Anatomy lesson

About a month ago, I made a decision. Right or wrong, it was time to teach Lindsay about girl parts and boy parts. Age 3 might seem a little young, but the reality was that she had noticed there was a difference between boys and girls and she wanted to talk about it. It all started with this little exchange while she was going potty one day:

Lindsay: "When I grow bigger, I'm going to turn into a boy and grow a funny butt!"

Me: "What now?"

Lindsay: "When I grow bigger and turn 4, I'm going to turn into a boy and grow a funny butt."

Not sure what exactly to say about it, and being pretty certain she wasn't talking about butts, I just changed the subject. But a few days later while going potty, she again said, "When I grow bigger, I'm going to turn into a boy and grow a funny butt!"

Having mulled the previous conversation over, I had decided that if the issue was raised again, I was going to face it. I knew what I had to do. So this time I explained to her that boys have penises and girls have vaginas. And that girls will never have penises and boys would never have vaginas. (Yes, I saved the conversation about sexual reassignment surgery....figured that would've been a lot to handle on top of all the penis/vagina talk).

We talked about it for a bit and she seemed satisfied with my explanation....so I thought that was the end of it for now. But she thought differently.

A few days after our conversation, we were driving in the car and she said, "You're a girl. And I'm a girl. And we have 'banginas!'"

And it didn't stop there. She went through a list of everyone we know and told me whether they had a penis or a "bangina." Not exactly normal rush hour discussion, but I guess at least it was in the privacy of our car and not in the middle of Target.

Again, I thought that might be the end of it, but she had different ideas. It has become a regular topic of conversation around our house. And then one day it turned to cartoon characters. We were sitting there innocently watching Diego and she said, "Diego is boy and he has penis! And Dora is a girl and she has a bangina! Mike the Knight is a boy and he has a penis!"

So far, no one is safe. If she's met you, she has speculated on your anatomy. I'm just waiting for the question about whether Bot (from Team Umizoomi) has a penis or a bangina. Now there's question I don't have an answer for.

Little rocker

While attending a friend's wedding on Saturday, we discovered that Lindsay is quite the little rocker. Sure, she was excited about dancing the chicken dance and she liked the conga line (despite the fact she kept goosing the lady with the short dress on who was right in front of her), but her real dancing chops showed up when the DJ played "Thunderstruck" by AC/DC.

Ladies and gentleman, I offer you Lindsay's first foray dancing to a rock song. Hopefully she doesn't try the ankle dance at an actual rock concert.

What's missing?

A long, long time ago (September 19th), Kevin and I left for a long weekend trip to Orlando, FL. Kevin had a conference and I had....well....I had to sit by the pool while he was at the conference. We had grand, old time.

We ate well:

We drank (very) well....that pink drink is Kevin's:

And we swam with the dolphins (some people might call them ducks):

And while we were gone, Lindsay was having fun with Grandma and Grandpa Pfeifer and the pups back in Rosemount.

But that wasn't all the fun they were going to have because not only did they all hang out together in Rosemount for a few days while we were away, Lindsay was going back to Watford City (that's in North Dakota for all you out of state readers) to stay with both sets of grandparents and hang with the rest of the family.

TWO WEEKS! "What will you do with yourselves for that long?" was the question we were asked dozens of times prior to our trip. Well, we found lots of stuff to do.

We ate at nice restaurants:

We enjoyed some more libations:

We golfed (I'll let you decide if I drove the ball that close to the flag):

And we ate at some more restaurants:

That took up about 4 days. And then we were bored....because all we want to do is play Uno Moo with this kid:

I joke that this means we are too old for fun and are boring suburbanites, but what it really means is that this little monster has buried herself in my soul. I wouldn't have it any other way. If that makes me old and boring, so be it, I guess.

Herein ends the sappy part....and the blog post. Because this girl is hopping in the car to head to Fargo soon to get my little girl back!

It's a girl!

No, I didn't birth another child. Nor am I breaking any news about adding to our family. This is just a simple reminder that Lindsay is indeed a girl. Maybe you didn't need the reminder. But I'm not just talking any girl....I'm talking GIRLY GIRL. Since most of my readers have probably met me, you also probably don't need to be told that the phrase "girly girl" most likely has never been used to describe me. Don't get me wrong...I expected some of this.

