We're Crappy Parents

I feel the need to fess up.  I need to clear my conscience.  I've been a crappy parent.  Someone else who lives in my house has been a crappy parent too, but I don't want to name names or point fingers.  I'll let you put your P.I. hat on and figure that one out.

Now, we have not been CONSISTENTLY crappy.  We've just had some seriously crappy moments that have been rather defining at times.

I started thinking about these last Thursday on the way to Allie's swim lessons.  She had big band-aids on both of her knees and and looked like she had been dragged down the street or something.  Scrapes and contusions all over her little legs.  Apparently she was very excited to run down the driveway and meet the damn ice cream man with his pain in the ass truck that kids can hear from miles away.  She fell down and injuries were sustained.

These injuries were beyond the capabilities of Doc McStuffins or Hello Kitty Band-Aids.  We needed real plain old flesh colored bandages.  You know....the ones intended for actual injuries; not the "I just bumped my pinky toe into the cushioned couch while chasing the cat and I need a band-aid stat or I'll keep crying dramatically" injuries.

I should probably go back to the previous swim lesson first.  I was running around like a maniac to get home in time for her lesson and dashed over to my mom's to pick her up.  Super Prepared Nana had her in her little "swim costume" (thank you Peppa Pig) and all sun screened up.  As I'm putting Allie in the car, she sees a can of spray sunscreen and picks it up.  I take it from her, check to make sure that it's twisted to the "closed" position, and hand it back to her.  Handed. It. Back. To. Her.

Because that's what good parents do.  They give spray cans to toddlers to play with.  They don't think that maybe the toddler just watched them twist the cap and might try to do it too.

PSSSSSSSHHHHHHHT!   (insert bloody murder scream here)

Yes.  I wasn't even out of the driveway and my child had sprayed herself in the eyes.  I actually said out loud to myself, "What in the hell is wrong with you, you idiot!!!"  Blinded, my little girl thought I was talking to her.  "I'm not an IDIOT, mommy!!!"  Excellent.  I've injured, insulted and pissed my kid off in less that 60 seconds.

Fortunately we were able to run back into Nana and PopPop's and remedy this problem.  And my little trooper even volunteered to go back to lessons.  When we pulled in, I explained why we were late by saying, "I blinded my child with spray sunscreen.  I had to collect my Shittiest Parent In the World trophy.  I'm sorry we're late."  (Fortunately, one lifeguard had a parent forget their kid at camp, so that overshadowed my stupidity.)

So, two days later we walk into lessons and Allie is scraped and cut and bleeding and bandaged.  The two teachers looked at me and asked, "What the hell happened this time?!"  "Do we need to call DYFS??"  (Every parent's least favorite sarcastic joke.)  I told them the story and they just laughed and got in the pool.  Apparently no one forgot their kid at camp that day, so no parental sympathy was offered.  The initial screams as the chlorinated water hit the fresh wounds didn't help either.  My poor baby!

We had a lovely time tho!  My little peanut is becoming quite the little water bug:

Mommy and Me Swimming Lessons - she's quite eager to get swimming!

Practicing the Off The Wall Torpedo..... for the seven millionth time.

One of the few times she let me hold her.  She'd rather swim around on her own like a frog.

This week of parental debacles has reminded me of all of the screw-ups we've had in Allie's 3.5 years.   We're both blonde, so you can only imagine how many there have been!

The most popular one, which still occurs from time to time, was forgetting the diaper bag.  We would get into the car and travel at least 20 minutes away when it would hit one of us.  "Did you grab the diaper bag?"  "No!  I thought YOU were grabbing it!"

Anyone with an infant knows you can't leave for more than an hour without the bag.  Diapers, formula, burping cloths, bib, emergency change of clothes, wipes, boogie wipes, snot sucker, an extra bottle, sunscreen, back up binky, toys that they won't use, a stuffed something, etc.  After an hour, if you haven't needed one of those things already, you will definitely need one or two at that point.

We've had to buy prepared formula, wipes and packages of diapers more times that I can remember.  We even bought a bag for each car.  Yet, somehow, at some point, we'd find ourselves away from home looking for the bag only to discover that ALL of the bags were in the house to have supplies "replenished".   We've even done it two days in a row!   The people at Babies R Us would laugh when they saw us coming.  We'd make the "we forgot the bag again" announcement as we hustled to the back of the store and they would laugh.  Lovely.

