Sprite's Keeper

Speak No Evil

Her mouth quirked upward and her hands shot to position to cover the smile before I could see it.

Apple. Tree. Dejavous.

My anger faltered, because my knee-jerk reaction is to smile in response when my personality's twin brings me a sunny-side up, but she knows this by now. She knows I'll crack and the lesson will be left unlearned.

No. I bucked up and remembered the cause.

"You need to brush your teeth NOW." Of course, this was the fifth now in the fifth minute, but the only one counting is the one who has to repeat it.

"No."

My eyes swung back to hers.

She had been waiting for me to do this, for the felonious smile didn't even have a chance to see the light of day, her hands stayed in position.

"I told you to brush your teeth." My voice was quieter this time, more intense.

"NO." Her voice was quieter too, muffled by her logic that if I couldn't see the smile, it ain't happening.

I reached behind her and swatted her on the butt. Not hard. Never hard. (Let's not get into the entire "Hitting or not hitting" debate. I'm just telling it like it is.) (Or was.)

She danced away and brought her hands down to sing out, "That didn't hurt!"

Welcome to my evening routine.

 Not the bum swatting part. We're more of a words oriented discipline style in this family, but the defiance, the laziness, the unwillingness to get up off her duff and do the most minute task, be it washing her face, brushing her teeth, dressing up or down, the sheer brazenness accompanying her rejection of the rules, this has become an established commercial break in an otherwise formerly enjoyable program.

As John's work hours extend beyond seven or even eight depending on his tasks, dinner, bath, and bedtime reading typically fall to me, and I do look forward to our time together, just Sprite and me.

Or, I did.

I've tried many techniques all promoted by leading parenting magazines, Super Moms, and the nosy busy bodies who think my disciplining Sprite in a public setting needs some tweaking.

"Quietly assert your authority."

And then watch, almost helplessly as she loudly asserts her newly found, still in its packaging, independence.

"Repeat yourself only once. Then quietly take action."

I'm still very convinced that Dora the Explorer is behind all this repetition necessity with every child in America. I'm almost sure the next time I do repeat myself, she'll come back at me with "SAY IT LOUDER POR FAVOR!" Also, quietly taking action? How do you quietly take action when trying to get them to brush their teeth? Not only do they turn to dead weight, but trying to wield the toothbrush without gagging them accidentally is a task I'm not about to take on.

"Take away something important."

She's lost out on story time three times in the past week. And I'm losing out too, because this makes bedtime tense and strained as she is crying out of anger in losing something she and I both love, and I'm pulling my hair out in a bid to stay standing in the turbulent ocean of parental righteousness. The buoy of giving in is so close and I'm feeling seasick.

"Tell your child you don't like what they're doing."

Can I tell the author I don't like what they're writing? Welcome to the society of "every child is super special, everyone's a winner in their own way, and the word 'no' does not exist in our Utopian world, here's your Kool-Aid". Kids these days are so used to hearing the negatives being tossed gently, underhand, of course, it's like a slap on the wind passing over the hand because you're berating the actions, not the perpetrators.

"Tell her how you're feeling."

She's not even listening. So bite me. Oh, wait, the static rebounding from the clomping of your imperial high horse probably means you're not listening either.

Last night, I crossed a threshold I never thought I would, hadn't even considered. I told her I didn't like her. Point blank. In your face.

Fuming over her giggles and ignorance, I sat down on her bed. "Can I be honest with you?"

She peaked out at me from underneath the fall of hair, her hand still perched over her mouth. "Yes."

"Right now, you are NOT a nice girl. You're not being a nice daughter, and you are not respecting me."

She laughed a little more, partly from embarrassment, partly because my words were just washing right over her.

"I love you very much, but right now? The way you're acting? I don't like you."

The smile dropped immediately. Her mouth turned upside down as the hand disappeared and her eyes filled with shocked tears. "That's not nice!" she cried.

I maintained my stoic face, not bending to her emotion. "That's how I feel."

"You're not SUPPOSED to not like me!"

My brows arched in response. "I am completely allowed to not like you sometimes."

"No you're not."

I had her attention. "Sprite, when I send you to time out, do you like me?"

"...No."

"You still love me though, right?"

"...Yes."

"Like and love are two completely different things. I'll never stop loving you, but I don't have to like you all the time."

Her sobs calmed a bit, she ducked her head shyly as I opened my arms to her. Falling into my embrace, our Cosby moment crescendo-ed and I whispered another love promise into her hair, her feathery answer cementing our bond. A flower blossomed in the dew of the departed storm as she promised to listen better next time.

Then John came into the room.

Sprite saw her opportunity as she pulled away from me. "Daddy, Mommy said not nice things to me!"

John looked from me to her and back again. "What did she say?"

Sprite glanced at me, the smile hinted back. "I dunno."

Taking her cue, I outed myself. "I told her she wasn't nice, she wasn't respecting me and right now, I don't like her."

