeaky shoes

We are hard at work on the sound a monkey makes and the sound a kitty cat makes. Of course, with these shoes kitty cats tend to take off before they can make too many sounds.

And the academy award goes to. . .

Zoe Fuller for best dramatic performance in a "mom won't let me play with the toaster" or face washing scene. It is certainly fascinating (and just a little funny) to watch a toddler in a throw down tantrum over the most mundane of disappointments. It doesn't happen often but when it does I usually have to gently lower her to the ground so that she can throw her fit without fear of slamming her head on the linoleum. Tonight the big event was the removal of a box of plastics forks from her freakishly strong grip before she stabbed herself in the eye or she tossed them throughout the house. In my calmest mom voice I leaned in and said something to the effect of "No, Zoe, plastic or not, forks are not for childhood play." Cue screaming fit. Frankly, the most comical part of the whole thing is the relatively small duration of the tantrum. I mean, you'd think if you were that upset about something, you would at least have a small pout for a while. No, Zoe manages to compose herself and move on by trying to hunt down more sharp objects in the house. To put everyone's mind at ease, she is usually unsuccessful in this endeavor and settles on playing with the frog that teaches her colors. I will do my best to try and take a photo next time and add to the post.

Day two. . . more updates

Continued from the previous post Zoe updates. . .

6. While I get ready in the morning, Zoe sits in a bouncy chair that she is entirely too big for and plays. Occasionally I will hand her a makeup brush which she pretends to use. Already a diva.

7. Did I mention that she likes to run and scream?

8. The Easter Bunny arrived with two baskets full of candy, one from us and one from my parents. The one from my parents had a special surprise, really annoying toddler shoes. Now, I know you are thinking that shoes are a pretty innocuous gift, how could a simple pair of shoes be annoying? These shoes squeak when Zoe walks. So, on occasion Zoe will be running, screaming and squeaking. The gift only a grandparent would give. Especially a grandparent that lives 1500 miles away.

More tomorrow.

Let the blogging commence

I am quite certain that the few readers of the blog that I did have are now long gone, thoroughly unable or unwilling to put up the immense lapses between posts. I'm sure you are all wondering what happened with the biting as well as what else is new with her other than the random attacks on fellow daycare mates. I have no excuses, I have just been lazy about it. So today I will fill you in on all the answers to your burning questions (or mild curiosities). Also, as an apology to the two or three loyal readers (hi mom, hi Kathy) I am going to make a wholehearted attempt at 30 posts in 30 days. That's right, read about Zoe to you heart's content but take heed, many posts will be boring. Our lives are not action packed so I'll do my best to make eating melon and torturing the dog as colorful as possible. For now, here are a few things I have been remiss in sharing.

1. As sad as it is when good things come and go so fast, I use that knowledge to take comfort in the fact that so do bad things. Zoe, for now, is not much of a biter; to her classmates anyway. She sometimes gets a little frustrated and tries to come after me, but I out-weigh her by a lot so I am much more of a match than poor little Kira was.

2. Our daycare provider is pregnant and while that is great news for her, unfortunately that means then end of the road there for Zoe come the fall. And, for the record, just because she has already been in daycare, does not make it any easier for me to find another stranger for me to leave our daughter with.

3. We've lost an important part of the family. Giant inflatable duck has been retired and Zoe just heads straight into the tub. The final one was actually the great, great grandson of the original since they just kept getting holes and deflating. If I had to blow up one more giant inflatable duck, Zoe may just never have bathed again. Rest in peace, duck.

4. Zoe likes to run, then scream, then run, then scream, then run. . .

5. Her new favorite food, Teddy Grahams. She stands by the pantry door banging on it until she gets her hands on some of those tasty chocolate teddies.

That's all for now. I have to do 30 days worth of posts so I need to spread the updates out. Thanks for your patience, see you tomorrow.

Does Toys R Us sell muzzles?

It's been a long time since my last post. There's no excuse; frankly I have simply been waiting for something to happen that I could write about, something of interest, something that other parents might be able to relate to. Be careful what you wish for as a parent. Never, never hope for interesting. Before I tell the tale of last week, let me don my scarlet letter cloak as it will get me in the mood and remind all the grandparents out there not to snicker as you revel in sweet revenge.