Now there are food and drinks and emergency change of clothes and portable toilet pads in that bag..... and we still manage to leave without it almost every other time.  Sonofabitch!  It never fails.  And when we do have it, the food is never right.

"Mommy, can I have food?"

"Sure honey.  What do you want?"

"Whatever you give me will be fine." (Yes, she actually says that, but it's usually a lie.)

I dig thru the bag calling out inventory, "Animal crackers, pretzels, teddy grahams, a banana, food  pouches, fruit snacks..."

"Fruit snack!!"  Of course.  She wants the least healthy thing in the bag.

"Okay, baby.  Here you go!"  I turn around and hand it to her, only to see the look of disappointment.

"I don't like that kind," she says as she wrinkles up her nose.

"That's all I have, Allie.  You eat them every day.  You definitely like them."

"I only like Auntie Trish fruit snacks!"  She folds her arms and turns her head away.

(Side note:  In case you're wondering, ur friend neighbor fitness pro gave her one bag of Mott's fruit snacks over a year ago and they have been  Auntie Trish Fruit Snacks ever since...... except for when she couldn't say her "r"s.  Then they were Auntie Tish or Auntie Twish Fruit Snacks.)

"Okay.  Fine," I say defeated and turn back around.  "Why do we even bring this thing?  She never wants what's in there."

Justin answers, "Because we fucked up and didn't forget it at home."

God bless him.  He's got an answer for everything!

"Well I might as well go to sleep if there's no food!  I wish they had forgotten the stupid thing at home."

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Happy Me-a-versary!

(From Friday, July 11th)

Today is my one year anniversary of successful weight loss.  365 days ago I gave my program a chance (after oodles of tears) and here I am celebrating that it worked!  Go me!

I can no longer wear anything “plus sized”.  I’ve seen a size 10 after 20 years of 14-16s.  I was in a dressing room in Kohl’s with Allie when I put on size 12 pants and they were too big.  I yelled out to Justin to find me a size 10.  I tried them on and cried.  Allie went bolting out of the dressing room to Justin, announcing, “Uh-oh!  Mommy’s crying!”  I just stood there smiling and crying, and he congratulated me and hugged me.  Hello, size ten.  I have arrived.  Size eight, you better get your shit ready, cuz you’re next!

One year, 30lbs. and 24inches later!   Score!

Weird Weight Loss Related News Flash!  Update: I’m no longer scared of spaghetti squash.  The first time I heard about them, I went out and bought one.  I brought it home and put it on my stove and examined it.  For two weeks.  KERPLUNK!  Garbage.

Justin asked me what happened to it (since it had become a permanent fixture on the stove) and I confessed that I was too scared to cook it and it went bad.  So, when we went to the grocery store again, you can only imagine the look I got when I sheepishly put another one in the cart.

“Really?  Are you going to actually cook it?  Or are you going to panic and let it go bad like the last one? Have you conquered the fear?”

I shot him a ‘screw you’ look and snottily said, “Of course I’m going to cook it this time!”  That was bitchy.  He had a point.

I did finally cook it after looking it up online and comparing 5 different ways to prepare the damn thing.  I chose the method that was most frequently mentioned.  Stab the sonofabitch, put it in a baking dish and bake it for an hour.  Cut in half, use a fork to pull the “spaghettis” off and voila’!   A pasta craving killer.

Just in case you were wondering what I'm talking about.  Ooooooo scary sketty squash!!!

I no longer fear any food.  Except for something called the ugli fruit.  It’s just not right.  How did they get an orange in a pear body?  It’s cross-dressing fruit.  It’s a citrus fruit masquerading as….. whatever a pear is.

When I first met Justin, I was a “runner”.  At least I was trying to be.  I had bought all of the cute ensembles, the proper shoes, and the Idiots Guide to Running.  I was getting quite good at it until he showed up.  I think I went out jogging about 2 times and then decided to just surgically attach myself to his side and do/eat/go along with all things he did/ate/went to.

Little did I know that he was one of those people who could eat EVERYTHING.  He was the only person I know who would get into bed, reach over, open the end table and pull out a gallon bag filled with Oreos and NutterButters, a bag of pretzels and a can of Pringles.

Holy hell.  That was the beginning of the end.  I was no longer a jogger.  I was an eater.

That end table no  longer has food in it.  And Justin has started the program to lose some post-surgical weight.  And I went back to running.