John opened and closed his mouth in shock as he processed my words. Sprite, taking this silence as an opportunity, dissolved into a fresh set of loud tears and burrowed her head into her sheets.

"You said what?"

"We'll talk about it later."

Oh, we would definitely talk about it later..

He left the room, Sprite's head poking up and watching his retreat before the crying stopped completely and the hands came up once more to cover the smile that immediately popped in.

All show. For her dad. Which would land me in a thirty minute conversation about how I should probably choose better words for discipline's sake.

End point: I felt like absolute shit, even though I stood by what I had said. After I left her room, and explained myself to John, who finally understood where I was coming from, I slipped back into her room and cuddled a semi-conscious five year old, who had no idea that my verbal slap had rebounded and left the stinging mark in my own mind.

As a friend mentioned on Facebook when I posted my status about it, "Girls are HARD."

Eye Spy

"Mommy, you want to play I Spy?"

Ugh, no. Really, with all the power in my pinky finger, hell to the no.

But we're stuck in traffic. We've already discussed her school day. I now know that Trey is in trouble. AGAIN. And I remind her once more not to play with Megan because Megan is evil will usually get Sprite into trouble. And she's already said hello to Daisy and Maisy, two of the fifty cows that continually graze in the field right beside the congestion.

Please don't ask me how she knows which one is Daisy and which one is Maisy. (Although once in a while, another cow named Justin Beiber will be called to. As long as that's where the familiarity stays, I'm good with it.) They're interchangable.

Is there anything else I can think of to put off this hated game until we reach home and it's too late to play?

"How about we sing songs?"

"No."

"I'll even let you sing 'Love you like a Love Song'." I'm really desperate. Traffic is still not moving.

"No. We'll play I Spy."

Nononononono..... "Okay, whenever you're ready." Damn it.

"I spy with my little eye, something....."

With the red lights in front of me confirming the standstill, I look to the rearview mirror to watch her eyes progress around the interior of the van, to the floor which has been recently cleaned and is now devoid of the orange crumbs left from an errant stepped on bunny snack, the same orange crumbs which had stumped me a week earlier for TEN MINUTES, which in rush hour, easily translates to hours, years if you have more than one child playing. She now looks to the center console, but clearly rejects the brown lid of my reusable coffee cup since she tormented me with that one yesterday. Then her eyes flick outside to the scenery then back to the interior, and she smiles. She's found her object.

Am I cheating?

Do I care?

"....brown."

"My coffee cup lid."

"No."

Red lights still glowing. I scan the front seat. "The strap on my purse."

"No."

"My hair."

"No."

"YOUR hair."

"No."

"Your eyes?"

"No."

Oh, this could take forever. I quickly peruse the front seat, the back seat behind me. Nothing else is brown. "Is it inside the car?"

"No."

Okay, then outside. "That car, the telephone pole. That construction worker's boots."

"No. no, no."

This game gives me a headache EVERY TIME. And I remember how this game probably gave my mother headaches since I would pick the hardest objects every single time, trying to trip her up on things like the slender tan piping gracing the purse of the lady 3 people up in line at the store.

This is payback in every sense of the word.

"I give up, Sprite. What's brown?"

"Maisy!"

Of course. The always color changing when appropriate to the moment cow.

The light turns green. For heaven's sake, people, use your gas pedals and MOVE!

"Oh, that was tricky. Okay, I guess it's my turn now."

"No, it's still my turn."

"That's not the way you play."

"Yes, but Mommy, you really need help learning the game. And I will teach you, because I know everything."

"Everything?"

"Yes, because I'm a big girl."

I bite my tongue because biting the steering wheel will surely end in me losing a tooth.

Increments of Five, Part II

"Sprite, what are you thankful for?"
"You, Daddy, my grandparents, my cousins, my friends, pirates, and Captain Jack Sparrow."
"Captain Jack Sparrow?"
"He sailed with the Pilgrims."

(Part I here.)

"Gone was the fever, gone was the fright, it all disappeared o'er the course of one night."

Friday dawned clear and sunny, mirroring the chatty little girl who lost no time in reminding us that her birthday was almost here. And it was up to us to remind her that our Friday afternoon party plans had been axed.

John and I had both taken the day off to run errands and prepare for the cruise which would be bookended by a night's stay at Disney World, first on Saturday and then on Thursday, (Yeah, we were pretty impressed with ourselves for thinking of it too, imagining Sprite's face at the end of the cruise when we dropped the "Oh, how about ONE MORE NIGHT at Disney?" bomb on her. Score for parents of the year!) (Forewarning..) only the plans had changed since Sprite was now on the 24 hour list at school which meant running errands with an almost five year old interrogating everyone from the pharmacist to the cashier at every store with questions like "Excuse me, did you know I'm a little five?" or "Guess what my pony's name is!"

Not everyone won that game. (But credit to the bakery clerk at Publix for coming up with "Sparklehorn Spankypants". Not correct, but awesome answer without delay? Bump that woman up to management.)

