The Eyes Have It

So, after months of debate, I am adding to my "I will never list" (which one of these days I should share with you...though after "I will never have more than one child", I've sort of lost track of all of them).  I have now added "I will never put something purposefully into my eye".  Yesterday I became a contact lens wearer.  Well, at least I am today, and I was for about 6 hours yesterday.  We shall see if this will be something that will become a part of my lifestyle, or if I should've stuck with the gut instinct on the "I will never" list...which so often happens.  So very, very often.

After my initial eye appointment, and the doctor putting the contacts in my eye, I thought 'hey, this isn't so bad'.  They were not initially uncomfortable, it felt strange but enlightening to be able to see so clearly and yet not have frames obstructing my peripheral vision and weighing me down.  I had mentally prepared myself for a challenge when I knew I then had to go have lessons about taking them out and putting them in, and I was prepared.

Hands washed and body properly positioned in the chair, I took the objects out of my eye and then after further procedural direction put them back in.  Bim bam boom, I was a natural -- the office assistant said most people do it more slowly, but I was doing it quickly and I got it.  I felt proud, elated.  I was the Contact Valedictorian.  I was an over achiever, a quick learner, an obvious eye-installing genious.  I was sent on my way with written directions and the directions of all of the horrendous eye infections you could get if you don't follow the directions.

I called Chris on the way home, and he asked if I even got contacts, because I was done so quickly.  "Yes, of course. Evidently I was so perfect I was sent on my way.  I'll be home soon!  You are so very lucky to have someone so wonderful as me, I know how excited you must be to see me." Of course, I may be paraphrasing the actual conversation a little.

So, fast forward 5 or so hours, when it's time to get ready for bed.  Chris washes his hands, removes his contacts in movements so deliberate and yet so natural I know them by heart just by watching him.  I follow suit and carefully scrub down, the various pictures of possible infectants wild in my mind.  And then ever so confident and basking in the glory of my gold medal achievement from the doctor's office, I proceed to demonstrate my skills. 

Success!  First contact down, I felt like cheering.  Pride shining from me like a cartoon angel.

Fast forward 15 minutes...and contact number two still will not leave its cozy home.  My eyeball.  I guess I exceed at that too.  My eyeball is such an exceptional place to be, it will not come out.  Bringing in reinforcements, Chris even tries.  No luck.  My eye itself is beginning to feel like it jumped off of my face and ran a mile on hot sand.  And I can't help but slightly panic -- will I have to go to the emergency room and get this removed?  Finally, after another 10 minutes I change venues and remove myself (and my family's entertainment) to the solitude of the other bathroom, and lock the door.  Thankfully, it only took a few more tries and out it came.  Feeling a little less stellar than before, I slink away defeated.

Fast forward to this morning.  After 15 minutes, Chris -- dying to get his hands on my eyeball again -- generously offers his skilled hands at depositing the device in my eye.  I decline.  I must do it! 
Let's just say that my natural talent still needs a little more nurturing, and until I am up on my A game again, it looks like I will be getting up at least 15 minutes early, all so I can see, and vainly look what I consider better doing so.  Vanity 0 Karma 1...Best 2 out of 3, results to be continued....

Portrait

Clara Belle's rendering of her mother. She spent a lot of time on the hair, and kept saying "I think it needs to be bigger". At least I'm smiling...she says sometimes I'm frowny. No kidding, I wonder why.

Bad Words

I remember in Middle School, that was really when all of the kids started swearing.  Especially the boys.  It's still that way now, talking to old students who are in middle school now, they're amazed at the transformation of seemingly perfect youngsters turned into foul mouthed beings just over the summer.

I am not one of those people.  I'm not saying I'm perfect, but I'm not Andrew Dice Clay either.

So, when one of the Belles comes running to me and says the other one said the "s" word, I paused for thought.  After further investigation, it turns out that the offender -- one 3 1/2 year old Belle -- did indeed utter the "S" word.

