Nellie Rose In: Tangled

One of Nellie’s favorite movies is Tangled. She is in love with it. She got a Tangled Barbie doll for her birthday (which is cute and sweet and all, but have you ever had to deal with a foot of gnarly, matted Barbie doll hair? No? Well you haven’t lived, my friend.), has a few little action figures and asks to watch it about every other day.

We recently noticed that she was singing a song from Tangled, and I have tried multiple times to get it on camera to no avail. The other night, however, Nellie was in performance mode and decided to let me film her singing her little princess heart out.

To translate somewhat, Rapunzel sings “I could go running, and racing, and dancing, and chasing. And leaping, and bounding, hair flying, heart pounding. And splashing and reeling, and finally feeling that’s when my life be-giiiiiiiiiins!” and when she sings “begins”, she spins in a circle with her arms outstretched.

Nellie will run up and down our halls singing, “ah-runnin, ah-racin, a-chasin!” and it’s the cutest thing ever.

Watch out Broadway, here comes Nellie!

 

Greasy

My daughter’s hair is out of control. It’s long, curly, fine, and all over the place. I haven’t been able to bring myself to cut it yet. More often than not, her hair resembles Gene Wilder’s in Young Frankenstein. I usually have to wrestle it into pigtails or a ponytail, lest she look like she got a little too curious with an electrical outlet.

My daughter has also had chronic cradle cap on her scalp, which drives me insane. Yes, it’s harmless. Yes, her hair covers it up most of the time but when she’s sitting on my lap I can see it while I run my fingers through her curls, and it drives me insane. I’ll sit there and try and pick some of it off like some sort of mother chimpanzee while she fusses and protests. I did a little bit of research the other week on toddler cradle cap, and one website helpfully suggested rubbing olive oil into her scalp, letting it sit, then loosening the scales (like she’s a lizard) with a comb.

So the other night during bathtime, I was armed with some olive oil from the kitchen. While Nellie was playing, I wetted her hair (which she hates) and gave her head a nice scrub with some shampoo. I figured I’d use the olive oil as sort of a conditioner. I rinsed her hair clean of the shampoo (from Nellie’s reaction, I think the water I use to rinse her head is actually acid) and then rubbed the olive oil into her scalp. Have you ever tried to rub anything into a naked, slippery toddler’s scalp? It’s not easy, especially when said toddler is protesting and sliding all around the tub like a greasy seal.

I digress. I got the olive oil in, let it set and then I started combing away her flakes. Much to my delight, they loosened easily and her scalp immediately looked better. I began the process of chasing her around the tub as she slipped and slid and yelled, “I MERMAID! I DOLPHIN! WHOAAAAA!” attempting to rinse her hair (again with the acid, or snake venom, or whatever my water is made of). Nellie wailed and thrashed and complained and after a few decent attempts at getting the olive oil out of her hair, I finally told her we were done and got her out of the tub.

We went about our normal nighttime routine and put her to bed. The next morning I greeted my pajama-clad girl with a hug and a kiss…

And then I saw her greasy little head and I jumped back slightly. It looked like someone had poured a vat of grease (or, you know. Olive oil) on the top of her head. It was then that I realized that after I had doused her head in olive oil, I had failed to do what the instructions on the internet had said, and that was to rinse it with shampoo again after combing the cradle cap flakes off.

Great.

“What’s wrong with Nellie’s hair?” Josh asked as he came into the room.
”Uh. I put some olive oil on her scalp to try and help with her flakes and also the tangles in her hair..”
”It looks awful.”
“Yes. I’m aware.”

I pulled her up into my lap and scooped her greasy curls toward the top of her head, winding a ponytail holder around them.
“There. That’s better.”
Josh gave me a side-eye and went to empty the garbage.

My girl went to school today dressed in a cute pink and plaid dress, Spider-Man shoes, and a head full of greasy hair that smells kind of like a salad. I had to explain to her teacher what had happened and that she wasn’t dirty; her mother was just an idiot.

Sorry, kiddo. Mom fail.

Shit I Never Thought I’d Say: Part Eighty Five.

I’ve posted about hearing myself utter things I never in a million years though I would hear myself utter before. Now that Nellie is walking, talking, and almost two, I thought I’d post a revised edition of Shit I Thought I’d Never Say. Enjoy.