Every stop on our way through town included a status check on her health. "I feel better! My tummy is okay! No headache, I think we can go to school for my birthday party please!" (We're still working on verbally punctuating our questions with exclamation points.) Every stop on our way through town included an answer of "Sorry, kid. It's not happening."

Now, an idea did whiz through my thoughts around lunch time when I remembered that she still had dance class scheduled for that evening. Another mother, about a month or so earlier, had brought cupakes to class for her daughter, something the other students had loved, and something I privately loathed since it's a weekly battle between Sprite and me every Friday evening when the teacher hands out candy at the end of class and putting on our street shoes is accompanied with:

"Look what I got!"
"Please wait until after dinner."
"But I want it NOW-HOW-HOW-HOOOOOOW!"
(Crying face, stomping feet, grand jete, one more foot stop, then crumple to the floor like a shot swan. End scene.)

They don't just teach dance in dance class.

So that cupcake had been an epic meltdown when I staunchly refused her even one finger swipe across the frosting until after she finished her meal. (No, this is not the forewarning I mentioned earlier, but it does hamper the parent of the year award. Meh, I'll deal. It was an honor just being nominated.)

Now, thinking of this prior issue, I decided to pay that mother back and earn some nasty looks myself from the other mothers who would have to deny their little ones sweet treats by bringing in some mini-cupcakes myself.

Thank goodness for nice dance teachers, Sprite was promised some singing, a birthday honor choo-choo, and special treatment, which the class delivered in grand style, accompanied by a thoughtful gift brought to class by her good friends Lilli and Elizabeth.

Birthday party saved!

I was still a little worried about her stomach issues, considering the doctor had diagnosed her on Thursday with a gastro bug, warning me that diarhhea would be soon behind. (Ba dum bum.) But food stayed down. Potty breaks yielded no issues. The kid stayed chipper, so John and I considered this to be a lucky turn of events and packed with gusto for our early Saturday morning departure.

And yes, I did pack a thermometer, fever reducer, and plenty of band-aids. (We were lucky, not stupid.)

********************

I've mentioned before that we're not your average family when it comes to Disney World. We like to spend time there, meander through attractions, let our attention get stolen by the shows and parades. Sometimes, we don't even make it to the parks, which happened on Saturday. Getting a delayed start out the door, checking in at the hotel, and a late lunch meant ignoring Cinderella's castle and heading straight to Downtown Disney for some Saturday evening fun with our favorite Orlando family, the Katz's.

 We made it through dinner with nary a hiccup or upset stomach. Sprite bounded and played and acted out like normal. It looked as if we were in the clear for a cruise of epic porportions.

*********************

"Happy birthday, Sprite!"
"Am I all five now?"
"Yep."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Now I can't wait til my next birthday."
"You just reached five. Six is still a whole nother year away."
"Not six. Five and a half."
"...."
"That party will be SO COOL."

Part Next: Ship Shape... Or are we?

Increments of Five

"Mommy, I'm five."
"Not for another week. You're still four."
"No, I'm four AND five. I'm two."

The month or so leading up to her birthday was filled with other parties, friends of hers since the age of swapping teething rings, she watched them get their accolades for turning a year older, added her falsetto to the rest of the singers reaching for that high note in the birthday song, counting the candles on the cake, mimicking them from afar as the honoree leaned forward to dot the i on their five year anniversary with a puff (or three) of breath.

"Today's my birthday?"
"Not quite. One more day. You're still four."
"I'm a little five, right?"
"Um, sure."
"And tomorrow? I will be a lot of five!"

Measuring, always measuring. This is the age of equality in childhood. One piece must never be bigger than the other, someone is watching. And judging. Never mind that your piece is portioned to your size or age.

The rule changes though, should she finish hers first. She'll amble over to you and remind you, ever so bluntly that sharing is kind and necessary to human existence.

*************************

I've hinted over the course of several dinners together that it's more gratifying (and nutritious) to start with the foods you don't like and end with your favorite. She's either ignored or turned off her ears completely to this advice as she always gravitates to the fun stuff first. The macaroni and cheese disappear long before the broccoli or meat (and give a bit of credence to her claims of "I'm full!" when I nod towards the remnants. If it's a far too boring meal, say green beans, brown rice, and chicken, then it's a silent auction to the highest bidder of what gets picked at first. Each rice kernel must get dipped in the ketchup. Dinner turns into a torture session of me aching to get on with the evening routine while she dallies. I've learned that breakfast for dinner is easy and entertaining, what kid wouldn't love to camp out at her little table in front of Dino Dan while chowing down on Clifford Crunch? It gets me out of cooking once a week and saves us money on ketchup.

**************************

 She reminded us incessantly of her approaching birthday, making us wonder if she had somehow programmed it into her iPod and set a 15 minute timer 14 days out. John and I worried a bit about the lack of party planned for this year. She was going on a cruise. This was her gift. This was her party. This was her launch to the number five.

