Lyfe Wit Da Brat

After our holiday excursion to the Land of Cleve, I can safely say that my Petunia is thick in the throes of the Terrible Two's. And all those parents out there who have tried to tell me that 'the two's aren't that bad' and 'it's the three's you have to watch out for' can bite me.

My kid was a horrific pain in the ass all weekend. Granted, she was sick at the beginning of the weekend. She spiked a 104 degree fever the afternoon before Thanksgiving, and she puked mucus on the drive to Ohio. As my hubby said, if someone hauled me out of bed at 4 am when I had a fever and was throwing up snot, I'd be pretty cranky too.

(And FYI, we did check in with the doctor on Wednesday before just heading for the Midwest, come hell or high water. The doc told us that she had seen 'countless two-year-olds' with 104 and 105 degree fevers in the past week or so. She advised us to go, per our original plans, and just treat Petunia with Motrin unless things got drastically worse.)

But by Friday evening, it was clear that Petunia wasn't sick anymore. She was just crabby and whiny and prone to monstrous temper tantrums. For two solid days. Here are some of the things that set her off:

* Not being allowed to have brownies for breakfast.
* Wanting to eat her cheerios/raisins out of a baggie and wanting the baggie to be zipped at the same time.
* Being put in time out for repeatedly whacking her grandma's floor with a kiddie broom
* Listening to the CD that she asked to listen to

Yes, it's a bipolar bag of laughs at our house these days, though apparently Petunia was well-behaved for her grandmother and great-aunt on Sunday evening when Basil and I had dinner with friends. They said she 'didn't cry once' the whole time we were gone.

Now that's just wrong.

Because when we are around, Petunia turns on a dime. She wants something and then 'no want it' about three seconds later. Everything is an opportunity for an outburst. I find myself thinking, 'Hmmmm....what's our family position on spanking?' and 'How bad would it be to tell her to JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!'

I've taken to telling Petunia very calmly that she can cry as much as she wants but needs to go into the other room to do so because Mommy is watching football/having a conversation/talking on the phone/etc. Surprisingly, she calmly walks into the next room screaming and wailing and stays in there for a few minutes continuing the tantrum. Then she stops crying when she gets distracted by something else. Sometimes, she will remember that she was in the middle of a tantrum and return to howling for a few minutes; other times, the distraction works long-term and she stays relatively quiet.

I'm reminded of my mother's tales of little merseydotes, who (and I know all of you will find this VERY hard to believe) was quite a terror of a toddler. But to make matters worse, my mom had my sister right around the time I entered the glory years, so she had a tantrum-prone two-year-old AND a colicky baby at the same time. Yikes! My nightmare!

I am in awe of friends who have second kids already, are pregnant with number two or are ready to ride the conception rollercoaster again with joy. (Okay, that's not entirely true. I usually mutter, 'They're freaking crazy' before smiling and saying, 'Congratulations!' or 'Good luck!') I just can't imagine doing the two-kid thing right now or being sick and tired from pregnancy and dealing with my own little Firestarter. Maybe the trick is having a mellow toddler. (Do those exist?)

When I mentioned to my mother-in-law that one of Claudia's little friends was expecting a baby sister in the spring (hi, Dahlbergs!) and that there was no way I was having another kid until my first one got out of this God-awful phase, she smiled and laughed. Apparently, a family friend had asked her if we had planned on having any more kids, and my MIL said, 'Yes, I think so, but not right now. Or even for a while.'

And if my MIL gets it, then the world clearly understands what a pain my kid is right now and doesn't begrudge my happily swallowing birth control pills every morning and shouting 'WOOHOO!' from the bathroom each month at the first sign of my period.

I guess there's a chance that Petunia's three's and four's will be just as bad, and our kids will end up being six or seven years apart. I keep telling myself that they call them the Terrible Two's for a reason, and they'll be an end to the hormonal-like mood swings in the foreseeable future.

In the meantime, I plan to keep a well-stocked liquor cabinet (this weekend, our friend made me the best Manhattan of my entire life, and that just may be the key to getting through the next six months), a good sense of humor and a list of reliable babysitters at the ready.

Heaven in Compartments

On Friday night, I made my family take a trek with me to The Container Store. I haven't been to TCS since the spring. I have to limit my trips there, or I would bankrupt our family in a few weeks time.

It is nirvana for a Virgo like me. I dream about putting their Elfa closet systems into our house.

