Mexican Food- Gabrielle

Tonight, I decided to take one more step on the Independence Highway I'm screaming down, and this step took me straight into the waiting arms of spicy salsa.

As you may know, if you've been following our story, I am what my pediactrician likes to call a "discerning eater." Or, if you listen to Mom on one of her bad days, "a frustrating little princess who defines picky and might as well starve as much as I care, I am NOT making one more piece of food for that ungrateful twit." I'm not sure, but I don't think I was really supposed to hear her say that...

Anyhow, I've recently realized that Mom wasn't as bothered by the whole picky eating thing anymore, and, frankly, I don't really like to be labeled. So I've started to branch out in my food exploration. (To really drive Mom nuts, though, I only try new food for Dad. She'll offer me something for a month, and I'll throw it on the floor. Then she leaves me alone with Dad for one morning, and I try it and love it. I do this to try to make her feel bad for missing even a second of my life...) Over the last few months, I've discovered omelets and lasagna and soup and blueberries and pancakes and bananas... You know, all the food most kids love and start eating as soon as they can chew, but that I've totally ignored because all I've wanted was refried beans. (But I'm still not going for that Mac and Cheese stuff, I don't care what you say, it's weird...)

I have to say, though, I love mexican food. It might be because of the beans, or because that's where Dad wants to eat when Mom's always saying "PLEASE can we go somewhere with some fresh raw vegetables, I really want a salad, not all that heavy food." I like to help out Dad when I can, so he can always use me as a negotiating tip- because there is NOTHING at Sweet Tomatoes that I will eat.

So tonight, we went to one of our standby Mexican restaurants, the one that drives Mom nuts because they never have big tables and we get shoved in a booth where they sit me on the end of the table and I kick Mom's shins the whole time. This was the first time they actually let me sit IN the booth with them, and this let me be closer to the chips. Usually they hand me a chip and I show my disdain by breaking it up into tiny little pieces and throwing them in Mom's lap . But tonight I noticed Dad was dipping his chips into this pretty red stuff that looked a lot like beans. They told me it wasn't beans, but I wouldn't believe them until I stuck my fingers into it. Mom said something like, "Well, that's all yours now..." and actually turned into a kinda cool Mom for a minute. Because she dipped my chip into that red stuff and offered it to me. Even though Dad, Grandpa and Grandma were all saying, "No, that's too spicy, you'll hurt her, Gabby you don't want that!" There are these rare moments when Mom and I bond, when she's actually pretty cool and let's me do what I want... Then she says, "Well, she has to learn somehow, maybe she'll stop asking for it if she realizes she doesn't like it." Oh, I get it, it's just another thing that you've decided I won't like and you just want to shut me up. I'll show you...

I ate half a bowl of that salsa stuff. I shoveled about three huge chips worth of the stuff straight down my throat. Sure, my face turned red and my eyes were watering. Sure, I said, "Hurts!" and Grandma said she thought I should stop when my nose starting running. But I kept at it. Because you know what? It was GOOD! And I felt like a grownup. And I liked to do something they didn't expect, I liked to surprise them all. And, I can't lie, I was enjoying the idea of the diaper Mom will get to clean up tomorrow.

By the end of the meal, I ate my entire cheese enchilada, my double helping of refried beans and, for the first time, actually ate some ice cream because we get a free kids' sundae with my meal. (I did this because Dad always eats my sundae, but Mom said today she might want a bite, so I decided today was the day to make sure they knew it is MINE!) Mom's gonna have quite a mess on her hands tomorrow... =)

Yelling- Gabrielle

Dude, have you heard of yelling? It's this new thing that's all the rage in our house, and I'm telling you, it's AWESOME!

Just to give you some history, you should know that I've always tried to kinda go the "sweet" route. I realized very early that people ooh, ahh, and give you things when they think you are sweet. If you are quiet and innocent-seeming, they also ignore you. This has allowed me to get away with a lot of stuff in my life. So, for the most part, up until now, this whole sweet thing has worked for me.

Unfortunately, the Evil Warden that insists I call her Mom has recently gotten some brains. (She's not shown much up until now, so I'm thinking it's just as likely someone has ratted me out, but that's a topic for another blog...) Mom has started paying more attention to what I'm doing, being a bit more worried about "where I am and what I'm getting up to." She actually said to me the other day, "You know, that sweet act won't work on me, young lady!" so I started to think that perhaps I needed a new gig.

It didn't take long to realize that my brother Josiah has a pretty good schtick going with this thing called Yelling. Man, that drives Mom nuts! She's always saying things about "inside voices," "kind tones of voice," "headaches" and "isn't your father home yet?" I HAD to get in on this! So I talked with Josiah about this a little, and we came up with a game plan. We did have to be a little creative, though. See, Josiah knows more words than I do. And he does this thing with saying lots of words all at once that makes Mom say, "Josiah, that was a nice sentence, thanks for using such nice words!" Yeah, I'm not really all that interested in the sentence thing. So I explained to Josiah that, if we're going to work together, he really has to go back to the single word and short phrase thing. Ever since we got that worked out, it's been wonderful. Man, you should hear us both start up with "Potty! Potty! Potty! Potty!" It's, frankly, beautiful beyond belief.