Was it enough?

I drilled it into her, responding to her birthday memos with rebuttals of my own, "Yes, your birthday is almost here, just remember, you're going on a cruise, so there's no party this year". Sometimes, I would think it worked. Sometimes, it worked too well, especially when she would return from a pirate/pottery birthday party with goody bag in hand and a pout on her face.

"Why can't I have a party? Kayla got one!"
"Yes, but you're going on a cruise. Kayla isn't."

She would ponder my answer, tapping the tip of her pointer finger to my mouth as she stared off to my left, searching for the satisfaction this answer should bring.

To appease this item on the list that simply must be checked in SOME WAY, we arranged for a cake in her classroom so she and her birthday twin Samantha could be sung to by all thirty friends. There. A party without the favors, presents, and worse, the leftover cake.

Do you know how much it costs to buy a cake that feeds thirty kids? Sixty dollars. (Yes, I could have made it, but John and I immediately qualified the purchase with the fact that nothing else would be spent on this "party". Plus, my baking methods have gone natural and non-processed, trying to explain coconut flour versus enriched white would fall on the deaf ears of kids who have been raised in the bakery/ shelf life era and I didn't think Sprite would want to hear cries of "I don't like this!" and "This isn't cake!" among the well wishes.)

The day before the party, my cell phone rang with a call from her school.

"It's not an emergency, but.."

Sprite wasn't feeling well. She had complained of a headache, something uncommon for her age, ignored her lunch, signs that the director knew were probably nothing major, but seeing that she had just come back from the same cruise we were about to go on, she thought we might want to take a proactive approach to nipping whatever malady Sprite might be coming down with in the bud before we boarded the ship a mere three days later.

I sent my regards to my boss, packed it in, and headed over to get her. Walking into the darkened VPK room, I knew that lunch was over and the class session was done for the day, the kids in the wrap around program settling down for naps.  I also knew from the sounds of crying in the restroom adjoining the large space and the teacher bent over a puddle on the floor that someone couldn't hold onto their snack.

The teacher looked up to me and immediately took on that derisive smile of "Oh, good, I don't have to have the front office call you".

Yes, the owner of the puddle was Sprite. And that very puddle placed her on the mandatory 24 hour quarantine list.

There would be no party. She walked out of the restroom, holding another teacher's hand and looked over to where I stood. Her face crumpled.

"I threw out."

I bundled a miserable Sprite up, made a pit stop at the doctor's just to confirm her bug wasn't Strep Throat related thanks to the outbreak that was currently decreasing class sizes, and then one more stop at Publix on the way home to pick up some soup (non-organic since sick doesn't care for soups when there isn't fun character shaped noodles involved) for the patient and cancel the cake.

Cancel the cake.

Truly bummed for Sprite, I settled her on the couch once we'd arrived home and crushed her spirits as I warned her that the next day would only involve resting, reading, light calesthenics, and possibly a pottery class if we had time, but no school, and, sigh, no party.

Solemnly, she nodded her head and gave a five year old answer. "I understand."

To be continued.. (It's over a thousand words already. Don't you have other things to do today???)

The four wheels or no wheels rule still applies, but the driver's record is clean.

AKA: It's Monday, I'm too tired to think, WAY too tired to write, and work actually expects me to do something other than watching the clock tick away.

Let it be noted: She is wearing Selena Gomez shoes. (Sold at Payless under the Wizards of Waverly Place line, but if the star's picture is gracing the sole, who's going to argue with a five year old?) If you should ever see her in these shoes, she will remind you of this and then demand that you compliment them and her for her obviously spot on fashion sense.

I'm waiting for Disney (or Payless, I'm not discriminating) to start sending me advertising royalties.

(I wonder if they sell that Harley helmet in an adult size.The animals just make it WORK.)

Five and dime.

I am so excited.

No, really! Never mind the lack of proper punctuation to truly convey the level of exitement I feel. Let's just say that I am so excited, I'm almost zen about it.

On Sunday, Sprite turns five, but that's not what I'm SOOOO excited about. Oh, sure, I'm proud of her for making it to the fifth birthday, the last few months were a bit sketchy since the attitude got a promotion and the gratitude got a demotion if we're being honest, so yes, let's color me partially excited over that.

On Wednesday, John and I will have completed ten years of Marriage 101. (Now we get to take our graduate courses!) And that lifts my skirts too, but still not enough to hit that "OHM" level of tranquility I feel when thinking about this upcoming week.

To mark our five year old daughter/ ten year old marriage, we are doing this:

And this:

And maybe even some of this:

(images courtesy of Google)

Now can you see why I'm so excited?