For instance, I kind of expected her to really like the color pink. After all, most people buy little girls pink clothes. Here's the outfit she chose to garden and help Daddy put up a fence in (pay particular attention to the gold-sequined flats with the bow on them):

Check.

I also kind of expected her to be into princess stuff, well, because a lot of people also buy princess books, toys, clothes, etc. And yes, she does love princesses:

Check.

And you know, I sort of even expected her to be into dresses even though she will rarely see her mommy in one, because again, people love giving little girls dresses....and I must admit there is something damn cute about a little girl in a tiny, little dress. Well, you guessed it....she loves dresses and when she's going out, she wants to put one on. Here's her "party dress". Appropriately named because she wore it for her 3rd birthday party:

Once again, check.

But one thing I didn't see coming was a declaration she made a couple weeks ago. Daddy had to work, so her and I drove to Minneapolis to watch the Vikings preseason game against the Chargers. No one that has met us would be surprised to know that we've trained her to know the names and numbers of some of the players on our favorite teams. She will happily declare that "Joe plays baseball! He wears a 7!" or "Kobe wears a 2 and 4 and plays basketball with Mommy!" (I haven't corrected her on the latter.)

Anyway, we got to our seats and I said, "Who are we here to watch?" The answer, of course, is supposed to "CHRISTIAN! He wears a 7!" Instead, her answer was, "The cheerleaders!" *ERRRRRRRRRR* (That's supposed to be a record scratching....which is what I heard in my mind.) Either this girly girl thing is getting out of hand, or she's been hanging out with her Uncle Richard too much.

I tried to explain to her that no, we didn't drive to downtown Minneapolis, pay for parking and buy a beer (for me) and some popcorn (for her) to watch the cheerleaders. We came to watch Christian....and AP....and Jared....and Percy. But she was having none of it. In fact, when the cheerleaders came out for their between-quarters routine, she said, "When I grow bigger and bigger, I'm going to be a cheerleader!" And wouldn't you know it? The next day she found a couple pom-poms in her toy box and has been carrying them around ever since. I guess she might make a cute cheerleader...

This whole girly girl thing will take getting used to, but if she goes the cheerleading route, I can get on board. But Lord help us all if she wants to be involved in pageants. THAT is something I'd have to consider trading her in for.

Helper?

Occassionally, Lindsay is a really good helper. For instance, last weekend Kevin was building a fence and she sat next to him and handed him screws. When she's helping out, it makes us want to have dozens of kids so they can just do everything for us.

But most of the time, she's the opposite of helpful. As in, I'd rather just do it myself than even ask her to help. But, as any parent can attest, you really have to teach them how to do some things so they learn how to be helpful. It is excruciating though. She has a million books and about every 4th day, they've all made their way out of the bookcase onto her floor. Normally I've just picked them up for her, but last week I decided that it could be her job to pick those up.

Her initial reaction was running to the kitchen to hide behind the doors of the Lazy Susan. Apparently she thinks we can't see her.

She then proceeded to take approximately 30 minutes to pick up the books. During which time my internal temperature reached a boiling point and I almost put her in timeout at least 8 times.

I know at some point this pays off, but rest assured that teaching her how to help is not easy and not worth the return. So it appears we probably won't have dozens of kids...in case you were still wondering.

Prepositions!

Hearing Lindsay's language expand is one of the great joys of parenthood. It seems everyday there is a new word or phrase she learns and she's getting pretty good at putting sentences together in a decipherable manner. However, there are still some gaps and sometimes it makes for interesting conversation.

Lindsay (as she was getting buckled into her car seat): The buckle is in my butt!

Me: No, it isn't in your butt, it's by your butt.

Lindsay: No! It's in my butt!

Me: No, no. It's just by your butt. Nothing is actually in your butt.

Lindsay: There's poop in my butt.

Me: True.

Lindsay: The buckle is in my butt too.

I give up. She doesn't need to know all the prepositions quite yet. And I don't feel like explaining right now that objects shouldn't be in your butt. Another conversation for another day, I guess. I just hope I don't find her trying to put a buckle in one of the dog's butts.

Miss Independent

I'm not sure if Lindsay is a fan of either Kelly Clarkson or Ne-Yo yet, but she's definitely a fan of doing everything herself. And I mean EVERYTHING. Now, I've been told that I am slightly independent...but I'm certain I'm not as bad as her. In the average hour, you'd likely hear at least a dozen things that under no circumstances can Kevin or I help with.