Again, starting was scary.  I dug out my cute little ensembles (which fit me for the first time in 7 years), bought the proper running shoes, subscribed to Runners World magazine and bought a book for beginner runners to see if anything was new or different.

Then I stared at it.  For two weeks.  I think I”m going to name this affliction “Squash Syndrome”.  That just came to me now.  Anyway….

I remember starting the health program and being terrified of the food before it arrived too.  What IS that???  Why did I feel such fear over things that were only going to have positive results?  It’s ridiculous!  God knows I wasn’t afraid of eating an entire cake in 24 hours or afraid of laying in bed for 3 days from depression (it wasn’t pretty).  I was fearless in those cases!  And there were plenty more of them.

With running they tell you to just put on your shoes and put one foot in front of the other.  That’s all.  And it’s excellent advice.  It pertains to everything we are afraid of.  JUST START.  The rest will follow.

Facebook is an amazing phenomenon as it can ruin your day or make your day.  It can  crumble dreams or inspire you.  During my Running Squash Syndrome, Facebook managed to inspire me.  I kept seeing the same three people posting about running from time to time.  Toni, Jessica and Madeleine.  Every time I saw them post about running, it made me want to do it.  I wanted to be like them!  I had been watching for months, but now I was actually making efforts to TRY it!  I asked them questions and searched for advice.  Ironically, all three said they didn’t feel like they were any good at it and at times they hated running…..and it was the push I needed.  They hated it sometimes, yet they kept going.  There’s something to be said for that.  It means that it provides results that make them feel better.  It was totally worth any pain running created.  And that’s all I wanted.

I’ve been at this for about a month now.  I’ll be honest.  It’s effing hard as hell.  Little kids seem to have no problem just dashing about for hours.  Experienced runners make it look effortless and like they are gliding.  It LOOKS easy.  But it’s not.

Yet I like it.  Within 3 minutes, however, I looking like I’m going to keel over and die.  My feet start dragging and my form is reminiscent of an escapee from a mental institution.  I’m constantly correcting it.  I often imagine that I look like Phoebe on the episode of Friends where Rachel is too embarrassed to run with her.

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When a car or walker approaches, I find the need to correct my form and fake it like I’m really good at this.  I’m a poser.  Total fake!  And my faking is painful.  Once the people are gone I have to remember to relax again or it wears me out.  Looking good at this is even more exhausting!  It’s like holding in your stomach for too long.  Eventually your mind goes, “Release!  Let it go, you nut!"

I have had some nice results.  My legs are gaining some nice muscle…… from the knee down.  From the knee up, I’ve got a thighmergency.  There’s cellulite, flab and jiggling.  I had an emergency consultation with my fitness pro neighbor friend, Trish, about how to make this go away.  Right away, she gave me the sympathetic, knowing nod and said, “I have many people with this same problem.”  And then I mentally inscribed every exercise she mentioned that might help onto my cranium.

During a stretch, I noticed that my calves were looking snappy.  Notice the thighs aren't in the photo!

I’m hoping that this is how it works with running:  your body starts to improve from the feet and works its way up.  I’ve informed my calves that I’m plenty pleased with their appearance and they need to let my thighs have a turn now.  Okay, thighs!  You're up!  Get crackin’!

On the plus side, I’m no longer gasping for air after 30 seconds.  Seriously.  If you’ve never tried it, I challenge you to go outside and run down your street for a full minute.  I did that with Justin years ago and by the time he reached the stop sign at the end of our block, he was winded and said, “fuck it”.  He no longer makes fun of me.

I love when I put on my shoes and get ready to go and Allie says, “Have a good running, Mommy.  We will stay here and take a bath while you’re doing it.”  I love when I come home a sweaty mess and Allie says, “Mommy, how was your running? You look.... hot.”  And that’s not a compliment.  She doesn't mean good "hot".  It’s a polite observation of how horrible I look.

Me and Allie in Valentines Day 2013

Justin, Allie and me Valentines Day 2014

So my goal for the next 365 days is to maintain my healthy habits and to become a runner.  I want to look back and read this and #1- Feel sorry for me (which I already kinda do - lol) and #2- Be proud of my progress.

Apparently July 11th is going to be my Resolution Day.  Screw New Year’s Eve.  Pick a day and go for it.  Just start.  Every day is a gift, so the day you are in right now is the perfect time to start something new!

