fate
Remember when I wrote that touching Maya’s baby teeth is grosser than cleaning vomit? Well fate decided to test that little statement.
We were at the library when Maya said the dreaded words, “Mama, my tummy hurts. I think I need to go to the doctor.”
That’s all it took to put the fear of God in me. I packed up Maya and drove home faster than Google can pull up results for “how to clean vomit off leather seats.” (About 53,900 results in 0.15 seconds in case you’re interested).
I settled Maya in on the sofa and got our environment vomit-ready:
- I braided Maya’s hair to minimize the barf-in-hair quotient.
- I covered the couch with Maya’s Dora blanket.
- I covered the wood floor with old towels.
- After much debate I chose and strategically placed the XXL barf bucket (we have 2 sizes) next to Maya’s head.
Despite my preparations, vomit still made its way…everywhere. So while I hauled her dirty clothes into the laundry room, wiped the floor clean of things I’d rather forget, and dragged Maya into the shower (both of us gagging all the way) Ali remained on high alert too.
Do you notice the foot massage? Comfort all the way, right?
He whipped out his laptop and take-out containers of butternut squash soup and chicken salad, and picked up where he left off…typing away. All in a vomit-free environment of course.
Must be nice to be him, right?
mean girls
So I had an epiphany this week. This happens so rarely that I feel compelled to share, despite the fact that you probably couldn’t care less. My epiphany is this: While not excusable, I am the only one who is allowed to say horrible, mean things to Maya.
Now this might sound ridiculous – crazy even – but the moment I feel the slightest possibility that someone is going to make Maya feel bad I jump into defensive mode.
So you can imagine why my heart stopped for a second when I heard Maya ask a little girl at the Playplace if they could be best friends. And you can imagine how angry I was when I watched the girl flip her blond hair and answer, “No, I don’t want to be your friend.”
As her irresponsible, but perfectly coiffed mother looked on and said nothing. (What? One must acknowledge good hair).
I alternately wanted to hug Maya, ask the little brat what her problem was, and smack the girl’s mom across the face.
What did I really do? I told Maya – loud enough so that the brat and her mom could hear – that she was too good to be friends with the girl in the first place. And then I went against all parenting books I’ve skimmed and bought Maya ice cream.
I'm sorry, but aside from the running shoes/dress combination, how can anybody find fault with someone as cute as this? Present company excepted of course.
So what’s the lesson in all of this?
That I MUST stop going to the Playplace, that mean girls learn their meanness from their mean moms, and that sugar does indeed cure all.
breakfast in bed
After an unexpected 9 hours of sleep, I woke up yesterday morning with an unfamiliar feeling…I felt like being nice. Maya, on the other hand, did not wake up in a good mood and fought my good cheer at every opportunity.
Me: “I’m making waffles, doesn’t that sound good?”
Maya: “Why can’t we have pancakes?”
I took a deep breath.
Maya: “Why do I only get one waffle if dad gets 3?’
Me: “Do you want another?”
Maya: “No.”
I took another deep breath.
Me: “How about we surprise Dad and give him breakfast in bed?”
Maya: “Why don’t I ever get breakfast in bed?”
Maya and I aren’t speaking to each other. Indefinitely. On the plus side, Ali seemed pleased with his breakfast in bed.
Homemade waffles, scrambled eggs and grapefruit with a silent side of, "You better not have a single issue with this breakfast."
I think he only wanted one waffle but under my glaring eye he ate every single bite. And as I watched him do just that I realized it’s just a matter of time before I kill Maya’s spirit too.
Wish me luck.
While I'm not going to win Mother/Wife of the Year Award anytime soon, I haven't killed anyone yet or shot myself in the head. And that, my friends, is how I calculate success these days. 
FANCY THAT FANCY THIS 