Last night the Parents As Teachers lady came over to tell us that the little angel is normal again.  She did well on all the little tests, but since the Parents As Teachers lady tends to talk the ears off a brass monkey, PATL also stayed well into the little angel's dinner hour.

In an effort to distract the little angel, I gave her some goldfish crackers.  She threw them forcefully on the ground and stomped on them.  I was surprised - she's only recently, at twenty-two months, began acting like a two-year-old. Unfortunately, she did this just as I was telling the Parents As Teachers lady how she hardly ever acts up.

PATL:  "How do you intend to discipline your child?  Will you use time-outs?"

Me:  (Prior to the goldfish incident)  "Well, I suppose so.  I doubt we'll spank her unless she runs into traffic. I'm not positive that they work, though."

(GOLDFISH DIE A HORRIBLE DEATH ON THE HARDWOOD FLOOR HERE)

Me:  "Ha, ha. That's unusual. Ahem."

PATL:  "You know, you should put her in time-out for one minute for every year of age.  Where is your spot?"

Me:  "Oh, the spot. Well, we haven't exactly defined the spot yet."

PATL: "You have to get to her right away."

(Little angel is now chasing Sybil around the house.)

Me: "Well, yes. We'll have to discuss that."

PATL:  "How about potty training?"

Me: "I don't know if she's ready for that."

(Little angel pauses from chasing Sybil to announce she is going poopy.  )

Me:  "Hee hee.  Well, we were hoping to wait until warmer weather so that she could pull her pants down herself."

(Clanging noises of pots and pans from the kitchen by my beloved, who can't stand PATL and wants her to leave.)

PATL: "Well, you know, there's a WINDOW.  If you miss the WINDOW, she could be in diapers until she's sixteen."

Me:  "I think you have to pay attention to the individual child. We tried to do everything by the books earlier, and it backfired."

PATL: "Is she sleeping better?"

Me:  (thinking of how she was up from midnight to three on Sunday night)  "Yes, oh, yes, she sleeps great now." At this point, I didn't want to discuss anything anymore.

PATL: (watching the little angel stand on the couch in her blinky shoes) "Well, she certainly is precocious.  You have to watch these smart ones.  Every minute. Your distraction techniques will stop working soon," she said, looking over at the little angel. "Maybe they have stopped working already."

Me:  "Hmm, yes.  Well, should we schedule our next appointment?"

I hurried the PATL out the door, just as the little angel shrieked "EAT! EAT!" and sent another school of goldfish crackers to a certain death on the hardwood floor.  Sybil took cover.

I guess I should start thinking about time-outs.

I slept eleven hours yesterday.  My parents came down on Saturday to see the little angel and to give my beloved and I a chance to go drown our sorrows and play darts at Lew's down the street, but I fell asleep on the floor of the little angel's bedroom while putting her down on Saturday night.  After sleeping there for 45 minutes, I was unprepared to face fun with pillow creases on my forehead.  We ended up sitting downstairs and watching some reality cops show instead.  Ah, the romance.

Ma took angel duty in the morning, and I slept from 11:30 until 9 a.m.  After they left, the little angel fell asleep for three hours.  At hour two, I tried desperately to wake her up, but she wasn't having it.  I know that when she naps longer than an hour and a half, it's going to be bad news at night, but I couldn't get her to wake up, and I ended up falling asleep with her on the couch for another hour. 

We put her to bed around 8:30.  My beloved started trying to put her to bed at 8, then I had to take over at 8:30 so that I could work my magic in time for my favorite show in the whole wide world, Grey's Anatomy.  I want to see what happens with Addison and Mark, dammit!  I finally got her down just in time and rushed down to immerse myself in someone else's drama, knowing that I would be paying the piper later.  Sure enough,the little angel woke up at midnight complaining of a poopy and sore teeth. After I fixed both of those problems, she climbed over me to play.  She wanted to change the diapers on all of her stuffed animals, even Elmo, who can barely fit in a size 6.