I have never been a guest on a cruise ship before. I've sailed almost a hundred cruises, but always as a little worker bee, seeing to it that the guests were happy, that the Karaoke machine was well stocked with ABBA songs, always making it look like I was having a blast and loving what I did, but honestly? Long work days (Cruise staff had it easy at 12 hours on, 12 hours off. You may want to thank your waiters and cabin attendants a little more profusely next time you cruise for 18 hour schedules are considered a cake walk to them.) and little room for the crew to blow off steam except in designated areas (Sure, the bow of the ship lends for some amazing star gazing since it's so dark, but when you can't see the deck below your feet, you do tend to worry that the water will soon be replacing the planks.) made for a lot of time re-reading the few books I brought, thinking I'd have no time to just be and every day would be full of swimming and sunning.

They weren't.

But I did get to meet thousands of guests, a whole roster of forgettable faces with the same unforgettable look of enjoyment on every one. They were having a great time.

I wanted that.

Now, thanks to the stars aligning, major money saving, and a wonderful dual anniversary to be shared between the three of us, we are going to enjoy complete and reckless abandonment of time. That's right. No watch, no cell phone, no BLOG, no cares for four whole nights as the kid, who has already threatened to spend all her time in the Kid's Club, we've negotiated down to afternoons, yes, I've had to pull her back a little so we could have SOME family time together, I mean, who else is going to watch over our deck chairs while John and I take our tenth turn on the AquaDuck?, gets to celebrate her birthday sailing the high seas and we get to celebrate our anniversary dining in complete opulence at Palo, thanks to some babysitting perks the Disney geniuses thought of beforehand, (Some of those Imagineers must be parents.), and even an anniversary couple's massage, gauranteed to get the kinks out or at least relax you to the point of no longer caring that you had kinks to begin with.

My Nook is full of new reading material. My sunscreen is waiting to be packed. I have fully memorized Mamma Mia and am ready to hit that Karaoke room. John and Sprite are jumping at the bit, as I am. In my own mellow way.

We're going to have a fabulous time. And why shouldn't we? We're a happy family. We genuinely love each other, even when we don't like each other.

Damn straight we're going to celebrate this:

Flopsy and Mopsy Approved

I spied her at the train table, kneeling slightly with her legs pressed together.

The kid had to go.

Quickening my pace, I rushed to her side. "Sprite, go to the bathroom!"

As if my words were the key that unlocked her frozen status, she turned and bolted for the close by door to stop an accident before it happened.

While she was in there, I walked over to her folder and withdrew her book and book report homework for the week, bypassing the computer class ads, (Dudes, do you not realize her father is a geek? Give her any more knowledge and she'll rewire your entire system. I'm doing you a favor by not paying you money to show her how to press the "F" key.) and scanning her daily sheet, not focusing on the "good's" but looking for the "needs improvement". (She gets her share.) (And it's not as if I just gloss over the "good's" either, but the behaviors being scrutinized in the report are expected.) (Why am I explaining this??)

Exiting the restroom, Sprite stepped up to the outer area sink to de-germify. "Mommy, did you see my book?"

Looking down at the smallish paperback in my hand, I noticed the title. "It's 'The Tale of-' "

" 'The Tale of Peter Rabbit'! I have that book! And the school has the book!"

"Well, it is very popular."

"Can you believe the school has the same book?"

Oh, just go with it. "No! How cool is that?"

She grabbed the already crinkled book and shoved it in front of her teacher's face, who was just finishing a conversation with another parent. "Ms. Danielle! I got Peter Rabbit!"

Her teacher smiled at her. "I know. You were very excited to find it."

"I've got the same book on my iPod!"

This drew a surprised chuckle from her teacher. "IPod, really!"

The other parent smirked as I quickly stepped in to explain our daughter's indulgences. "Her dad's a computer tech. It's par for the course."

We walked out, giving our good nights, stopping to retrieve her rest friend from her backpack.

Later that evening, we settled down into bed with "The Tale of Peter Rabbit".

Reading to her, I stopped every time I found an easy word and had her sound it out. Since she did well with it, I then took the advice from some of the comments and handed her the book to read to me.

She took the closed book. "Mommy, what is this?"

"The Tale of Peter Rabbit."

"No," she countered, smoothing her hand over the entire cover in a circling motion. "What is THIS?"

I didn't know what she was getting at. Was she old enough for trick questions? "It's the title."

"No, this is called the front cover." She turned the book sideways and ran her finger along the binding ridge. "This is called the spine. And this-" she flipped the book around, "is called the back cover."

"Good to know," I smiled.

"The Tale of Peter Rabbit, illustrated by mmphmormopf."

Illustrated? I looked at the cover where she was still focused. The illustration was not listed there. "Sprite, what does illustrated mean?"

"I dunno."

Oh, right. The iPod. As read by the bodiless voice. "An illustration is the drawings you look at, the pictures."

"Okay."

She opened the cover and began to "read", reciting every word verbatim. Yes, she did know this story well. Running her finger down one of the cartoon bunny's backs, she emitted a little giggle. Then repeated with all the other bunnies until she came to Mrs. Rabbit, whom she assigned a humming song to.

"Sprite, what are you doing?"