The TCS at Market Common at Clarendon is TWO FLOORS! There's a giant glass elevator in the middle so you can take your cart up and down as you buy boxes, trays, holders, sorters and everything else you need to micro-organize your life. On this trip, I got a hanging wrapping paper organizer, an ornament storage box, a holiday light/garland storage box and some holiday gift wrap/tags/bows/ribbon. I stayed up until 11:30 that night organizing all the gift wrapping supplies in my laundry nook.

Tidying things up makes me happy in a twisted way that my husband will never understand. When we were driving home from TCS, with me babbling excitedly about how much easier it would be for me to see what I have and find what I need in terms of holiday wrapping AND decorating, he just smiled sort of forcibly and said, 'I know that this makes you very, very happy. And that's what I keep telling myself.'

I was in a good mood all weekend, cleaning and straightening up and doing chores with gusto. I also carried the can-do attitude over to the holiday planning, finalizing the Christmas card list, making some decisions about holiday baking, ordering some gifts online and otherwise mentally thinking through what the next six weeks will entail.

I'm in a better, more focused/productive mood than I've been in for weeks at work. I finally made a new to-do list and started tackling the insanity of my inbox. And this morning, I got up and power-walked for the first time in a week (in my defense, I was feeling pretty rotten most of last week).

I also should admit that I'm feeling pretty good about having recently dusted off a 1,000 piece puzzle. I bought this illustration of fantasy creatures called 'Once Upon a Time' some years ago and have worked on it sporadically but have never finished. Now that I have a space to dedicate to the puzzle (dining room table) that doesn't need to be interrupted for mealtime or other matters, I have vowed to leave the puzzle out until I finish it. I've been working in chunks of time for the past week, making progress in little bursts. Every little click of cardboard gives me a little moment of satisfaction.

I don't know what gives other people a lift when they need it, re-energizing them and giving them clarity and focus, but for me, it's putting things in order.

(Whatever floats your boat, right?!?!)

Ho Ho Hum

With the mercury in the 40s and Thanksgiving a mere week away, it feels appropriate to be focused on the holidays. Trying to arrange event schedules, buying Christmas cards, stocking up on tree-trimming supplies, and starting to make gift lists. It's at this point of the year that I stop and think, 'Hmmmmm....how big do I want to make the holidays this year?'

Do I want to do much holiday baking? How much time do we need to spend with family? Do I want snazzy wrapping paper? Which friends are we overdue to see? Is this going to be a big, blowout Christmas or one where things are a little more quiet?

We're traveling for both Thanksgiving and Christmas this year, and it bums me out. I had hoped that our nice, new house (and nice, new dining room set) would persuade some of the family to come to our place for at least Turkey Day this year. But alas, they are used to having us come to them. Our hosting offers were met with silence.

I want to start forging some new traditions for our family with Petunia (that do not involve long car trips), but our relatives like the way things have always been.

(Having tried the art of polite suggestion and been rebuffed, Basil and I have already decided that we are spending both holidays here next year. We'll spend one long weekend with one family in early/mid November and one long weekend with the other family in mid/late January. But for the two months in between, we are staying in Virginia and doing things our way.)

So, we will head off in the new car (wait, Internet, did I forget to mention that we bought a Ford Freestyle in August?) to spend about 3 1/2 days in Cleveland over Thanksgiving and 4 days in northern Kentucky over Christmas. It will be nice to see family and friends, but we're definitely not doing any extended tours of duty anywhere.

I'm trying to marshal my holiday spirit and focus it toward other things. The problem is, I can't decide how much spirit I have this year.

I'm worn out from shopping for impossible-to-buy-for relatives, agonizing one year...throwing money the next...ending up with gifts that are almost always met with the same ambivalent nod. I'm a little tired of sending out nearly 100 Christmas cards, only to get greetings back from half or so of our recipients. I'm exhausted already at trying to arrange a slate of holiday events that will enable us to see every friend and family member we want to see.

For the first time ever, I may be giving a ton of gift cards with nary a thought as to what the recipients do with them. I may scratch some people off the card list without fretting whether they'll notice or be offended. I may miss get-togethers or parties or events without hand-wringing, instead curling up with a nice Netflix and a glass of Pinot Noir.

Last year, I was all Currier & Ives about Christmas and loving every minute. This year, I'm more, 'Eh.'