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Dog Drama and (Lack of) Apologies

Hello again friends!

I realize it's been awhile since I put fingers to keyboard and blurted out thoughts from my corner of the world.  For those of you who find this blog interesting, I'm sorry for being tardy to the party.  For those of you who were hoping I gave up, I'm sorry to disappoint you.  Feel free to do a Google search and go read elsewhere.

We've had some hoopla going on lately.  First and foremost, my (former) dog Daisy was attacked by two very pissed off dogs.  Some of you may remember Daisy, the shorkie that I had for about 5 years.  At the beginning of this year, the stars aligned and she went to live with my parents across the street.  She was getting growlie with Allie and my parents suddenly felt the need to have something small and furry running around the house.   Perfect timing.

I have to pause here to clarify something.  I'm a firm believer that when you get any pet, you need to take full responsibility to give them the best possible care for the rest of their lives.  Pets are NOT disposable.  It's a serious commitment.

However, when your pet starts to threaten the well being of one of the people in your home, the responsibility changes.  First, you need to find a reliable, caring new home for him or her.  Choose carefully.  Second,  I personally feel that if you have a pet that threatens your child and you do nothing but just hope it will stop, then you are an irresponsible parent.  Your invitation to shitty parenting is in the mail.  IT WILL NOT "JUST STOP".  You need to DO something.

Okay....so, Daisy trotted across the street and lives with the parental units.  Justin has declared that they better not try to give her back because they "totally ruined the dog".  She eats better than I do.  They dote on her and cater to her needs.  I miss her at times but she's sooooooo much happier over there.  In actuality, I too am so much happier when she's over there.  I love her from a distance.

A few days ago, my father was walking Daisy when their neighbor's dog came running out of nowhere and attacked her.  The dog got out of his collar and came running, so it was an accident on the part of the owner.  She came running (with the other dog....super smart!) and things got ugly.  Fortunately my neighbor/friend/Wondermom heard the screeching and came running.  Somehow they managed to break it up.  My mom still gets teary when she thinks about the noises Daisy made while trying to get away from the dogs.

How bad was it?  See for yourself.

Daisy Dukes right after surgery

What she normally looks like....at my house....she has an attitude

Here's the kicker!  The neighbor doesn't feel she should have to pay for the vet bills since she's not sure it's her fault.  I know....it doesn't make sense, but some people just can't accept responsibility (that word again) for their errors.  Said neighbor is a renter and moving out this weekend.  Apparently she wants to see if she can move and skip out on the bill.

This is someone actively involved in a local church.  Now that there is Christian-like behavior, isn't it?  I have  term for these people who claim to be all about God, but act like they are all about THEMSELVES; I call them Faux Christians.  They can pretend to be spiritual, but the Big Cheese In the Sky knows what's really going on.

My parents are worn out and exhausted.  This has been traumatizing and exhausting.  They are so tired of "fighting" that they have considered giving up.  However, Justin and I  are deep into PI/lawyer/righteous-freeedom-fighter mode, so we aren't going to stop.  I think our tenacity to win this thing is part of why they are exhausted, but they're too nice to admit it.  I.E. "Vicki, I'm just tired of this.  It's not worth all of my time.  I just want it to be over." "What?  I'm working really hard to help you get what you deserve! We can't stop now!"

I just now realized as I typed that how narcissistic that sounds!  Wow!   Mom, I promise you that I'm doing this solely for you and Ben.  We are a strong people!  We will not lay down and die when we've been wronged!  (raises fist in air and shakes it!!)  And now I've realized where my daughter gets her dramatic side from.  Great. (that was sarcasm)

Anyway....

Here's my question:  Why is admitting your wrong so damn hard for people??? The lady clearly didn't let her dog go on purpose.  She felt bad about it.  The fact is that her dog got off of the leash and put his chompers into Daisy's flesh, like, a lot.  So, it's the neighbor's error.  Shit happens people!  It was an accident.

She felt remorse.  BUT, she did not feel responsible (there's that effing word again!) enough to pay to put Daisy back together again.  She feels that since she didn't see their initial encounter that maybe Daisy snapped at her dog first, thus starting the whole commotion.  "My dogs are great with other dogs at the doggie park."

Really?  Seriously?  That's your defense?  Did you not see EVERYTHING that followed?

Jackass.