This diapering-the-animals thing has been going on for about two weeks.  She tells us now when she needs to go poopy.  She is probably ready to be potty trained.  But I, Prudence's mother, am unprepared to face the challenge in the dead of winter, what with all of those snaps and zippers and such. I'm waiting for warmer weather and fewer items of clothing.  Until then, I, Prudence's mother, will keep changing her.  (Does anyone but me wonder why the narrator in this book feels obligated to keep clarifying who "I" is?  Hasn't she already established she's the narrator?  Is this for the child or the sleep-deprived parent?  One wonders.)

So anyway, when she started insisting on a diaper change for Red Bear, I took her down to the couch.  The child drank three cups of milk from midnight to three a.m., when she finally, FINALLY conked out.  I knew I was in trouble at 7 when I felt her crawl out from under the nice, warm, soft blankie and demand, "Mommy, wake up."

ARGH.  I, Prudence's mother, need a nap.

The Emerald City's mascot is the warrior. I've always found it humorous that a Lutheran private school would adopt such a belligerent mascot.  I'm Lutheran, a descendant of a Lutheran minister and generations of stoic, back-pew, silent stock.  Those Lutherans, they don't say much, and if you step on their toes, usually they will apologize first.  So, even I was surprised when my beloved was maliciously attacked the other day at drop-off.

I guess the little angel snacked on Baby M. again.  She's never bitten anyone but him.  Some of her friends have gone so far as to try to hug her by strangling her, but all she did was run away and cry. Baby M. and the little angel, though - they have a personality conflict.  She never liked him, not from the day he and his designer leather shoes arrived on the scene.  To be fair, he's not the best-behaved kid in the bunch, either. He steals food and toys and prefers to use the little angel rather than a chair for pulling up.  His behavior is age-appropriate.  Unfortunately, her retaliation is, too.

We didn't know the little angel had bitten Baby M. until Mother M. walked in to Waddler B two mornings ago. My beloved was removing the little angel's coat when Mother M. started talking to Baby M. in his earshot.

"We have to keep you away from the mean little girls," she said.  My beloved paid no attention.  "They're biting you, and they're bad," she added.

When this failed to register with my beloved, she confronted him directly.

Mother M:  "So, what have you been doing for the little angel's teething?" she asked.

Beloved:  "Oh, I don't know.  The usual.  Teething rings.  She really hasn't been teething that much, though she's been drooling again lately.

Mother M: (skipping right to the point, fast as the White House press corps) "Well, it seems to me she's been using Baby M's back and neck."

My beloved was dumbfounded.  He launched into a muttered apology, noting that the little angel has been bitten several times and sometimes that happens, they're young, we'll talk to her, blahdadee da da.

Mother M. went on muttering and eventually left. My beloved called me. I felt my mother bear hackles rise, even though I know I reacted that way in reverse when the little angel was the bitee.  However, I didn't go talking smack to the other mother, and felt her statements were inappropriate.  I mean, we can't very well draw battle lines near the changing table, now can we?

I called the director and she agreed to ask Mother M. to bring her complaints straight to the teacher next time.  I was about to go when she added, "You know, Baby M. bites, too."

I thought as much.   I talked to the little angel about it before she went back the next day.

"Now, when you want to bite Baby M., I want you to scream 'FIRE!'"  That'll get their attention.

The little angel has decided that all the stuffed animals must wear diapers, and when they greet each other, they must kiss hello.  They are apparently all from Europe or a nursing home.  Maybe a European nursing home.  I bet they'll all start smoking cloves soon, too.

All of this diapering of the stuffed animals was funny at first, but it is taking up valuable diapers.  And huge diapers.  The little angel is now sporting the size 6 - and folks, this is apparently as high as they go.  She's going to have to get potty trained this summer, or I will have to buy her Depends.  That's all there is to it.  Thank goodness she's not adverse to at least sitting on the potty right now, though she has yet to put anything from her body in there on purpose.  (She once did on accident, but that is a story too graphic and personal for the Internet.  Catch me when I'm drinking.)