It's not that I'm feeling totally Scroogey; it's just that I'm feeling a bit selfish this year. I want to do things that make me feel good. I want to focus my energies where they will be appreciated or, at least, acknowledged.

So if you get a Christmas card from me this December, send one back. And if I give you cookies, tell me they were delicious (even if they suck). And if I drive more than 300 miles to see you, say 'Thank you for making the trip. It's wonderful to have you here.'

I could use the reinforcement this year.

Puppy Love

In the past few months, I've been thinking about adding a new member to our family. Not in the immediate future, but maybe in the next 9-12 months. Of course, I'm worried about the expense of feeding another mouth and caring for another body, but mostly I'm worried about the time involved.

A dog, people. I'm talking about getting a dog.

Both Basil and I grew up with dogs around, and we've always said that we wanted to have a family pooch. But living in a third-story garden apartment and then in a little rowhouse with no yard (and barely a back patio) made us feel like it just wasn't in the cards. Sure, we could have made it work, but we wanted to wait until we lived in a house that had more space and/or a yard.

Well, our new place definitely has more space. And while we don't have a yard of our own, we do have a nice-sized back patio and access to a common 'green space' behind the patio...a grassy, treed lawn that connects our row of townhouses to those on the street behind us. People are constantly back there playing fetch with their dogs. And the new neighborhood is very pedestrian-friendly...sidewalks everywhere and not a ton of traffic. There are a couple of parks or dog exercise areas within a mile or two of our new house, too.

So I'm thinking seriously about how our lives would change with a dog and if we could handle the change. Also, I've started the process of investigating breeds. I know that somewhere along the line, we'll also have to decide whether to go for a purebred or a mutt and a puppy or an adult.

Such choices!

Growing up, my family had a Lhasa Apso-Yorkshire Terrier mix. I named her Sugar because she looked like a mix of brown and white sugar to me. She weighed eight pounds at her mightiest. She was a yippie little dog, who greeted everyone with a torrent of fierce barking, and she would growl and snarl and sometimes bite, too. But she was awfully friendly with her family, and would sit and lick and cuddle and play with us. Coincidentally, she also had some sort of encephalitis when she was little, and we used to joke that she was Rainman. She would hide behind the couch during thunderstorms or when we ran the vacuum, and she would bark at furniture when it was moved out of place.

My grandparents had a lot of dogs. They had basset hounds when I was little (Cleo and, then, Kelly), a beagle mutt named Brownie and a mutt-mutt (maybe part collie?) named Shep. They were great dogs. Gentle, good with kids. Medium-sized. Not too high energy. Very loving. They were my grandpa's dogs, and he was such a softie for them. He loved them more than anything. He found Shep one day when he was walking to work on the Roebling Cincinnati Suspension Bridge (being too cheap to pay for downtown parking, Grandpa always parked on the Kentucky side of the river and walked over the bridge to his office). Upon finding a dog wandering around in the cold on the bridge, Grandpa took his belt off, used it as a collar/leash, walked the dog to his office, kept it tied up outside all day, and then walked it back to his car over the bridge at the end of the day. Shep lived a long time after my grandpa died in 1990, and it really killed my grandma when she finally lost that last dog.

Basil's family had big dogs. There are great stories and pictures of his Italian grandparents' Great Dane, Chooch (which is Italian for 'asshole'). Chooch was apparently very protective of the family, and wouldn't let people leave the house carrying anything. Basil's grandparents had to carry their friends' belongings to their cars when they left, for if they left with their own handbags and such, Chooch would go nuts thinking the visitors were taking stuff from his beloved family.

Growing up, Basil had two dogs. First was Sir Patches du Budweiser (just Patches to friends and family), a purebred Dalmation. And then, there was Bear, a big ole mutt. They were big dogs, full of energy, and they took advantage of the nearly half-acre lot where they were raised. My favorite story about those dogs is the time that Basil's uncle got them drunk by repeatedly refilling a frisbee with a beer while standing at the back fence and chatting with a neighbor. (He claims that he didn't realize he was giving them so much.) I think it was Patches who got so drunk he couldn't walk straight and had to lean against a tree for support.

Yes, we've had a lot of dogs between the two of us, and I think we'd like to continue the tradition. My newly-married sister and her hubby have a Rottweiler named Samson, who is about the sweetest lug you've ever met. Petunia loved being around him when we were there visiting last year, and she seems to like dogs for the most part. In fact, it was a dog - our friend's lab Byron - that motivated her to crawl for the very first time.