What would you do?  I would be annoyingly apologetic.  And if the "victims" wanted me to pay the vet expenses, I would do everything I could to accommodate them.  I'd be checking in to see if they were okay.  I would send "Im really f**king sorry" gifts flying in their direction.  And I would definitely be on red alert with my dogs, their collars, their attitudes, etc from that moment on.

I want Allie to embrace putting her ego aside and admitting she made a mistake and  take (I wont say the R word again) for her actions.  Within reason.

Sounds good in theory, doesn't it?

Well, I'll have you know, she is the WORST apologizer ever.  EV-ERRRRRRR.  Take two extremely stubborn people  and have them create another human being and you end up with the most super-snotty-cant-say-I'm sorry-extra-shitty-apologizer EVER.  She's been known to yell "I'm sorry" with a nasty little attitude, when all we want is for her to admit she feels bad when :

• She takes my Fitbit Force off my wrist and hides it in a place she can't recall just 3 minutes later so now I have to buy another one. 

• Or when I'm towel drying my hair and she reaches up and pinches my nipple because it looks like a funny thing to do, but it actually feels like she tried to rip it off so I scream so hard that she starts to cry.  Very very unfunny.
• Or when she comes into the room and flops down on the couch like a Kardashian and says to Justin, as if he's her servant, "I want food and put my tv on NOW!" (If it wasn't so awful to feed into, I'd have her do it and add "and make me a sandwich, bitch!" at the end, but Im sure that'll eventually work against me.)
• Or when she touches everything three more times after you told her not to touch it and then you lose your shit because it's already happened 19 other times the same day and it's not even noon yet.

I could go on, but I'll spare you the details.

I'm not going to give up though.  Eventually, I'll find the right thing to say that will drive the point home in her 3 year old mind.  I will not have a "non-apologizer" for a child.

To wrap this up, I'll just let you know that Daisy will survive and is being fussed over to such a degree that I think she might try to "work the situation" and drag it out a bit.  Justin is correct.  She has been ruined.  Yet we love her.

Dog bless,
Vicki

p.s. I thought I'd add these photos because....well.....there are dogs in them.  And Allie too.  And I think they're kinda cute.  That's why.  Enjoy!

Allie and Sadie snuggling up in bed together.  My two favorite girls!

Waiting at the top of the stairs.  Sadie sits like this, with her paws hanging over the edge, waiting for me to come back upstairs.  Allie has this "other personality" that she calls Tutu.  Tutu is a dog.  It's not as fun as it sounds like it would be.  Like when Sadie poops outside and Tutu wants to drop trou and take a dumper on the front lawn next to her.

Lulu.   I just love Lulu.  She's a big brown Newfie who I walk every day and stays with us on occassion.  She is the ultimate baby sitter and I think she'd even let Allie put a saddle on her and ride her around the complex if she wanted.  (She does want to, but it's not going to happen.)

Our complex has its own herd of deer.  (okay...it's not a dog photo, but my kid is in it!) They are so friendly and walk around the lawns and streets like people.  It's not unusual to see a doe with a few fawns walking down the middle of the street and taking a left to go to the park.  It's outrageous.

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Why We Need To Leave Racists Alone

Oh, this is going to be a fun one.  I can tell.  You probably saw that title and thought,  'What is this crazy bitch ranting about now??"  Clickity-click and here you are!

Lets play a game.

Pretend that there is a disease that is brought on by living a life of negativity.  We will call it Creepycrawlyitis.  It's something that you're predisposed to from a young age, your lifestyle aggravates it, and at a certain point in life it begins to affect the people who associate with the person in a very negative way.  It can destroy the sick person and may take others with it to some degree.

You have a friend, Al,  who you often spend time with and you've known him for years .  You like Al a lot, but you aren't super close to him.  One night, in a drunken stupor, Al thinks you are bonding and tells you that he has Creepycrawlyitis, not suspecting that you will tell anyone.

Right away, you begin to panic.  You know that if word gets out that you are close to someone infected with Creepycrawlyitis people will think you have it too!  You liked Al, but essentially he has put you at risk.  It's appalling!  People will think you have Creepycrawlyitis too!  How many other people has he done this to?  Al is very popular!  You must tell someone so people know what's really going on.

You expose Al and people are shocked that he didn't admit to this sooner!  He was selfishly putting others at risk through the power of association.  Al gets fired from his job, his wife leaves him, his whole world seems to be crumbling around him.

