The three faces of Pen

Growing up, whenever we would start to "ooh" and "ahh" over a sweet baby, my dad would always kill the mood by cooing, "They're false advertising..." And while I would always have a really intelligent response along the lines of "duh, Dad, I know babies are lots of work," there was still that portion of me that refused to believe that I would ever share such a cynical perspective of little ones.

Well, let's move forward about 15 years. We attend a church that is full of couples just like us: married and trying to get through school. I love it, I really do, and we make such great friends there. But often, when these newlyweds look at Penelope all dewy-eyed and swoon over what a beautiful, sweet child she is, I feel like I have a responsibility to clear up one major misconception: Life is not always this sweet with a 15-month-old.

You see, Penelope has three states of being.

She is very often delightful. This is the most common state for her -- cheerful, silly, curious. She is a complete ham, and people fall in love with it (myself included!).

And you may also find her being docile. Content to amuse or read to herself. These moments are treasured and increasingly rare.

But then there is the rest of the time. I often call it her demon-child state, but I suppose defiant is a more politically correct term. These are the times that I just dread what life will be like when she is actually two...

I couldn't bear to actually post a video of her having a meltdown, but here is a clip that cuts off right before she devolves into one.

Trying to bang(s) it out

(such a lame title. please forgive. the rest of the post doesn't get much better.)

My hair has needed love. For (easily) weeks. Here is the conundrum: My bangs have really sucked. I've had an inner monologue focused around this every time I look in the mirror:

"Man, my hair looks haggard. I really need a haircut. Maybe just my bangs. Maybe I could call my friend XXX to see if she could just do my bangs. No, that's lame. If I'm going to get a haircut, I'm going to get a hair cut. But I'm style-lazy and growing my hair out, so that just seems like a waste of money. Just the bangs, then. But Jesse hates bangs. But I love bangs. Gah! I was 15 minutes behind when I started this monologue, what am I doing? Just do your makeup. Your hair will look better when your makeup is done... Nope, still crap. Just pin the bangs back."

Anyway (if you are still reading after that lengthy detour), I convinced myself that it wasn't so bad and went about my business. I was wrong.

Today I went to Target to pick up a few items, and the sweetest woman in the world was ringing me up when she kept mentioning the weather. I finally said something generic but polite like, "yeah, it sure is warm, but it is windy out there!"

She jumped on the chance and said, "I bet you wish you were a man with short hair today -- they sure don't have to worry about how bad the wind makes their hair look!"

She was sweet, so I brushed it off until I got out to the car and could look at my reflection in the window (yes, this is about the extent of my beauty routine these days). I couldn't blame her for the comment. My hair really looked awful. So I came home, realized that I own a pair of scissors and cut the bangs myself. (Unfortunately, I do this a lot. Like when I blogged about it four years ago.)

I have now added some new items to the list of things I want to do when Jesse graduates and starts working:

1. Cash his first check in quarters and build a reserve for a swimming pool built out of quarters à la Duck Tales.

2. Use said quarters to pay off student loans (it's going to be an Olympic-sized pool).

3. Yeah, yeah, house/cars/grown-up stuff.

4. Get a real hair style.

5. Take a class on how to take good photos of yourself (I believe Paris Hilton might be teaching one by that time).

I think that about covers it. (I don't dare share the 90 bajillion totally shallow, selfish things I think about wanting.) Until then, I might want to invest in some scissors that were purchased after 1996 and don't live in my home office...

Mommy, "Wow! You're a big girl now?"

Author's note: Dad (that would be you, Bart), you don't want to read this. Trust me. There's nothing bad in here, but knowing your sensitivity to the mere mention of feminine products (code word: Rumplestiltskin), this post will be completely abhorrent to you.

There are tampons all over my house. Right now, there is an opened tampon on the desk next to me. There are a few wrappers at my feet. This is just a day in the life of a mom working from home with an incredibly active toddler left to do whatever keeps her from screaming and pulling at my shirt all day.

The tampon thing started innocently enough. Jesse and I were getting ready for the day at my parents' house, and Pen was curiously going through the drawers. Then she saw them. Brightly colored wrappers. Perfectly sized for her chubby fists. Plus daddy laughed when she showed him her new treasure. This is what 15-month-olds' dreams are made of.

One of the first things she discovered when we got back to our own home is that we have a much larger stash of these exciting items in our bathroom. And they are right where she can reach them! They are so easy to open, easy to cart around, and easy to stick in her mouth. I figured, "Well, what's the harm? I bought a lifetime supply at Costco, so it's not like a couple missing from the box will upset the balance of things."

But now I worry that her fascination may have reached a critical point. She wedged a box full of tampons into her diaper bag the other day. (Why? To share with others? To show all her friends that she is super mature? Because she is trying to be thoughtful for mommy?) And now you know that she really likes you if she kindly bestows you with one of the unwrapped gems.

Again, I worry I may not be preparing her for real-life social experiences. But they keep her occupied during a crazy part of the day, so I am willing to be a bit flexible on this whole "normal" social behavior.

I just ask that if you come to our house, please overlook the feminine products scattered about. And if some giggly little toddler hands you an unexpected tampon, I hope you know that it is a sign of affection. Unless you are my father. Then I just ask that you try not to let the experience scar you.

(But remember that you think she is really cute, too.)

Befuddlingly gregarious

Today Penelope befriended our neighbor's dog. This isn't really a rare occurrence. Lately she is into making friends with everyone and everything. A child riding her bike down the street. A sweet old man in the grocery store. The waitress at the greasy truck stop diner we patronized yesterday. Her stuffed animals. Her reflection in the mirror. All are subject to the same sweet - if not overly enthusiastic - "HIIIIII!"

Generally she gets a chuckle, or an obligatory "hi" back in her direction. But every time it happens, she expresses such genuine delight in having made a new connection.

The other day, she took a break from making fish faces at the aquarium in the pediatricians' waiting room to engage in a spontaneous kiss-blowing session with another baby. It lasted for a solid five minutes.

At first I used to worry about teaching her to not bother other people and (more importantly) to be safe with strangers. But today, as I watched her chubby fingers flex back and forth in her awkward baby wave at our neighbor's pug, I didn't want any of that.

I guess the world will teach her soon enough to distrust. Right now I like that she is teaching me how to assume there is a friend in everyone.



(unrelated photo of this social butterfly earlier today. Has anyone ever had success with these strawberry planters? Things aren't looking very good so far...)