  • Get that sucker out of your hair.
  • No, we don’t need a Hormel meal, bubbles, a rubber duck, and a Spider-Man hat on this shopping trip. Let’s put them back.
  • Old MacDonald Had A Farm again? Really? Wouldn’t you rather sing something else? No? Awesome.
  • Okay, don’t drink that bathwater, it has bubbles in it.
  • Yeah, the bathwater is yucky. That’s because there’s bubbles in it.
  • Do NOT put that Christmas ornament in your mouth. Sharp! Stabby! OUCH!
  • I know you love the cat but please don’t try and lick him on the face.
  • Don’t draw on the table.
  • Don’t draw on the floor.
  • Kitty doesn’t want you to draw on him.
  • That’s not a boo-boo, that’s your nipple.
  • Oh, you can say ‘nipple’ now. Awesome.
  • Yes, mommy also has nipples.
  • So does daddy.
  • Please don’t try and look at mommy’s nipples while we’re in line at Wal-Mart.
  • Get your hand out of my shirt, you still can’t see mommy’s nipples.
  • Don’t you DARE bite that balloon!
  • *reading a book* What’s that? That’s a sheep. …Still a sheep. ……..Still a sheep. ………….Always going to be a sheep. ………….Hasn’t stopped being a sheep.
  • Ugh. Please don’t put your feet in the popcorn.

What funny things are your kids saying?

Soos OFF.

Nellie’s standby daycare shoes are a pair of black and white ones we got at Wal-Mart. The other morning while leaving for school we managed to lose one of them somewhere. I still have no idea where the frigging thing went. It was there, and then it wasn’t. We ended up having to pair her black-and-orange Halloween outfit with a pair of brown shoes with pink and purple flowers on them. Fashionable. But whatever, she’s not Suri Cruise. She could wear a purple shirt, orange pants, and mismatched shoes and she’d still be adorable and amazing. TAKE THAT FASHION BABIES.

Anyway. The next day we still couldn’t find the black and white shoes, so I coordinated her an outfit that would look a little less clashy with her brown flowery shoes. We put them on, got her strapped in the car and off we went on our morning routine. We dropped daddy off at work and headed to daycare. On the drive there, I heard the telltale sound of Velcro being pulled apart.

Rrrrrrrrrrip. Thump.

Off come the shoes.

When I got out of the car to get Nellie out of her seat, it was rainy. My pants are too long, so I kept stepping on the hems and getting them wet. I opened the door to find my child sitting in her seat, grinning at me.

Shoeless. Of course she was. “You silly girl!” I declared. “You took your shoes off!”

”SOOS. OFF! SOOS OFF MAMA,” she agreed. I quickly found one shoe, and then started looking for the other. I couldn’t find it on one side, so I plodded to the other side of the car, stepping all over my pants and getting drizzled on. I dug around the seat, looked on the floor, jammed my hand under the carseat and still came up empty.
”Mama. Mama! Up. Up. Mama.”
”Yes, Nellie, I know you want up but I have to find your shoes first. You took them off and mama can’t find one.”
”Off. Soos OFF, MAMA.”

I went around to the back and opened the hatch to see if somehow she’d managed to fling the shoe into the back. No dice. I saw the lone black and white shoe, sitting forlornly without its mate.

“MaMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.” Nellie started to whine.

I was still getting drizzled on and the cuffs of my pants were becoming increasingly soaked, so I started getting flustered and frustrated. I repeated my search all around the car; left side, right side, back. Diaper bag, purse, under Nellie’s carseat. The damn shoe was nowhere to be found. By this time Nellie was in full-on Whine Mode and I was about to lose my mind. I pulled out my phone and called my husband, deducing that the shoe had to have fallen out when he opened the door to kiss her. He checked the parking lot for me and came up empty.

GREAT.

There was a Wal-Mart nearby, so I climbed back in the car and drove over there to pick up a new pair of shoes. I toted Nellie through Wal-Mart until we found a decent-looking and non-gaudy pair of shoes (which, at Wal-Mart, is no easy feat. TRUST ME.). As soon as Nellie saw the black and pink shoes, she started wiggling excitedly on my hip.

”MAMA! MAMA! SOOS! SOOS! ON. SOOS.”

“Yes, Nellie, we’ll put these shoes on when you get into the car.”

A few minutes later we were back to the car, strapping Nellie into the carseat.

”SOOS MAMA! SOOS! ON. SOOS ON.”

I hastily ripped off the labels and tags and slipped them onto Nellie’s feet.
”Pretty! Pretty shoes!” I said to her. “Do you like your new shoes?”
”YAH! YAH MAMA!” Nellie said happily.