"I like my iPod better. In my IPod, I can move the bunnies and make the vegetables move too. And they make noises."

Even in classic literature, there's an App for that.

 

Getting some take out from the Sushi Bar

3 posts in a row? Did I get my blogging mojo back? Do you even read this site anymore?

Moving on.

Jan posted a recipe yesterday for savory almond flour muffins on her site, and being the ardent follower I am, I HAD to make them that very evening and review them.

You see, in our new lifestyle, there's not a lot of bread going on. (I'm sure I'll go more into this on a later post.) Anytime I see something that looks even like a distant cousin of a baked good and promises to be "safe", I want it.

For instance, our local health food store makes organic carrot cake, which John had gotten me for my birthday. (The kid was insistent on me having cake for my birthday.) The first ingredient in it was garbanzo bean flour. Can I just say it was absolutely delicious?

It was absolutely delicious.

Moving on.

Jan posts tons of recipes on her site, most of them these days related to healthier eating, and by that I mean coconut oil, tallow, all kinds of meats, etc. That's right, folks. Her cooking brings us back to basics. (Butter, y'all. Maybe Ms. Paula Deen isn't really trying to kill us?) (Although Jan doesn't use butter herself since she banned cow's dairy from her diet.) (Sorry, Jan, but I'm a bitch without the cream in my coffee, I did wean myself off the sweeteners so there's that.)

Wow, I'm really working myself into multiple tangents here. (So THIS is why I can't post more than twice a week anymore..)

On with the review!

 

Excuse the photos. John wasn't home and I couldn't find the memory card for his "nice" camera, so I used my trusty point-n-shoot. If you want nice pictures that actually make you want to eat the screen, go visit Jan.

Now, I didn't take any pictures of the mixing process, which was so easy, I had to constantly double check myself to make sure nothing had been skipped.

20 minutes later, we had muffins.

They complimented our meal of brown rice pasta (gluten free) and grass fed ground beef with organic marinara sauce. Oh, and spinach. ("Something green on your plate!") (Oh, God. My transformation of becoming my mother is almost complete.)

(I'm writing this post three hours after eating and I'm still full.)

 

Like my teeth marks? No braces. Look how even those dental grooves are.

Oh, yeah. It should be noted that Jan's recipe calls for unblanched almond flour and I only had the blanched kind, which probably affected the color. I had considered taking out the Ninja and trying to make myself some unblanched almond flour, but time was of the essence and I wasn't in the mood to waste perfectly good almonds should I do it wrong. (And Sprite hates the sound of the Ninja doing its thing. You know, for a "ninja", stealth is one of its weaknesses.)

They were better than cornbread. Seriously! Okay, don't just take my word for it. What did you think, John?

 

(I had to put the rest into the freezer before he could grab another. So, Jan, look for another word from me about how these thaw or reheat.) Yes, he loved them.

Hm, he's an easy sell. We need to go after someone harder, a tougher nut to crack, someone who must not be told that what she's about to consume actually has no processed flour in it.

 

"What do you think, Sprite?"

 

"Mmmph."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, kid."

Bottom line, the almond flour muffin was all she would eat for dinner. I even layered some cheddar on top of her pasta, she wouldn't touch it, but did ask for another muffin.

So there you go, three thumbs up, and something to look forward to for the weekend. (This recipe gave me eight good sized muffins although Jan's recipe calls for nine.)

Most of you who are still reading this site, all three of you, probably already frequent Jan's Sushi Bar, and if you don't, what are you waiting for? Get over there now before she releases her cookbook and becomes too busy and famous to post anything anymore!

(And maybe this review will net me an autograph for my copy..)

(Yes, that was blatant begging.)

Oh, by the way, Jan had no idea I'm doing this. She probably saw the title of this post and thought, "Oh, shit, what did that girl DO?"

I did muffins. That's what I did.

It's a Kindergarten world.

It didn't even hit me until I was showering.

"Hey, John, I think I understand now what happened between Sprite and Kayla."

"Really?" (Yes, he was in the bathroom while I was showering. We're married, It's okay. With a kid, the ONLY time we get to talk is when we're showering or sleeping. And I'm not about to trade my sleep, so there you go. The secret to a long marriage is steam and self-confidence.)

"Yeah, with the entire worm-mud cake incident."

"And what about-"

Wait, let me fill you in on the back story.

Two weeks ago, I picked Sprite up from school and nothing was out of the ordinary. I exchanged pleasantries with the teachers, retrieved her homework, and hugged my daughter hello. On the way home, I asked the usual questions, she answered as usual. No worries.

Around 9:30 that night, I received a text message from Kayla's mom. The gist of the message was "sorry to let you know so late, but I wanted to make sure Sprite's okay. I had a long talk with Kayla and she's going to write Sprite an apology letter."

What? I thought back to the evening and any red flags. Nothing popped up. So I texted back, "She never said anything about it. I'm sure it's okay."