Ned from the next street over has Creepycrawlyitis.  He just saw what happened with Al.  Do you think he's going to tell anyone?

DO YOU THINK HE'S GOING TO TELL ANYONE?

Ummmm.... nope.  Chances are Ned will keep it on the down low, find some secret friends who also suffer from Creepycrawlyitis and he will have a blast living a normal life.  No one will know the truth about Ned.

Did the Ah-Ha Moment getcha yet?  No?  I'll give it to you.  Go back and substitute Creepycrawlyitis with Racism.

I don't want racists to be scared to speak their minds.  I don't want them to pretend they are someone they aren't.   I don't want their fake apologies.  Fining them and taking their money and assets away from them isn't going to change what they believe at all.  Not one bit.  It's only going to keep them quiet.

I want this to be a world where we know exactly who we are dealing with.  Let the racists reveal who they truly are.  Make them feel comfortable enough to think they can speak their minds and feel that there wont be any repercussions.  I JUST WANT TO KNOW WHO TO AVOID.

I would like to think that enough time has passed that the non-racist people outnumber the racist people by an enormous margin.   The best way to keep people honest and show them that we don't approve and just ostracize them without argument.  Maybe they will seek help to overcome this stupid fucking mindset.   If not, at least they will receive what they've been doing to others...... segregation.

If Donald Sterling was just left alone without all of this pressure to ACT  remorseful what do you think would happen?  He'd have no team because the players  would protest or quit.  He'd go to business and NBA functions and people would ignore and avoid him like the plague.  (People HATE to be ignored!  Worst punishment EVER!) No one would purchase anything that he was associated with.   He'd have no friends other than the other racist pigs he associated with.  He'd indirectly be punishing himself.  And that is way more influential than the stupid fine and the media giving him all of this publicity. Thank God he was such an idiot that he screwed up his "opportunity" to "apologize" and be accepted back into society after a short waiting time.

I was brought up to not see color.   I went to a trade school where I was a minority and found it to be a life experience that everyone should have.  I often find myself in situations where I'm the odd one out, but people accept me and let me in.  I have been fortunate beyond believe in regards to potentially discriminatory experience.  I have no clue what it's like to SUFFER because of racists and I don't pretend to understand what those who have been victims suffered through.

My daughter will be raised the same way I was.  View people by what you see on the inside.  The outside means nothing.  Some of the best books are hidden by covers that don't do them justice.  Some of the most visually attractive people have had the  most repulsive personalities.  The outside cannot be trusted when "judging" people for their true character.

By the way, we really ARE all the same.  That's not just a statement that "liberal extremists try to force down our throats in order to create unity."  (I thought I was going to vomit when I heard that come out of the mouth of someone I know.)   I saw a presentation in college by someone famous who often spoke on diversity.  Eons ago, when all of the continents were one, before they divided, humans all looked the same.  We all had the same physical characteristics.  The continents drifted and our appearances changed as we acclimated to our new environments and climates.   Nature caused us to change.   That's it.  The freakin' weather is what makes you look different from someone from another country!

"There is only one race on the planet; the human race."
Edward James Olmos

Love to you ALL!

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Reliving Childhood Memories From the Other Side

Hello everyone!

Just cuz my conscience wont let me get away with not plugging this, if you would like to join the Six Weeks to Summer Meltdown Challege (the winner's pool is over $15,000 and people are still signing up and adding to it!) please go to http://goo.gl/I8ZaEt.  If you want more information, please go to www.DiscoverHealthyHabits.com/6wks or my wacky video explaining things HERE

Now that THAT is done, I'll move on to other goings-on!

My mom had been planning a reveal of my childhood dollhouse for awhile.  It had been wrapped up for 28 years and moved to 3 different residences.  We had no idea what it would look like when we unraveled it.  It could be a new habitat for creepy crawlies, nope nopes or critters.  I envisioned little chipmunks sitting at a table having nut soup and looking surprised as their cover is blown.

Some things are just meant to last.  Pretty much everything my mom owns seems to last.  She takes very good care of things, especially if they are sentimental.  And I was very happy to see that the dollhouse fell in that category.  It was perfect.

I kind of remember getting the dollhouse.  I was pretty young and it was a strange situation.  I knew that my parents were building something, and I was pretty sure it was for me, but no one was talking.  They were just....building.  No explanation.  And apparently one of my flaws is that you can do shit in front of me and I don't notice much.