So last week, Tuesday to be exact, I pick up Zoe from daycare. I notice her daycare pal, Kira, has a mark on her cheek. "Poor girl" I think to myself, must have been injured. We go home, make dinner, and happily play. Just another day (sans teething crankiness and a dreadful case of diarrhea). The next day, Wednesday, seems the same. I go to Cassie's to pick up Zoe. "Hey, Cassie," I say cheerfully. Then she said it. "Ummm. . ." Cassie stumbles. "Zoe has been biting."
Zoe has been biting. This means I am the mother of the biter. She is that child. I am that mother. "Yeah, " Cassie continues, "She bit Kira yesterday on the cheek and Carter today." My faced gets flushed as the memory of Kira's face comes back to haunt me. She shows me Carter's arm. CSI would have a field day with this evidence. I'm not sure what I said at that point. I think I mumbled something to the effect of "she never does anything like that at home" and "I'm sorry, I just can't believe it" and some other nonsensical tirade that only a mother who has been truly humiliated by her child would understand. Then I left with my sweet baby in my arms wondering how this innocent child turned into the Wayne Arnold of Cassie's daycare.

She managed to make it through Thursday without incident; maybe the other kids were the ones who learned a lesson and just stayed away. Either way, I was glad and I have learned that the ultimate lesson as a parent is this, you are always in a glass house. When Zoe gets her inevitable biting, I will keep my stones to myself.

We also has a 15-month appointment today. Here are the stats:
Zoe "the bruiser" Fuller weighing in at 22lbs 14 ounces, 31 1/4 in.

Lunch, check; diapers, check; mom in tears, check

Dropping your baby off at daycare flies in the face of all that is right in nature. Since the beginning of time, mothers protected their young; kept them safe from harm. Animals, are famously protective of their offspring. I'm no zoologist, but I hardly think mama bear drops her cubs off for the day at a den a few miles away so she can go hunting. However, I am part of modern-day life, a statistic of the middle class where both parents work and the child heads off to be looked after by some qualified person who is CPR certified and keeps meticulous data on bowel movements. Last Tuesday Zoe started going to the home of a very nice woman named Cassie. Cassie has a son the same age as Zoe and watches two other children also the same age. I feel comfortable in our decision to place her in this home and am confident in the fact that she will thrive there. Does it sound like I am running for office on the daycare platform? Here's what really happened:

The night before I was so worried and anxious about this whole thing I could barely eat. My thoughts were consumed with what lunch I could pack that would best convey my love for her. I settled on a peanut butter sandwich and some melon. I wrote her name on everything with a Sharpie even though there are only three other children there and I would have exceedingly more to worry about than losing stuff if this woman couldn't keep track of four sippies. I left a note to remind myself to bring her favorite blankie. I picked out a perfect outfit; one that said, I would like to meet new friends but would also be comfortable enough play in. Then I cried and headed off to bed. The next morning I set my sites on being enthusiastic lest Zoe get some bad vibes about the situation. I sounded like a bad actress from some B movie when I bounded in her room saying "Are you excited about going to Miss Cassie's and meeting your new friends?!?!" Zoe gave me some weird look like I had started the morning with a few Bloody Marys but she seemed OK so far. After breakfast we gathered her things and drove off, my stomach in knots and tears welling up. I kept explaining to her how lucky she was and what a good time she was going to have. Her only response was "nah." I took that as "what kind of mother would leave her baby with a stranger." But I pressed on.

We got there and got settled in. I gave Cassie a quick overview of her lunch and how I had packed Goldfish for a snack. I think my overview was probably more like a dissertation, my though was maybe if I talked long enough I wouldn't have to leave. But then it was time. I crouched down, told Zoe I couldn't love her more and started to walk out, and then she did it; she started crying. I tried to keep that same B movie persona going but it was no use, if I didn't walk out then I was going to lose it in front of her ruining my tale of good times, so I left. And I cried on and off for the next few hours as I envisioned her in the depths of despair wondering where her mother was and why had she left her.

For anyone who has ever gone through this, you probably know how this story ends. I called Cassie at 11am ready for her to tell me that I needed to come back, that Zoe was inconsolable, but that is not what she said. No, apparently Zoe cried for about three minutes and then got right to playing. At the time of my call, she was taking a nap.

This is how things have gone for the last two weeks sans my crying. Zoe cries just enough to make me feel guilty and then starts playing. For a few days she would cry when we came to get her. I think she does that for her own amusement. I no longer need notes to remind me what to bring and Cassie pretty much has her lunch down pat. I'll get the Valium ready for kindergarten.