For instance, the grocery store. Only need milk, but one small cart and an incredibly slow stroll through the aisle later, we are looking at least 15 minutes instead of 2 minutes. And part of the reason it takes so long is because she stops to chat with everyone that tells her she's cute. So please, people, just don't even look at her if you see us coming your way.

Last weekend we were in the airport. Kevin dropped us off at the front door of MSP with our bags and then he went to park the car. Lindsay INSISTED on pulling her own suitcase through the airport. It wasn't easy for me to pull our rollers and carry the carry-ons, but it was 8,000 times faster when she let me do it. But once we got through security, it was out of the question....she was doing it. Of course we were heading to the last gate in the farthest away concourse and she wouldn't get on the rolling walkway. So here we were, tiny little toddler pulling her huge suitcase through the airport.

We got equal amounts of looks of "She's so cute!" (which just slowed us down more because Lindsay then wanted to talk to them) and "Why would she make her kid pull that suitcase?" (which made me think they might think I'm actually punishing her...or encourage child labor). Personally, I thought it was adorable at first. But about halfway through the concourse, I started thinking "This kid needs to hurry up." And by the time we got to the gate (a gate Kevin beat us to, by the way), it was "I'm not letting her pull this ever again."

And guess what? That lasted about 30 minutes. Because when we were getting ready to head down the jetway, she threw an ever-loving fit and I gave in faster than she could scream, "NO! I PULL MY SUITCASE!" because I didn't want to be the parent with the child screaming before we even got on the plane. (Which probably gave off the unintended impression that I'm the parent that just lets her kid do whatever she wants.) I quickly hurried her down the jetway (her pulling her own bag, of course) and away from the witnesses of the scene of the crime.

As I was struggling to put our luggage in the overhead bins, a guy kindly asked if he could help me out with the bags and I said, "No, I got it. Thanks though." Alright, so maybe I do know where she gets it. But I'm certain it doesn't take me 15 times longer than the average person.

Threats

Yep. We make them. Not physically abusive or terroristic threats, but threats nonetheless. Lindsay is now of the age that there is some level of reasoning that can be effective. She's still 2, so it clearly doesn't work great, but it is reasoning. But when the reasoning fails, it often digresses into a threat.

That brings us to Thursday night. We were having our friends over for dinner (damnit, SUPPER!) on Friday and that meant Lindsay's best buddy, Evan, would be coming over. So during SUPPER on Thursday night, I told Lindsay that Evan was coming over to play tomorrow night. Of course, she was super excited and could hardly wait for the next night.

Well, as it usually goes, we had to battle to get her to eat her supper, take a bath, etc. So what did I use as "motivation?" That's right...Evan's visit.

Me: "Do you want Evan to come over tomorrow?"

Lindsay: "YES!"

Me: "Then you need to eat your chicken (which really was pork, but she'll only eat meat that is chicken, so we call all meat chicken....another post for another day because lying probably isn't a good thing either)."

Lindsay: "NO!"

Me: "Well, I'll call Lindsay and Jeremy and tell them not to bring Evan tomorrow."

Lindsay: *eats a bite of "chicken"*

Worked like a charm. We got her to eat supper, take a bath, change her clothes in the morning and even pick up some of her toys. Although, at one point she did call my bluff, but I think that was a miscommunication on her part. At least I hope it was because lord help me if she already has picked up on this newest tactic of mine and decided I don't have the follow-through.

So, I guess as long as it works, I've become a fun terrorist. I was starting to feel guilty about doing it, but then I think back to Christmas and I remember hearing a lot of parents saying Santa wouldn't come if the child didn't listen or behave. So I guess I'm not the only fun terrorist....or at least I don't think I am. I really hope all those kids that weren't listening didn't miss out on Santa.

No January?

Maybe I missed it, but my calendar says February and my last blog post says December! Whoopsie.

Because I've been so lacking, I present to you this blog's first video. A stirring rendition of "The Wheels on the Bus." A slow start, but make sure you stick around until the 1-minute mark to see what a "Mommy" on the bus says. Hmmm...

If I had kept the camera rolling just a little longer, you would've seen what a "Daddy" says on the bus. Apparently they say, "Sit down now!" Not sure which of us is painted in the worst light by this song.