It was then that I started to wonder if “losing” the black and white shoes and the brown shoes all in the course of two days wasn’t really an accident, but a well thought-out ploy by my daughter to get me to buy her a brand new pair of sparkly pink and black shoes. Hmm.

I climbed back into the car, eyeing the clock and sighing that we were already almost 45 minutes behind our normal routine. I pulled out of the Wal-Mart parking lot and onto the road.

”Soos, Mama. Soos.” Nellie said.
”Shoes, baby,” I agreed. I turned up the radio a little bit to sing along to the music playing from it, but not before I heard from the backseat…..

Rrrrrrrrrrrrip. Thump.

“Soos off, Mama.”

*facepalm*

 

 

 

 

Boosit and Buhseek.

Nellie’s vocabulary grows each and every day. A few weeks ago, she was toddling around the apartment being adorable when she exclaimed,

“Boosit!”

*record scratch*

Josh and I whipped our heads around to look at one another.
“Did she just say bullshit?” I asked.
Wide-eyed, Josh replied, “Sure did sound like it.”
“Boosit! Boosit! Boosit!” Nellie chirped happily while trotting behind her little push-toy.
“Surely not,” I said uncertainly, eyeballing my curly-headed cussing child. “We hardly ever say that word.”
It’s true. We don’t. We say lots of other things we shouldn’t, but “bullshit” isn’t really in our vocabulary. Bullshit is kind of a boring and not cool swear word if you ask me. Some would argue that no swear words are cool, and to those people I say, “boosit.”

Anyway, after a little bit of debating, we decided that Nellie was trying to say “push it” because we’ve encouraged her so often to push her toy, to push a button, to push the door closed, etc.

The other day, my mother in law called me.
“You will never believe what Nellie said,” she began.
Gulp. A parade of profanity begun marching through my head, as each and every F-Bomb I’ve uttered in front of Nellie came back to haunt me. The possibilities of what she could have let loose in front of my mother in law were endless. Damnit. Shit. Fuck. Douchecanoe. Jackwagon. Balls. Republican (I kid, I kid! … Maybe. Not really.).

“What.. did she say?” I asked hesitantly.
“Well,” she began, “I was changing her diaper and when we were all done, her little buttcheek was hanging out of the back. So I said ‘Nellie! Your buttcheek’s stickin’ out!’ and then she yelled, ‘buttcheek! Buttcheek!'”

I began laughing hysterically, half because that’s actually really cute and half because I was relieved my daughter hadn’t said ‘asslicker’ in front of her Gran. When we went to pick her up that day from my mother in law, Josh and I prompted Nellie.

“Nellie. Nellie. ‘Buttcheek’.”
“Buhhhseek!” she yelled happily.

I about died laughing. So now my kid can say a lot of different words. Dog, cat, bear, ball, spoon, cheese, and buttcheek.

I’m a proud mama. A proud mama who needs to watch her mouth before my kid really does call someone a douchecanoe.

You Can’t Always Get What You Want

Nellie has a ride-on toy that we dubbed Murder.

Nellie and Murder. Watch yourself.

Why did we name a pink and purple princess ride-on toy Murder?

*shrugs*

Anyway, she has recently mastered the ability to get on and off Murder without our assistance. Sometimes she climbs on backward. She hasn’t gotten the hang of scooting along by herself, so usually she screams at us until we bend to her will like the good minions parents we are, and push her around our small apartment. Over and over. Until our backs hurt.

Nellie also has another toy with wheels. It’s a Little People carriage and it looks like this:

This toy is clearly for transporting blocks, princes and princesses, and
sometimes, the Incredible Hulk:


TAKE HULK TO MARKET.

It is not, however, for transporting little girls named Nellie. This is something that our darling daughter doesn’t understand, because she keeps trying to stand in it. She gets upset and frustrated and starts crying, so one day we decided to try and teach our little girl that you can’t always get what you want, because some things just don’t work. We allowed her to try and ride the princess carriage:

Why isn’t this tiny horse taking me where I want to go?

 

She soon discovered the flaw in her plan.

MY BOTTOM IS UNCOMFORTABLE AND I DON’T UNDERSTAND.

You may call us terrible and mean parents for allowing our child to sit on something that is uncomfortable and clearly not meant for a child to sit on while laughing and taking a picture at her discovery of said discomfort. Pff. Like you’ve never taken a picture of your child being traumatized or sobbing. Whatever.

