Since I haven't posted in awhile, a few random thoughts. Such as, this was an actual conversation I had this morning: "Mama! This doesn't work!" "I know. That's because you broke it."

Really, I am operating at a high level here. Of course, that could be because I'm facing my midterm exam in my graduate comm theory course. Here are the take-home test questions:

1. Compare and contrast two of the seven traditions [of communication theory]. Explain systematically the traditions, key concepts and applications. Describe advantages and disadvantages of applying the traditions, i.e., what questions will be answered per tradition, what aspects will not be examined, what will be revealed, etc.? Provide examples or proposed case studies to support or illustrate positions or concepts.

2. Identify two to four theories/perspectives discussed thus far in the readings that you find most useful, most insightful, most informative from your perspective about the nature of human communication. They may be within one “tradition” or across “traditions.” I would assume the theories selected address issues of most concern to you as a scholar of human communication. What specific questions would these theories address? Again, please provide examples or case study to illustrate perspectives.

Me, reading through, brow furrowed. "Huh." Re-read. "Right." Type e-mail to professor: "I think I'm going to need to ask a few questions about this exam..." So, hopefully, I will be slightly more elucidated after today. Otherwise, I'll be typing 16 pages of bullshit. Which is nothing new, really.

In other exciting news, I have been living with a pirate for the past few weeks. Because yes, even though that's what she was last year, A is determined to be a pirate again this year for Halloween. I hope this isn't an early preview as to her career interests. (Lawyer? Loan shark?) At least I got her a different costume (although to me, it looks more like she's a gypsy, but hey) which is good, because she periodically strips down and asks us to put it on her. The funny part is that T had the great idea (and no, I'm not being facetious) to get out a pirate game we have (and no, not THAT kind) that we never play. The whole thing comes in a real wooden chest and has a fake cloth map and fake (I assume) gold dubloons and fake (this, I know) diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. It's pretty cool--I'll even volunteer to play pirate if I get to have some of the treasure. Which A is very good about sharing, mind you (and much to my surprise). A few amusing things,though. When she was first explaining what treasures she had, she said, "gold coins, rubies, and maxes!" And she didn't get why I started laughing, poor thing. Also, she can't say sapphires, so she calls them "pacifiers." Why not. Finally, she was showing us where on the pirate map we lived and we said, "But where do you live?" and she said, "I live at WalMart." Um... ha ha?

She has also reached the streaking stage. Which I happen to think is pretty funny, especially because she'll run through the house giggling, "naked baby coming through!" T, however, is not as amused because he thinks it makes her look like a redneck. Whatever, he has issues.

And finally, I've realized that not only do I barely register them anymore, I also have cause to be grateful for the toys that beep and whir and sing. You see, when T is gone, A is alone downstairs while I get ready for work. She's ostensibly watching television but is really doing, well, whatever it is she does. But as long as I can hear Thomas the Tank clacking along or the discordant songs from the Loving Family Car or the steady thump-thump-thump as she hammers... something, I can track her, much like a hunter in the wild. But when I can't, heaven only knows what she's up to. Case in point: This morning, I suddenly realized that, Blue's Clues aside, there was only silence, which any parent knows is something to fear, not embrace. So, "What are you doing down there?" Continued silence. I walked to the head of the stairs and bellowed it more loudly. Finally, "Nothing." Ooh, bad sign if she's lying about it. "No, really, what are you doing?" "Just holding this orange feather." I blinked. "What orange feather?" "The orange feather I got off the table." Now, as far as I know, there are no orange feathers in our house, nor should there be. Clomp, clomp, clomp downstairs...

Turns out there was no orange feather, which is good, but that she was just messing with me. Which is bad. Very bad. This living at WalMart idea might have some merits after all.

I can't decide

Serious stuff, here. I can't decide which of these otherwise potentially interchangeable (taste/texture-wise, that is) products has the better name: Ho-Hos or Ding-Dongs. I used to be solidly on the Ho-Ho side but this morning, I was jonesing for some chocolate (NOTHING to do with my mother being here, no stress eating or anything like that, uh-uh) and all 7-11 had was Ding-Dongs. And really, it's just fun to say, "These Ding-Dongs are mine" and "I had two Ding-Dongs" for breakfast.

I like Ho-Hos.

I like Ding-Dongs.

Hm. I think I'm leaning toward the double Ds. Thoughts?

(And yeah... it's been a looooong week.)

effin' fruit flies...

So, I know that I usually don't post happy homemaker stuff, mostly because that's not me. (Well, the homemaker part; I'm usually fairly genial.) BUT, we were recently struck with an infestation of fruit flies (okay, so I didn't realize that the tangerines had gone bad, whoops) and the little buggers practically have been swarming us. However, my friend K over at koalabrains posted a tip for getting rid of them and by damn it, it WORKS. You just pour some apple cider vinegar in a bowl and swirl in a little dishwashing soap, and I tell you, those annoying little shits die faster than a Florida State drive against Wake. I will admit that I'm getting a tad OCD about this... I just sort of hang out and watch, waiting for them to take the bait, and I'm starting to compile body counts. I may need help.

That notwithstanding, if you have fruit flies, this is an awesome (and disturbingly entertaining) way to get rid of them.

Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Getting back to the point...

Okay, the original intention of this blog was not to share funny stories (and admittedly, I've been doing so because I've been without a home computer and had to log them somewhere before I forgot, like, how sad is THAT) but rather funny/interesting/whatever parenting experiences. The current one being, "Is my child Sybil? When should I get worried?"