So anyway, here are all of these stuffed animals wearing monster-sized diapers, sitting around air kissing.  So far, the little angel is very particular about only intra-species kissing.  The bears kiss the bears, the ducks kiss the ducks and so on.  When they greet.  And when they say goodbye.  I got to wondering last night, though, what would happen if they crossed that stuffed line?  What if Elmo starts kissing the Red Bear?  What if Gray Kitty macks on Tad the Singing Frog?  I mean, it happens on the Muppets.  Piggy and Kermit did get married.  And what does it mean to the stem cells?

MWAH!

The little angel has decided that all the stuffed animals must wear diapers, and when they greet each other, they must kiss hello.  They are apparently all from Europe or a nursing home.  Maybe a European nursing home.  I bet they'll all start smoking cloves soon, too.

All of this diapering of the stuffed animals was funny at first, but it is taking up valuable diapers.  And huge diapers.  The little angel is now sporting the size 6 - and folks, this is apparently as high as they go.  She's going to have to get potty trained this summer, or I will have to buy her Depends.  That's all there is to it.  Thank goodness she's not adverse to at least sitting on the potty right now, though she has yet to put anything from her body in there on purpose.  (She once did on accident, but that is a story too graphic and personal for the Internet.  Catch me when I'm drinking.)

So anyway, here are all of these stuffed animals wearing monster-sized diapers, sitting around air kissing.  So far, the little angel is very particular about only intra-species kissing.  The bears kiss the bears, the ducks kiss the ducks and so on.  When they greet.  And when they say goodbye.  I got to wondering last night, though, what would happen if they crossed that stuffed line?  What if Elmo starts kissing the Red Bear?  What if Gray Kitty macks on Tad the Singing Frog?  I mean, it happens on the Muppets.  Piggy and Kermit did get married.  And what does it mean to the stem cells?

MWAH!

I leave this afternoon for a two-day business trip.  I remember how I used to love business travel when I was single.  When I lived in Chicago, I was gone a week out of every month, and I could scarcely believe the luck.  Fly to new cities, stay in hotels much nicer than my apartment, eat on someone else's dime AND earn frequent flyer miles for free?  Whoopeee!!  Sign me up!

Even after I got married, I didn't mind it so much. It was sort of fun to take a bath, control the remote and drink guilt-free every night.

Then the little angel came along.

I'm such a sucker.  I had to kiss her goodbye extra-fast at the Emerald City's door this morning, then run to my car to keep from crying in front of her.  I'm only going to be gone two nights, but already I can feel the achy-sick feeling in my stomach that always comes when I know I'm going to have to fly somewhere without her.  When my beloved is along, he can quickly convince me she'll be fine, everything will be fine, stop this silliness already.  But when I'm alone, it's all I can do to physically restrain myself from turning the car around and calling an end to the madness already.

I know that I'm being ridiculous. Thank goodness Goofy Girl will be along on the flight to force-feed me some wine and convince me that two nights angel-free means two nights to enjoy the company of adults, two whole nights of unbroken sleep and maybe even an adult conversation at dinner.

But still. 

Wah.

The birds are back.  Just thought I'd point that out. Suckers.

Well, I'm delirious today. The little angel has been teething again, though I'm not sure why. I thought she had all of her teeth, even the molars.  She's been drooling like crazy this week, though.  Last night at dinner, I tried to check. I told her to open her mouth up really wide, then like an idiot, I stuck my finger in her mouth to feel for the back, like I used to when she was a baby, completely disregarding the fact that she now has a full set of chompers with no gaps for my finger.  What did I think she was, a horse?  She thought it was a game and promptly bit down, causing me to cry out in pain and pry her mouth open with my other hand to pull out my throbbing finger.  My beloved looked at me like he was again wondering how he could have married someone with the common sense of a third-grader.  He shook his head as if to free himself of the mental image of my stupidity and turned back to the oven-fried vegetables I had labored over for a half-hour.

Since I have to go to Virginia for a business trip Wednesday through Friday, I've volunteered to take all bedtime angel duty until I leave. Again, a study in my stupidity.  As I tried to rock and sing her to sleep last night, I kept finding a pointed, socked toe in my nose.  She wasn't having it.  I ended up letting her party in the dark while I started packing for my trip, waiting for the tired-sounding wah-wah before I went back in.  She finally passed out.

