We didn’t leave for Dad’s until Thursday morning due to a massive storm that swept through the eastern seaboard Wednesday. “Heavy, cold rain,” said Dad on the phone. “Sideways. Don’t drive out here in the dark; I’ll worry all night.”
Sigh. Change of plans. And you know how much I love changing plans at the last minute. Just gives me a nice warm feeling in my belly. Or heartburn.
Right around this time the demon that has taken up residence in my daughter began to make her presence known. Utterly unhelpful, blowing us off completely. Often not even acknowledging what we say. It got worse – much worse – later.
Yummy dinner, as usual. Judy is a fantastic cook. I can’t believe how much freaking pie I ate. The cranberry-walnut relish I like happens to pair wonderfully with bagels and cream cheese, by the way.
I have a brand-new little brother. His name is Bailey. He’s a beagle puppy. Get it? Beagle Bailey? Yeah, ok, moving on. I’m in love; he’s adorable. But it was like having two warring siblings in the house. He simply would not leave Duckie alone. She finally warmed up to him and got lots of sloppy puppy kisses that made her giggle hysterically. Seemed to calm the demon temporarily.
Roller skating and a local park to wear out the demon Friday afternoon. Quite effective. Met a lady there with her two kids, 4 and 5, to whom I confided my suspicion of Duckie’s recent demonic possession. About her son, she said, “Yeah, you know, two was hard, I know they say terrible two’s and all that, but three was brutal. I actually thought something was physically wrong – I was about to take him to the doctor.”
This is another secret no-one tells parents lest the propagation of the human race should come to a screeching halt. First, no-one mentions that the terrible two’s can start way earlier than 24 months, and then you’re left in the dark about this three-year-old shit. OK, yeah, I know, she’s just gotten out of diapers, she’s a big girl, and anyway it’s developmental. Whatever. At any rate, that woman was an agent of the divine, whether she knew it or not. Thank God, I thought. It’s not just Duck.
Brian and I braved the local box store to fetch Duckie’s Christmas present, a cute 12-inch bicycle with training wheels. It had damned well better be a nice day come December 25th. I just had to get it off the list, and it was a perfect time to do it – what with grandparents available and all. We also stole a couple of grown-up hours together at the bar around the corner from Dad’s house.
Family reunion Saturday. Worth the trip – I got to see my cousin V. for the first time in three years. I was embarrassingly happy to see her. Ate too much. Damned homemade banana pudding.
Long morning practices Thursday, Friday, Saturday. Sunday, an hour in the afternoon.
I tested a new shortbread recipe yesterday. (My yield was considerably higher than the stated 20 cookies because I rolled it thinner. Or, it should have been, before the sampling started.) Outrageous. Twice the quality of the recipe I used last year. This one calls for confectioner’s sugar instead of granulated. And more butter than I care to confess. Which explains the flavor and melt-in-your-mouth texture. Shameless. I don't even think I want to add chocolate. (In case you were wondering, yes, that is the earth trembling.)
I went to pick up Brian from Sunday Social Hour and the rest of the evening went quickly to shit. Her demon came out, mine emerged and joyfully engaged in battle, and the peaceful Buddhist chick in me (heretofore known as PBC) kinda sat back and said, “What the fuck?”
I ended the evening neck-deep in the bag of contraband Keebler's that Judy sent home with us. Counted my Lexapro and thought it might be a good idea to double the dose for a night.
I had set the alarm for around one to take Duck to the john. She jumped the gun and woke me up wet at midnight. Change sheets, start laundry, turn off morning yoga alarm, back to bed.
This morning was better only in terms of my ability to handle the demon when it came out.
She screamed all the way into school. I thought she was going to make herself sick. I’m waiting another twenty minutes for lunchtime, then I'm calling in the cavalry (i.e., my wise and trusted friend B, who also happens to be a child and family counseler.)
I couldn’t wait to get back to work.
Should be sunny and warm this afternoon. I’m well overdue for a date with the lake. Forgot my sports bra. I don’t care. Running anyway.
Tonight I’m hoping to dough a double-batch of roll cookies. Getting there, slowly but surely. I might at some point share the master baking plan here – but I’m afraid if I do, I’ll be hospitalized.