A few more messages of calm back and forth and I ventured into Sprite's room. The kid was still awake. (In our house, a sleepy but still hanging on child at 9:45 PM is not out of the ordinary.)

Sitting on her bed, I asked, "Hey, what happened with Kayla today?"

Her mouth crumpled immediately. "She said she was going to make me a worm-mud cake."

"A worm-mud cake?"

"And she told me I couldn't go to her birthday party." She sat up, looking dejected.

I reached out and took her in my arms, confused about the emotion involved. I mean, four year olds pull this kind of shit on each other all the time. Yes, Kayla is someone Sprite has been hanging out with since they were infants, Sprite even calls her a best friend, but nasty one minute, nice the next, right?

"And then Kayla and Sammy chased me saying I would have to eat worm-mud cake."

I soothed her hair. "Honey, I got a message from Kayla's mommy. Kayla is extremely sorry about what she said and I'm sure things will be fine tomorrow."

And they were. Sprite came home with a lovely hand drawn note of apology from Kayla and a story of a wonderful day at school.

Problem solved, right?

Well, apparently, kiddie problems are like tv shows, they only reference "Last time on.." when they're ready to pick the story back up which could be two or three episodes later while another back burner plot heats.

"Kayla's not my friend anymore."

I looked up into the rearview mirror, seeing her arms locked around her waist in anger. "What happened?"

"She said I can't go to her birthday party."

"Kayla's birthday isn't until October, Sprite. It's still a while away. Things may change."

"She said I'm not invited and I can't play with her anymore."

Now, being as Sprite has been around Kayla for years, this means I have too. This did not sound like the Kayla I knew. So I took the median route out since I had no idea where to go with it. "So maybe you shouldn't hang out with Kayla anymore."

"She's not nice to me."

"No, it doesn't sound like she's being nice at all."

Now I was more perturbed because the problem didn't have a solution yet. The apology note and promise of love had fallen flat in the world of VPK.

I sought out her teachers the next day. Not because I wanted to rat out Kayla. I just wanted to be sure that if Sprite was having problems, she was not just taking it sitting down.

"Oh, no. She did say something about it to us and by the end of the day, they were playing again, well, you know kids."

"Sure! I just don't want any ongoing issues." Actually, I wanted to know if she was standing her ground. I understand that life will hand you some blows once in a while, but in a smallish summer wind like this, she shouldn't be falling down so easily.

Knowing she was aware of her life lines, I felt better about it and brushed it off again.

A week passed, one day she and Kayla were thick as thieves, the next they weren't. Definitely not normal, but now it was just pissing me off that my kid was getting her feelings stomped on by someone else, someone else she trusted and loved.

Finally, on Friday of this last week, she got into the car, ready for dance class.

"Did everything go okay with Kayla today?"

"She wasn't in school. Her mom is getting married tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah! Did you wish Ms. Nicole well?"

"What?"

"Oh, never mind. It's just somethine we say when- you know, it's not important."

"Mommy, I want to go to the wedding."

"Honey, we can't go. We weren't invited."

"But I want to go to a wedding."

"Well, your daddy and I will renew our vows in a few years, and you can be in THAT wedding. You can be my maid of honor, wear a pretty dress and everything." No, really. John and I have been talking about renewing our vows and of course, my daughter will be the maid of honor. If she throws me a nice bridal shower..

"Okay."

We put Kayla, weddings, and school out of our minds and continued with our Friday routine.

I didn't get it until I was lathering up. Kayla had been taunting Sprite about her mother's wedding and the fact that Sprite wasn't invited. The worm-mud cake was wedding cake. The taunts were cruel, which was why Kayla's mom thought a formal apology was necessary. (Otherwise, I thought she was putting too much effort into little childish games.)

I guess I just hadn't been aware of just how direct the taunts were.

"And what about the worm-mud cake incident?"

"It just makes sense now. It was all about Nicole's wedding."

"Jen, I knew that in the beginning."

"You did?"

"I spoke with Nicole at school. Sprite didn't tell the teachers what happened. She told Nicole."

"She ratted Kayla out to her own mom?"

"Yes."

Huh. Sprite had figured out that telling a teacher wouldn't merit punishment for her tormentor since they tend to water down the juice until it seems a punch started out as a well intentioned hug, so she went straight to the top level of management.

And I felt better. (Oh, come on. You would too if you knew the bully got their just desserts.)

I still love Kayla. And I'm sure now that all the wedding stuff is over, she'll return to her sweet old self who's waiting for Sprite to come to school in the morning.

I just hope that she'll hold her own when the stronger social winds come bearing down.

****Updated to add: I didn't think it important to the issue earlier but many are considering Kayla's reaction to her mom getting married and changing the family dynamic. Actually, Kayla's mom married Kayla's dad. They just made things official. (Seriously, such a sweet family.) But, in the holistic approach, planning any big event which involves the whole family can throw everything into upheaval, even when the event is something positive. I got Sprite dressed for school this morning, reminding her to be nice to Kayla and chances would be good that everything would be back on an even keel.

