Our new camera: Capturing the insanity

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Lately our days are pretty much guaranteed to be filled with the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. The frequency in which we have to tag-team through a project has become de riguer due to the fact that Stella has a way of making each of us (yes, even eternally patient Steve) reach the point where we are ready to turn in our parent card and send her back to the toddler factory – we’ll even pay the shipping. And if you think I am being dramatic for effect, you are very, very sadly mistaken. It has reached levels neither of us dreamed even existed. I won’t bore you with more details except to say that after a 20-minute, two-parent attempt to get her into her clothes this morning, Stella went to day care in nothing more than a shirt and a diaper (the rest of her outfit wadded in a ball and handed to Grani K as we came through the door).

Our new lives are defined by the following rules:

Nothing is simple.
Everything takes negotiation.

There is a quote that I have been told twice now; once from Anthony and once from my midwife:

“God makes them that cute so you don’t murder them.”

I am thinking of having a shirt made.

Stella, Our Lady of Sorrow

Moments of Peace

Another post where all I can ask is “WHY?”

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Why Stella, do you refuse to accept the fact that the time changed TWO WEEKS AGO and waking up at 5:20 EVERY MORNING EVEN ON THE WEEKENDS is not okay?

Why Stella, do you then stand in the hallway and cry as loudly as possible, eventually working yourself up into an inconsolable ball of fury when we try to convince you that it is still dark, and we are all still sleeping and you should be too?

Why Stella, do you constantly demand “My NEEEEED it, My NEEEEED it, My NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED it” when you want something?

Why Stella, do you require a full-scale wrestling match each morning in order to get you dressed?

Why Stella, do you then refuse to keep on any piece of clothing? Do you realize that when you stripped off your shirt and stuffed it in the play refrigerator at day care that it took TWO FULL DAYS to even find it?

Why Stella, do you refuse to let me near you with a barret or other hair restraint mechanism, let alone a pair of sharp, pointy scissors? [And let me just warn you of this: should you continue to be so stubborn you will most likely find yourself in a cattle squeeze-chute getting your hair cut.]

Why Stella, are there days where you can entertain yourself for hours, playing sweetly and quietly, then other days where you can’t take a single breath without one of us having to be there to share in the moment with you?

Why Stella, do you love peanut butter one day then look at it like it is toxic waste the next (then love it again the next day after that)? Will there ever be a food that we can rely on you to like EVERY DAY and not just the third Friday of the fourth month of the 16th year of the new millenium?

Why Stella, do you become sweet and charming, cute and playful, reasonable and polite whenever we take you to other people’s homes, thereby making us seem like the ones who are emotionally unstable? It is like being the parents of the Lex Luthor of the toddler world.

Why Stella, that’s all I want to know, just why?

Taking nothing for granted.

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Tonight at dinner Steve managed to gain Stella’s undivided attention long enough to ask her what she is thankful for. We all sat quietly as she pondered this heavy question and waited to see what she would divulge as the one thing that really makes her life complete. She looked down at the table and lost herself in thought for a good 15 seconds before raising her head and emphatically announcing “my placemat.”

Us too Stella, us too.