So...now it just seems to be a matter of finding the right dog and timing his/her arrival right. I'd love to have a pooch to accompany me on my morning walks, but I don't want a dog that needs five miles of jogging every day. I want a dog that will be affectionate and friendly but that won't mind being boarded two or three times a year while we travel.

We'll also have to make sure that we get a dog when there are no big family vacations or major business trips in the immediate future, so we can spend the time we need training and acclimating him/her.

It makes me really happy to think about our family with a dog. Hopefully we'll be able to divine our canine future soon.

Princess Gag-Me-With-A-Spoon

During our trip to Florida, we had the opportunity to spend a day in the Magic Kingdom of Walt Disney World.

We had a lot of fun with Petunia, my mom and my cousin's family, taking the tots on rides like Peter Pan's Flight, It's a Small World and Dumbo the Flying Elephant (and even Pirates of the Caribbean because I'm a bad mom and didn't think it would be too scary). We've been before, but what struck me this time is how much Disney is developing and pushing 'brands' of its characters and movies - because apparently the individual characters and movies are not enough anymore.

There's Pooh & Pals (Hundred Acre Woods crew) and Mickey & Friends (superstars like Minnie, Goofy, Donald and Pluto). But the biggest brand by far is the Disney Princess line. There was an article in last Thursday's New York Times about what this phenomenon has done to the image and perception of Cinderella (little girls who actually see the movie now are like, 'Why is she in rags? Where is her pretty dress?') and some discussion of the Princess brand in general.

I guess it was a logical step for Disney, consolidating all of their female heroines into one single concept so they could market and merchandise the holy hell of them, considering it had already been done on a smaller scale with villains.

Back in 1998, Disney MGM Studios launched a modern version of its show Fantasmic!, in which all the Disney villains get together to plague Mickey Mouse in a nightmare. (The show is still running nightly, btw, though I've never seen it.) That particular park also has a great store called Villains in Vogue, which is devoted entirely to the likes of the Evil Queen, Maleficent, Ursula the Seawitch, Cruella de Vil, Captain Hook and the Siamese Cats from Lady and the Tramp, among others. (I have to say that Villains in Vogue is kind of a cool shop, especially because it has lots of The Nightmare Before Christmas merchandise.) All the villains also ride together on one big, black float in the daily Magic Kingdom parade, frowning and furrowing their brows at the throngs while menacing music pipes out.

So if all the villains could get together in one place, why not the princesses? And I should point out that they're not really all actual princesses. Mulan? Pocahontas? Belle? They're all included. No pedigree required, though some animated females, like Alice in Wonderland, are randomly not included.

And boy, is this concept raking it in for Disney. I cannot tell you how many little girls were at the park in costume ball gowns. Everywhere you turned, there was some ruddy, miniature Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty holding an ice cream cone or waiting in line. There's Princess merchandise in all the stores, and they have their own books, CDs, and DVDs. And I don't mean that Disney just offers the original movies that made these babes superstars...there are whole new products like 'Princess Singalongs' and 'Disney Princess: A Christmas of Enchantment.'

I had my first exposure to this brand last Christmas when someone gave Petunia the board book 'Disney Princess Colors.' It's innocuous enough, with two pages devoted to each of six or seven colors, highlighted by a particular princess. (Sample grab: 'Ariel sees a starfish, yellow as the sun/ Ariel's best friend Flounder is yellow, and he's fun!') Not exactly a Caldecott nominee, but it does teach colors, so I was like WHATEVER when it entered out house.

Then, this year for her birthday, the shopaholic grandma sent Petunia a trunk of Princess costumes. Three mix-and-match skirts and tops, complete with accessories, that enable any little girl to instantly become Belle, Cinderella or Snow White. This was a little more eyebrow-raising for me because I want a daughter who is as fierce as she is foofy. But Petunia is getting into dress-up clothes in general, so if she enjoys all the little skirts and sleeves and headbands and they encourage her imagination, then they are okay by me.

But I don't know how my kid got to be on a first name basis with Cinderella. Or any of the Princess gals for that matter. Petunia has never seen a Princess movie at all. But man, does she know who Snow White is.

