That's an odd way to start my blog, isn't it? Well I have an endgame with this, I promise.
Anyway, her recent obsession with rocks led to a very terrible, very long and very frustrating battle with getting her in her car seat today so she could go drive someone else crazy for a few hours, and I could go to work.
Chris was trying to strap her in while at the same time trying to take away the two giant, yet swallowable rocks that she had her tiny fists coiled tightly around, and she was not. having. it. Those rocks meant everything to her. She wanted them forever and ever and ever. She wanted to carry them around into her teens and room with them in college, and have them in her wedding and make them her kid's God parents. At least that is how she was portraying her relationship with them to me.
But, being the paranoid person that I am, I insisted she give them up for the ride.
Did I mention right before this she squatted in the garage and clearly pooped her new, fresh diaper?
So after the struggle died down (mostly because I put Garfield on the backseat DVD player for her), we went along our poop-smelling merry way to her daycare. Even though she was in good spirits when we pulled into the parking lot, she decided it would be best to make it to the first steps that she usually is more than anxious to climb up aaaaaaaaaand freeze. No talking, no walking. No paying attention to anything but the golden flowers just within in her reach that she HAD to mush. So I pick her up and force her into the door, and we start the walk down to her room. She spies a large pink sparkly pillow on a couch just outside her door, and as she has done every day for the past two weeks, grabs it to take it to her room.
I just let her do this. Fighting her over a pillow she'll forget about doesn't seem worth my time, and her teachers let her do it, so why not? Today, though, she decides that a good place to plant herself and poop filled diaper down is right OUTSIDE the doorway of her room, and she was going to "noodle" her body into a deadweight limp toddler before I could get her up. So I pick her entire body up (and the pillow) and hand her over to her teacher, apologizing for her obvious foul smell and then peacing out as quickly as I could.
About 5 minutes later I am pulling into the parking lot of my work when I see I've missed a call from Chris. I call him back, hoping what he'll tell me is that the plumber who visited our house for 2 hours this morning magically fixed everything and all of our laundry problems are solved.
Nope. Instead it's a message of how he had to write a $217 dollar check and that now when we do laundry, it will just flow into our basement AND into the gaping hole in the front of our house.
I take a deep breath. I am NOT letting this defeat me. I am NOT letting this stress me out. Despite everything that happened in the short first half of my day, I smile as I think about adding to our family. I can handle this. Hell, I can handle anything. Violet is a mess. A HOT mess. Terrible twos have hit, and it has been some kind of ride in our home lately. But I don't care. I wouldn't have it any other way. Never a dull moment.
Sometimes I have days where I think I am absolutely crazy to want to add to the chaos. But I think growing up in a large family of seven people has prepared me well, and almost made it impossible for me to enjoy the quiet. And one day it will be quiet, and I know I'll want all of this back. My greatest adventure.
And I'm happy because tonight I'll go home, I'll feed and bathe my inevitably filthy toddler, and then I will settle down with a glass of wine and watch the Auburn Tigers defeat Kansas State. It's a good day. War Eagle my friends!
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