Anyway, I’d like to tell you that Nellie learned her lesson after sitting on that uncomfortable hunk of pink and purple plastic, but I caught her the other day putting her foot inside the carriage and getting really pissed off when she wobbled and fell over. Ah, well. Sometimes you win, and other times your kid repeatedly tries to squeeze her ass onto a Little People horse and carriage.

 

 

 

 

The Missing Remote

Our TV remote has been missing for a week now and by missing, I mean it’s fucking gone. I haven’t seen the damn thing in seven days and I don’t have the first idea what happened to it.

Josh first noticed its’ absence on Saturday when he asked me where it was. I shrugged and told him I had no idea; I hadn’t been able to locate it the night before. He was out playing Warhammer and I was home alone with Nellie. I remember her having it at one point and then it’s like aliens came and sucked away that specific portion of  my memory that contained the whereabouts of my remote control. They didn’t take anything else; not long division, not movie quotes, just what happened to the remote after Nellie had hold of it.

We searched high a low. We looked in all of Nellie’s usual hiding places: buried at the bottom of the toy box, under the couch, the seat of her ride-on toy but our efforts were fruitless. Still no remote. Josh started feeling very agitated about the whole ordeal whereas I found it kind of comical. He’d start looking, getting frustrated and asking me why I didn’t care that the remote was gone. I just figured that it would turn up eventually, someplace funny of course and we’d both get a good laugh out of the whole situation.

Well, a week later and there is absolutely no sign of the remote. It’s not the end of the world, we can still work the television but now I’m wondering..

Where the hell is the damned remote control?!

It’s like it vanished into thin air. Blinked out of existence. Teleported itself into a different dimension. Was abducted by goddamned remote control gnomes. I DON’T KNOW, BUT THE DAMN THING IS GONE.

It’s not so much the fact that we have to manually turn the TV on and off as much as not knowing what the crap happened to it. Josh gave me the side-eye the first few days that it was missing because I’m known to misplace things in odd places. Cell phone in the cabinet, sunglasses in the freezer, that sort of thing. But we’ve looked in every unusual place that we can find and have found no remote. I have no clue where the freaking thing is, but I hope that it re-materializes/comes back from its’ alternate dimension holiday/is returned by the gnomes before Josh and I both lose our minds.

Perhaps we should ask Nellie. This is the face of someone who knows more than she is letting on.

 

Quartet Practice with a Toddler

My quartet, Route 41, is singing on the news in two weeks. We are also microphone testers for our regional Young Women in Harmony competition, which is in about three weeks, so today we decided to get together and practice a new song we’ve been working on. (If you have no idea what I’m talking about, read this post that explains my involvement with a women’s a capella barbershop harmony chorus)

Daddy Green is working today, so I packed up Nellie and headed to S (who sings lead)’s house. S has a 4.5 month old, L so I knew it would be interesting. Nellie hasn’t been around many babies who aren’t close to her age.

It started out well enough; I sat down with Nellie after she tromped all over L’s playmat and gave her a snack and a drink. Nellie was content exploring L’s toys, crawling around the living room and being inquisitive. She kept trying to crawl out of the room so S got her pack n’ play and we contained Nellie for a while that way.  After a short time in the PnP, Nellie decided she’d had enough of that foolishness. We barricaded the way out of the living room with the pack n’ play, so Nellie had free reign of the living room.

As time marched on, Nellie got more and more restless. L had woken up from her nap and was content sitting in her Bumbo and watching the scene. In true toddler fashion, Nellie was not. She was crawling everywhere and getting into everything. I had to move everyone’s purses toward the back of the couch so she wouldn’t pull them down. The TV tray that had cups of water, pitch pipes, and a digital camera perched precariously atop it had to be monitored at all times. My three singing sisters sang beautifully, while my part sounded more like this:

Goody goodbye, bye bye, I’ll see you never.
Goody goodbye, bye bye, so you think you’re – NELLIE, PUT THAT DOWN.
While playing with my – NO! you overplayed your part
I must have been dumb, dumb as – NELLIE ROSE, THAT IS NOT YOUR PACIFIER. GET IT OUT OF YOUR MOUTH PLEASE.
To believe you from the start
Goody-good luck to you, and to the – NO, WE DON’T PULL ON BABY L’S FEET.

I think that my absolute favorite moment was when I had to make a mad dash to retrieve Nellie, who had suddenly taken off crawling at breakneck speed across the living room floor toward L’s baby bottle… Full of breastmilk.

We managed to get a decent practice in, but let me tell you what. To all of you moms whose babes haven’t made it to the toddler stage yet: you think your baby is difficult now?

You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.