At 1:30, I heard her crying.  I went in, and she was sitting in the middle of the room, looking confused.  I thought her teeth might be hurting again, so I gave her some Tylenol and changed her diaper.  She went back to bed and I laid down on the floor, head on the life-sized Elmo, and faked breathing deeply.  Her little red head kept popping over the guard rail of the big-girl bed.

"Hi, Mommy!" she would say each time, laugh, laugh, laugh.  GAH.

After an hour of this, I violated my own rules about leaving the bedroom and took her down to the couch. I have to teach tonight after work, and the whole 15-hour-day on top of long, long night is not appetizing to me.  Everything would have been great, except Sybil decided to show up just as the little angel was almost asleep.

Sybil hopped up on the couch, all swishy, soft tail and pretty fur.  The little angel was instantly awake again.  The clock read 3:02.  "Hi, Sybie!  PRETTY SYBIE.  Ha!" said the little angel.  Sybil responded by preening against the little angel's outstretched fingers.  I booted Sybil unceremoniously off the couch. 

Of course, she came back.  She's a cat. There was a blanket and fingers to pet her on the couch.  She's not an idiot.  Finally I convinced Sybil to sit down by my feet.  3:35.

The little angel stuck her toe in my nose again.  I kept shifting, trying to get comfortable. Every inch of my non-lotioned-for-wintry-dry-weeks skin started itching. I tried not to think about it.  It itched more.  Finally, I sat up and scratched and scratched.  The little angel thought it was funny.  4:02.

We both finally nodded off around 4:30, though she started squirming again at 6:12.  By then, I had sort of given in to the lead weights someone had tied around my waist, head and appendages.  By the time I heard my beloved showering at 7, I think I may have whimpered a little.  And we're almost out of Diet Coke.

The little angel popped awake, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and went to get her puzzles.  She stuck her finger up my nose to make sure I was awake and showed me the puzzle piece with the cow on it.  "MOOO," she said brightly.  "Cow, Mommy."

"Yes, cow.  Mommy is so sleepy. Mommy is sad when you don't sleepy."

"CUATRO, CINCO SAYS," she said, laughing wildly.  She knows I'm a sucker for her counting in Spanish.

"Siete," I said.

"OCKO, NUAV, DAYS!"

Nuav days, here we come.

The birds are back.  Just thought I'd point that out. Suckers.

Well, I'm delirious today. The little angel has been teething again, though I'm not sure why. I thought she had all of her teeth, even the molars.  She's been drooling like crazy this week, though.  Last night at dinner, I tried to check. I told her to open her mouth up really wide, then like an idiot, I stuck my finger in her mouth to feel for the back, like I used to when she was a baby, completely disregarding the fact that she now has a full set of chompers with no gaps for my finger.  What did I think she was, a horse?  She thought it was a game and promptly bit down, causing me to cry out in pain and pry her mouth open with my other hand to pull out my throbbing finger.  My beloved looked at me like he was again wondering how he could have married someone with the common sense of a third-grader.  He shook his head as if to free himself of the mental image of my stupidity and turned back to the oven-fried vegetables I had labored over for a half-hour.

Since I have to go to Virginia for a business trip Wednesday through Friday, I've volunteered to take all bedtime angel duty until I leave. Again, a study in my stupidity.  As I tried to rock and sing her to sleep last night, I kept finding a pointed, socked toe in my nose.  She wasn't having it.  I ended up letting her party in the dark while I started packing for my trip, waiting for the tired-sounding wah-wah before I went back in.  She finally passed out.

At 1:30, I heard her crying.  I went in, and she was sitting in the middle of the room, looking confused.  I thought her teeth might be hurting again, so I gave her some Tylenol and changed her diaper.  She went back to bed and I laid down on the floor, head on the life-sized Elmo, and faked breathing deeply.  Her little red head kept popping over the guard rail of the big-girl bed.

"Hi, Mommy!" she would say each time, laugh, laugh, laugh.  GAH.