I can only be relieved that the worst words that can hurt right now are "ugly" and "you're not my friend". It's more of an affront to Sprite since the person saying them is someone who's been an alli for so long in her life. I'm not looking forward to the later years when the words take on a more personal meaning..

Lose Myself

"What did you do at school today, Sprite?"

"I played with friends."

"Anything else?"

"No."

**********************************

"Keep the hula hoop away from my van please."

She obediently scoots toward the edge of the driveway, closer to me and the dogs, farther from the vehicle as she tries once again to whip the hoop around, hoping that simply moving her arms will provide the circular momentum needed to keep it orbiting around her waist.

It falls.

Sprite looks back at me and smiles, her eyes alighting when she sees the other larger hoop whizzing in the air, propelled by my small arm movements.

"How do you do THAT?" she asks, awed by the quick revolutions.

The best thing about the summer has been now. Finally, after fighting our way through traffic, the construction, destruction, and inevitable clean up of dinner, we are now able to step outside for more than a few minutes to enjoy the warm air without still feeling the lingering heat of the day, the pink tinted sky, the calm of the neighborhood.

In a few days, it will be too humid again to truly appreciate, too hot to consider going back out there after just escaping into the air conditioned house, but right now it's perfect.

"Let's play school!"

My favorite part.

We lay our hoops down close to each other and sit within the rounds on the drive, shadowed by my huge minivan beast, and the sounds of Harry trying to bite into a large soccer ball, larger than he is, at least, from where it's wedged near my front tire.

"I'm the teacher and you're....also a teacher," Sprite instructs, happy with herself that she's able to give me a title, since thanks to preschool logic, adults are not allowed to pretend to be children. They're too big and therefore forbidden, just like boys are not allowed to be princesses and girls are not allowed to be superheroes.

Somewhere, in a few years, these roles will be reversed and reversed once more, but for now, the four year old's encyclopedia is written.

"Okay," I respond, just happy to be a part of her imagination, something that has been happening less and less while we were housebound in the evenings, Sprite preferring to play with her dolls and their size appropriate castles. "Where's the class?"

"The bunnies are the kids."

I smile, not sure if the bunnies are "present" yet. It's just us, two hoops, a nuerotic beagle tethered to her leash, and a hyper terrier who is now debating which round object is more enticing, the soccer ball, or my tire.

Pick the ball, Harry.

"Okay, class!" She claps her hands. "It's circle time! I'll go get the bunnies."

She hops up, steps around me and my protective hoop, and into the grass where she leans down and scoops up the air. Holding the loose atoms in her embrace, she returns to her circle of power once more, sitting down and depositing nothing in front of us.

"Ten bunnies. I'll count them." Her mouth moves silently as I can almost hear her count out to the magic ten. "Ten. All here!"

I don't see the bunnies. I play along anyway.

"What's first, Ms. Sprite?"

"No, Ms. Lisa. Say it with me, Miss. Lee. Sa."

The teacher is bossy. "Ms. Lisa."

"Good job! You get a sticker." She turns to address the rest of the students, now taking the form of one of her own classroom teachers, "Class, we're going to say the Pledge of Allegiance."

She bounces up again, places her left hand to the right side side of her chest and with her right hand, she holds the invisible flag. Years of adult non-commitance fade away, my own right hand sneaks up and takes place, my back straightens, almost feeling the rigid cold chair backs of my old elementary classroom, listening as she gently butchers the tradition and segues immediately into a rendition of "Grand Old Flag", complete with low pitched murmurs over the phrases she never quite understood when learning it and a patriotic march step before signaling the end with a salute and a hearty "Yessir!"

"Wonderful!" I crow, shrugging off my auto correct feature for now. We don't correct when we're playing, how else do we lose ourselves when reality has to be brought up?

 John's car pulls up along the grass, he obviously sees us as we're occupying his usual parking space.

Sprite looks up from admonishing a bunny who was not marching along (unfortunately, I must have been ignorant of this as well) and her face lights up. "Daddy!" She looks back down at the pavement in front of us. "Nap time! Go take a nap! Mommy, rub the bunnies' backs," she orders, before running off to greet her father.

John walks up with her and immediately takes a seat within the third hoop, squishing the sleeping bunnies. "What are you guys playing?"

"We're playing school. I'm Ms. Lisa, Mommy is..... Ms. Mommy. You be, um, be Mr. Daddy." She either doesn't notice or fails to remember that her father is sitting where she had placed her students. No matter, she turns to his right and addresses the "moved" rabbits.

"Okay, we now are going to work in our circles, everyone partner up," she orders, clapping her hands twice in Mary Poppins style practicality. "Ms. Mommy, you watch the class."

She immediately plops into John's lap for a cuddle, leaving me to control the possibly (?) out of control bunnies. And If I blur my eyes the tiniest bit, dull out the harsh edges of reality, I can just see them now.