To clarify: Several parents warned me that the terrible threes were worse than the twos. I find this to be both true and false. False in that I can actually (generally) reason with her to some degree, whereas a two-year-old is, like, deaf to anything you say, mostly because they can't hear anything over their own whining. And true because there is still whining, only now it's strategic whining. I can't say which is worse--whining makes my ears hurt regardless.

But the big thing to me--and this takes me by surprise every time, meaning I must have a really slow learning curve--is how she can go from being a delightful, laughing, joyful child to complete, histrionic meltdown in, like a nanosecond. I mean, seriously; sometimes you can predict what's going to be a trigger, other times, it's like she's received orders from Mars or something: cue meltdown NOW! T likened her meltdown visage to the witch from "Army of Darkness" (which, if you haven't seen it, what are you doing here? Go watch it!) and it's not a bad comparison. Applicable adjectives include shrieking, livid, face-melting (not literally), and banshee-like.

"Exorcist" comparisons (also apt) aside, I think it's the sheer unpredictability of it that really gets me. This morning, for example, we were having a fine old time getting ready for daycare, chitchatting, tickling, etc. And then... then I said "no" to the "pirate treasure" (a bag of colored gems) that she wanted to bring in the car, knowing full well that they would end up all over the seats and floor. And oh, did the toddler hit the fan. The neighbors must have thought that I was slaughtering a cat. Either that, or they're reporting me to Health and Human Services for child abuse. And I just stared at her as she writhed on the floor in absolute toddler rage.

So... here's my question. Is she the only one like this? Is there hope for this ever passing? Should I just go ahead and bring in a priest and call it a day? Seriously--anecdotes, advice, and psychiatric help are all welcome here.

And I will close with a funny, if only because those get filed under Things Keeping Me From Returning My Daughter To The Hospital For A Refund: Last night, she was running (I'm sorry, with a toddler that should be the default assumption, I suppose) down the hallway after her bath, me telling her for the zillionth time to walk, and she slipped and totally ate it. I picked her up and she was crying, pointing in the general direction of her face. I asked, "What did you hit?" and she sobbed, "The ground." I probably shouldn't laugh, should I?

another funny

There's a lot going on these days so I've just got time to post the things that make me laugh. Tonight, I was reading Alexandra the dinosaur book and there's one, Pachy-something-or-other, that looks like it's rushing off the page toward the reader, so I always tease her that "Pachy" is coming toward us. Tonight, she decided to "take him out of the book"--she reached in his direction, "placed" him next to the chair, and then shook her head and told him he wasn't allowed to climb her bookshelf and that she was putting him back in the book, which she did. (I suppose. Or maybe he's still running around in there.)

Anyway, she then frowned at me and asked why I was laughing. I said, "Because you're too smart." And she said, "No, I'm one smart."

That she is.

More funnies

Ms. Sassy Pants continues her reign of know-it-allness at daycare. Her teacher--Miss A, appropriately enough--was cleaning the table after lunch and A asked, "What are you doing?" Miss A replied, "What does it look like I'm doing?" and A said, "It looks like you're doing a lot of walking back and forth."

Later, all the kids were coloring and one said, "Oh, it's a dinosaur!" and A said (rather haughtily), "No, it's a pteradactyl."

Hee.

Just a quickie

And no, not the fun kind. I'm a little blue--T started his commute back to school again today. I didn't realize how much I enjoyed having him around this summer until right now.

But... this is not the place for melancholy. Instead, two fleeting moments that told me that A really does pay attention to what I say. One was in the car today on the way to Target (or "the dress house" as she calls it), when some elderly person pulled out in front of us. Keep in mind that I've tried to get better with my automatic impulse, which is to yell, "Thanks, asshole!" and instead say something slightly more innocuous. This time, however, before I could say anything, A said, "Get out of our way, dude!"

The other was tonight in the tub. She had two warring pirate ships and one rammed the other, causing its sail to fall off. She said, "Oh, sorry, my bad."

How can that not make you smile?

This is funny

Just a quick update. A did indeed have rotavirus, which is easily the most vile, evil (which is spelled using the same letters as vile--coincidence? I think not) virus known to humankind and the offal of which could legitimately used in biological warfare. But more on that later. (And that's not the funny part, either. It's absolute fact.)

About rotavirus: "Children with a rotavirus infection have fever, nausea, and vomiting, often followed by abdominal cramps and frequent, watery diarrhea. Kids may also have a cough and runny nose."

That's still not the funny part. (Actually, there was nothing remotely funny about that--two miserable days for everyone, especially poor A.) This, however, is: About rotavirus in adults: "As with all viruses, though, some rotavirus infections cause few or no symptoms, especially in adults."

Which must explain why, since Monday evening--despite having disinfected everything in the house a billion times over with an anti-rotavirus spray until the mere smell of Floral Spring makes me want to puke--T and I have been experiencing something along the lines of a particularly vindictive stomach flu. Usually, we are never sick at the same time, which is a good thing because I found myself arguing that I was sicker than he was because my fever was higher than his. (What can I say, I was delirious and wanted nothing more than for him to put a pillow over my head to end my suffering.) For two days, all I could tolerate was orange soda. I do not know why this is.

Several days later, we're both still lagging, I'm still not really eating, and today is my first day at work all week. And A? Has been bouncing and gleeful and the very picture of perfect health since Monday. Which is a joy to behold when you're lying limply on the couch trying to explain why you don't want to play hide and seek (other than trying to get her to hide for 15 minutes of blessed silence).

Oh, and the potty training? Going beautifully, thanks for asking.