After an hour of this, I violated my own rules about leaving the bedroom and took her down to the couch. I have to teach tonight after work, and the whole 15-hour-day on top of long, long night is not appetizing to me.  Everything would have been great, except Sybil decided to show up just as the little angel was almost asleep.

Sybil hopped up on the couch, all swishy, soft tail and pretty fur.  The little angel was instantly awake again.  The clock read 3:02.  "Hi, Sybie!  PRETTY SYBIE.  Ha!" said the little angel.  Sybil responded by preening against the little angel's outstretched fingers.  I booted Sybil unceremoniously off the couch. 

Of course, she came back.  She's a cat. There was a blanket and fingers to pet her on the couch.  She's not an idiot.  Finally I convinced Sybil to sit down by my feet.  3:35.

The little angel stuck her toe in my nose again.  I kept shifting, trying to get comfortable. Every inch of my non-lotioned-for-wintry-dry-weeks skin started itching. I tried not to think about it.  It itched more.  Finally, I sat up and scratched and scratched.  The little angel thought it was funny.  4:02.

We both finally nodded off around 4:30, though she started squirming again at 6:12.  By then, I had sort of given in to the lead weights someone had tied around my waist, head and appendages.  By the time I heard my beloved showering at 7, I think I may have whimpered a little.  And we're almost out of Diet Coke.

The little angel popped awake, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and went to get her puzzles.  She stuck her finger up my nose to make sure I was awake and showed me the puzzle piece with the cow on it.  "MOOO," she said brightly.  "Cow, Mommy."

"Yes, cow.  Mommy is so sleepy. Mommy is sad when you don't sleepy."

"CUATRO, CINCO SAYS," she said, laughing wildly.  She knows I'm a sucker for her counting in Spanish.

"Siete," I said.

"OCKO, NUAV, DAYS!"

Nuav days, here we come.

Here are my top ten:

10. I can't stand hot dogs, and I must look away when the little angel consumes them. Lips and assholes, people, lips and assholes.

9. I'm not a huge fan of glitter. Glitter seems to cover most objects intended for little girls between the ages of five and ten.  I'm not looking forward to all this garishness. WHAT IS UP WITH THE GLITTER?

8. I don't understand the big deal about Gymboree.  And what a dumb name.

7. I am not looking forward to soccer, t-ball, Little League, basketball or any other sport the little angel chooses to play. She will probably play one or all of them, since her father used to be radio sports director for an Iowa radio station and lives and breathes S-P-O-R-T-S.  I secretly hope for her to be uncoordinated and therefore reduced to a life of drama, dance lessons and maybe Mommy and Me sculpting classes.

6. Looking back at the carseat, stroller, portable child seat and diaper bag in my back seat sometimes makes me feel like a pack animal.  I miss public transportation and the ability to read a book while traveling.

5. Not a fan of the primary-colored plastic toys.  Is it so hard to design something for toddlers in oh, ecru?

4. I can't handle the foul and mysterious odor that frequently invades my living space when the milk cup goes undiscovered for a day.

3. Another pet peeve?  Broken crayons and toys that come with more than four parts.

2. I grow weary by having to applaud every time my child sleeps until at least four in the morning, eats a meal without throwing half of it at the cat or manages to keep her fingers out of my ears when I'm dressing her.

1.  I take offense to the Wiggles on behalf of drag queens across America.

Lest you think I'm horrible, there is also another top ten list.

10. Little feet in blinky shoes.

9.  Seeing the little tufts of red hair on the floor after the little angel gets a haircut and thinking of all the good times we had while she was growing that hair.

8.  When the little angel points out the moon every afternoon when I pick her up from the Emerald City.

7.  Her insistence that she color every other minute that she is home, always with two coloring books to increase the coloring options.

6. The way she kisses all her bath toys good night and counts to ten in English and Spanish when it's time to get out of the bathtub.

5. Getting notes from her daycare teachers saying what a big girl she has become.

4. Seeing her show empathy to her posse when one of them gets hurt.

3. The expression on my family and extended family's faces when she walks into a room.

2. The expression on her face when I walk into the room.

1.  The smell of her perfect little head after a shampoo.  If we could bottle that, people, we could stop wars.