"STUPID"

I honestly don't remember that ever being a "word" when I was young.  It just kind of blended into childhood.  I have no idea who said it, when/why, if anyone got in trouble.  I could be wrong, maybe I'm just not remembering correctly, but somehow this word has become taboo.  Now don't get me wrong, I don't want my children to run around the world calling each other, other children, or any thing stupid.  But that's more for the fear of what someone will think of them using the 's' word.  And so, I have to join in.  It's parental peer pressure -- of which there is A LOT of might I add.

But, of course, being 3 1/2 and being one of "those" children (see previous post) being told NOT to say a word is indeed direct license to make it into a song using any and every tune you know, and to utter it in constant succession every time you remember.  And, just to make things even spicier -- because that, after all, is your trademark in life -- you add the other "s" word.  

You know.  

"Shut up".  I'm fairly certain she came by this one honestly,  I think I may have yelled this in a motherly fit of rage....

So, again, with the fear that she will shout the words while stamping her feet, frowning and running around like a crazed wildebeest whilst I try and spend 5 minutes looking at something and some other mother will judge me, my family, my friends and any one I've ever come into contact with as heathens, I must put a stop to the "s" words.

And if I fail, well, there's nothing to say to myself but you just need to 'shut up, stupid'.  

Labels

I have one of those children.

No, I mean, one of "those" children.

  

The one where you might roll your eyes in a store and say to yourself "if she were my child..." or "I'd never let my child do/say/act that way".  I know.  I completely understand.  I've been there.  Said that.  

Pity me.

And don't judge.  If you haven't had a kid like that  yet, you haven't had enough kids. For every pat on the back you give yourself, you have to take credit for 'the ones that got away' too.  Including the ones running down the aisles, in between the clothing racks, and otherwise disrupting others' lives.

I know she can be a handful and a half.  I fully realize we should not be surprised if she comes home with multiple piercings in strange places, or dresses in black, or some other obnoxious fad of the day.  

We completely understand that she can be trouble and a half, she talks back, stamps her feet, refuses to do things.  Some of that I blame on still being 3.  Sometimes I wonder if it could be because, while she's 3 1/2 she's the size of most 2 year olds.  She has to act tough.  I try and find reasons.  Reasons for her to find the weak people and basically drive them up the wall, because she knows it bothers them.  

 We know.

But we also know how wonderful she can be.  And that she's learning how to express her love.  And that, deep down inside, she really does want to be good.  She talks about it daily.  She tries.  

You can tell me she acts out and is 'rebellious' all day long.  I know.  I understand.  It's what I love as much as what I hate.  She rebels.  I get it.  She doesn't fit into the mold of our expectations and desires of teachers.  I get it.  But if you can just TRY to understand a little more.  If you can just TRY not to act like she has ruined every moment of your day, if you can just TRY to work with me as I try to work with you, then we all might be a lot happier.  Because, this child of mine, well -- she's my child.  And for all her faults, every bit of them make her the exciting, interesting, fascinating, hysterical, smart person that she is.

Impromptu

Not bad for an unplanned photo shoot (I felt the need to mention that lest you judge my choice in outfits for the girls).  Just think what great photos we could have if they had nice looking coordinating outfits.

Day 2 of the New Year.  As much as I am not looking forward to returning to the life of a working mom -- ugh, makes me cringe just saying it -- I think we need a little space....

It might not look at it here...but just trust me, I'm gathering some good material.

HAPPY NEW YEAR! It's sad that it will be another 11 1/2 months until we see some of our family members, our Christmas visit was a lot of fun. Yesterday was Chris' birthday, and we had a lovely day. Although he had to work in the morning, we were all able to catch a nice afternoon nap, spent some time in the sunshine and -- because it was 65 degrees -- washed the cars as well. We had a nice dinner topped off by Dairy Queen for dessert. We didn't do nearly enough to celebrate someone so special, but we sure enjoyed spending the day together. Here's to 2012. It's amazing that we can plan and plan and plan, and still not know what lies ahead. I suppose life would be pretty boring -- and somewhat dangerous -- if life just went as planned. Hoping the start of 2012 is everything you want it to be, and more!