Allie was really excited about the dollhouse. We started telling her about it days ahead of time and every day that passed she got more and more excited.  On April 26th, she practically burst out of the front door to "get to Nana's"for the moment.  It meant a lot to me that she was so excited and I was pretty psyched about what I was going to see too.

There were paper bundles stuffed in the rooms of the dollhouse and as we pulled them out, Mom informed me that the movers who took us from Pittsburgh to NY had done that.  They even packed the dollhouse furniture.  Hmmph!  I was pretty impressed.  We took all of the bundles into the livingroom and unwrapped them.

There were lots of little pieces of furniture.  Some of them were purchased but quite a few were made by my parents.  See the green picnic table on the right?  I remember my father gluing that together and being a little frustrated.  I watched him glue it and then set it down carefully.  Typical kid, of course I had to touch it and KABLOOEY.... It fell apart.

It would be an understatement to say that he was pissed.  My father almost never got angry and yelled at me.  I remember thinking "I better get outta here." That was the only "not so happy" memory I have of the dollhouse.  Now, I'm thinking about all of the things Justin "uses adhesive" on that Allie is dying to touch.  So often we have asked, "Why do you have to touch that?!  Don't touch it!"  Now I get it, Dad.

My father glued every shingle onto the roof.  That's what he was probably doing right before I jacked up his mini picnic table.  He was probably borderline insane at that point from the glue smell and making every shingle perfect.

So, how appropriate was this photo?  Justin was gluing the little tidbits that had come apart along the way.  He, however, looks quite calm.  (It's probably cuz he's slightly boogered up from all of the pain meds)  I looked over and saw Allie's father gluing dollhouse furniture together in front of a fireplace, just like my own father did 35+ years ago.  It was a coincidence that got me a little choked up.

Allie made up all of the doll beds and I watched, thinking about how my mom made every bedspread and throw pillow.  She made the couch too.  She also carpeted and wallpapered each room.  (Mom doesn't do anything half-assed.)  I asked her, "How in the hell did you do all of this small stuff and not go crazy?"

Her answer was, "We just picked a scale and built everything from there."  She even remembered how many feet an inch represented in the construction design.  It was really interesting to hear about the making of everything because NOW I can appreciate all of the details.  To a child, it's just "let me make this doll bed".  To an adult, it's more like "I had to measure and cut the fabric and then make sure that it fit and looked realistic...."  

Never one to settle for the average, my father also put electric in the house.  Oh yes.  Electricity.  Every room had a lightbulb in it and there was one in the mini fireplace too.  Under the dollhouse was a box with a toggle switch on it.  There was battery inside that turned the lights on and off.  This is the one thing that wasn't working, so now Justin will be working on the dollhouse as well.  He's like the dollhouse maintenance guy.  As always, Allie loves to be involved in all projects.... especially ones that involve troubleshooting.  

This was a really fun and emotional experience.  I love that my mom had us do this all together and that I got to pick her brain about when she and my dad created it.  I love that Justin will have a hand in the furniture and certain house parts being functional in certain ways too.  I love that Allie is crazy about it.  Her first words out of her mouth the following morning were, "Can we go to Nana and PopPop's to play with the dollhouse?  Now?"

What makes me a little sad is that my father isn't around to see this....

He didn't get to have this awesome experience that Mom and I had.  It would've been fun to get some of his stories about it too.   It would've been fun for him to actually know Allie, but I guess that just wasn't part of the plan.

So, I'm using this blog to share the experience with you and to thank my mother for:

• Not losing her shit (Justin's term for "going insane") while measuring and gluing and sewing all of this little teeny tiny stuff when they made the dollhouse for me
• Taking time many decades ago to create something that brought me (and my playmates) so much fun and happiness for many years.  
• Keeping it so carefully preserved and clean (and critter free!), all while carting that house around for over three decades and through three moves
• Realizing that opening it for Allie would be a special moment for us all
• For playing with the dollhouse and Allie every time she's there.  I'm sure it will be expected to continue for a very long time!
• and last, but certainly not least, for being a thoughtful, loving mother who always found a way to make my life better and make me feel special (even when I was being "naughtily special" and probably deserved a kick in the ass).  The dollhouse is a good representation of that.  Hopefully one day Allie and I will have the chance to experience this with her daughter.  I'm so grateful.  I love you, Mom.

Wishing you all a dollhouse-kinda moment,

Vicki

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