When we entered the character tent in the Magic Kingdom, where you can wait in one of three lines (Mickey & Friends, Pooh & Pals or Disney Princess) to have your pictures taken, I looked to see which characters were featured in each line. My daughter's choices were Minnie and Goofy; Pooh, Tigger and Eeyore; or Cinderella and Snow White. She picked the princesses! I couldn't believe it. And then when she finally got to meet the ladies, Petunia was absolutely dumbstruck with awe.

I don't really have a problem with the characters or the movies, but it is kind of weird to see them all together, wrapped up in pink tulle, floating on a cloud of stars. They hang out together like some sort of weird clique, and you're supposed to believe that in their down time, they're lounging around on pink pillows painting each other's nails, trading stories about their boyfriends and trying on each other's ball gowns.

Personally, I can't wait for the fairies to form a union and demand equal billing. I think Tinker Bell would be a bitch to deal with, and Disney would have heartburn over giving the spotlight to those old, chunky fairies from Sleeping Beauty - Flora, Fauna and Merriwether. I bet Cinderella would get totally snotty when her Fairy Godmother gets her own clique (the Daphnes never like it when the Velmas get any attention), and the Blue Fairy from Pinnochio is pretty enough that she just may have a longer line than Snow White in the character meet-and-greet tent.

Would the Fairies and the Princesses sit on opposite sides of the cafeteria? Would they spread nasty rumors about each other? Would they get in a catfight in the girls bathroom?

We would totally take another trip back to Disney World to see that.

A Forlorn, Old Aid (Orlando, Florida)

We are back from Florida in one piece. Actually, many pieces. Yesterday, getting through the Orlando and Baltimore airports with two adults, one toddler, five pieces of luggage, a purse, a diaper bag, a Tempur-Pedic pillow, a stroller/carseat and a bouquet of white roses (from my maid-of-honor duties) was quite a feat. But we are back.

I have many thoughts and experiences swimming around in my little brain and will probably be writing a lot in the next few days. I'm hoping that blogging will help me process the past two weeks and get back into the swing of things. I feel like I've been time traveling or something, as everything in my normal life feels vaguely surreal and unfamiliar.

What feels good, though, is being home.

I was ready to kiss the Virginia soil when we crossed the Wilson Bridge yesterday afternoon. Aside from the fact that I missed both Halloween and the end of daylight savings time, I also apparently missed the change of seasons. It was so wonderful to feel crisp fall air and see flaming leaves everywhere.

But I think what I liked most about being back in the Old Dominion State is that everything felt snug again.

Everything in central Florida is spread out. Orlando has the biggest intersections you've ever seen...six lanes crossing eight lanes with nary a sidewalk in sight. There are big box stores and shopping plazas and gas stations and restaurants as far as the eye can see. Going anywhere, as my sister's friend told me, takes about twenty minutes. You just get used to it, she said. (You also must get used to paying tolls, because there are toll roads everywhere. We probably dropped $20 in tolls in four days.)

I found it all incredibly inconvenient, inefficient and pedestrian-unfriendly. I'm used to driving 10-15 minutes to get anywhere I want to go, having transit available and walking throughout the day to run errands or grab lunch.

Even getting around indoors is a pain in Florida. Most of the houses and shopping venues in central Florida are one-story structures, albeit sometimes very big ones. (Is this a hurricane thing?) I don't think I was in a building with more than two stories in fifteen days, other than the hotel I stayed in during my association's convention at the beginning of the trip.

This was very, very weird to me. I live in a three-story townhouse, and I work in a three-story townhouse. Basil works in a four-story office building. Our church has three levels. I used to work downtown in an office building with 12 stories. The Metro here is elevated in places, for goodness' sake. But Orlando is one big ranch-style.

And the flat buildings and sprawling development spread over flat, flat land. There is nothing to break up the monotony of the Florida landscape except scrubby palm trees and Wal-Marts.

I live in a neighborhood that has hills. Not San Francisco, but definitely inclines that sting your glute muscles when you go charging up. And we have big, old growth trees. There are two parks on my walking routes that are nothing but dense wooded areas. One of the things I loved best about working on Capitol Hill several years ago was the amazing old trees everywhere.

This morning, I went walking through Old Town to get coffee. Seeing three-story buildings, tall trees and two-lane roads was like a breath of fresh air. And walking into the coffee shop without finding a parking spot and walking through a giant lot was almost as refreshing as the java itself.

It's good to be home.