There are two key components to a very effective Single-Word Yelling technique: volume and repetitiveness. There is a delicate balance between how quickly you repeat a word, though, so be careful. If you go too fast, Mom will say something like, "I'm not listening unless you use real words" and "If you cannot speak appropriately to me, you can go spend some time alone in your room." Once Mom gets to those sentences, the fun usually stops because she really will ignore me and make me spend time alone in my room. So you have to disguise this Yelling thing as if it's a sincere and true attempt to communicate. Mom should feel some stress that she's unable to meet your "needs" and she'll start saying things like, "Gabby, I'm trying, I'm really doing my best, please don't yell at me!" and "I'm really really sorry that we're out of yogurt, is there ANYTHING else you could possibly shove into your mouth to make that awful noise stop?!?" See, you have to make her think that YOU are the victim and hope she never realizes what a complete patsy you are making of her.

This has been a fun two weeks implementing our plan! I feel bad for Josiah, though, because Mom's getting kinda hard on him. She keeps sending him to his room, saying, "You cannot stand there and yell one word at me over and over and over again. You know how to speak properly, come down when you're ready." But, you know what? It's his own fault for ever speaking in sentences in the first place. I mean, really, you have this great Single-Word Yelling thing going, why would you jeopardize that just to get a little praise from this crazy woman? I tell you what- I'm NEVER going to ask for something politely in sentence form. Sure, I know all my letters, can spell my name and write a couple of letters. But I'm playing dumb with that. That and potty training, and I can pretty much guarantee I'll have Mom on edge all summer long...

Freedom- by Gabrielle

Some days I wish I were a cat.

We have two cats in our house- Taco and Bandit. Taco has been around forever, and he seems to do his best to avoid me. I'm not really sure why- I sing to him, hug him, play with his food and water, give him toys (even thought Mom's always saying things like "Don't shove the toy in his face, Gabby!" Like she'd know what anyone likes about toys...) But Bandit- she's new to our home. She actually came after me, which kinda makes her the baby. I don't mind, though, because Mom doesn't really give her all that much attention as the new baby. I mean, she never gets sung to or has her hair braided... she's totally dumb to not try to reap these things, but I'm not telling her about it.

But what Mom does give Bandit, that she doesn't give me- FREEDOM. That little fur ball gets to run around wherever she wants. She eats off the floor, climbs on the bed, fights with Taco, and no one ever says anything. Because she's a cat. Like that matters! I'm the only little girl in this house, and usually that allows me to get away with things. But Bandit has me totally beat.

Spring is here, and Mom's letting us play in the backyard more. Bandit comes, too. But Bandit, being the spoiled-rotten, gets-everything-she-wants-and-then-struts-around-about-it twit that she is, gets to go OUT of the backyard. I know, right?? Mom's always whining, "Stay on the grass, stay away from that hole, don't climb the fence, don't pull up the tree, yada yada yada." Geez, woman, I'm two years old! I know what I'm doing! And don't get me started on Josiah "Gabby's leaving the gate!" big brother extraordinaire. I tell you, these people just want to keep me down. Don't they see the big field on the other side of the fence?!? Don't the SEE the endless possibilities, the wide open spaces, the big blue skies?!? I don't know what a "dangerous ravine" or "sharp hidden rocks" or "rattlesnakes" are. But can they be at all interesting in comparison to a cat chasing a butterfly? I MUST go see! But, again, there is Mom with her "If you can't stay in a safe place, we'll have to go inside" all sweet and simple, like she's not tearing my life apart.

But I've found a way around this woman and her tyranny. It is called, as it so often is, Grandma. Yep, Grandma came over to watch us the other night, and we were already outside, so she let us stay. Chump. I mean, wonderful caring generous woman... Well, once I saw that Mom and Dad weren't hiding in the house just waiting for me to do something "wrong," I knew I had my chance. As soon as Bandit crawled under the fence to play in the field, I was right behind her. Yeah, I heard Grandma calling me, I heard Josiah, too. I knew that Grandma couldn't climb the fence, and she'd have to run through the house and back around the corner to get in the field to get me. OF COURSE I knew this, why would I have tried this stunt otherwise? Oh, the wind on my face! Oh, the itchy, spiky weedy grass things that scratch my legs! The wild abandon, the soul-soaring music I'm singing, the- hey, Grandma, that was pretty fast. Oh, yeah, I guess we'll have to go inside now. Not without one last protest, though- I'll kick and scream and call "Bandit!" the whole way.

Grandma didn't let me back outside that night. Even after I tried all my patented sure fire tricks on her- I batted my eyelashes, full of big real tears, I sat and snuggled her lap and said please, I even pulled out the big guns and sang her a song. No dice. I may have pushed her too far this time.

But I don't care. It was totally worth it. For one short minute, I was a cat...

Art- Gabrielle

My Mom has no taste.

I know that's horrible to say about someone, but seriously, this woman is so uncultured. I'm realizing that she might be beyond hope in this, too, because she's just not catching on.

See, my Mom likes to do these "craft" things. Usually it's things like making pictures for someone's birthday or thank you cards or presents for adults that are supposed to think we're cute. Other times, though, I suspect she gets out the stickers and crayons just to keep me out of the cat food or the kitchen cabinets or the bathroom sink. But I'm trying to give her the benefit of the doubt and trust that she is actually trying to encourage me to express myself artistically.

But here's the thing- she has all these rules! Like "Don't put glitter glue on the back of the paper or it will stick to the table," and "Don't put your stickers in the stamp ink before you put them on your picture." She thinks telling me "Crayons won't work on the foam paper" is going to really matter to me, because you know I'm smarter than she is and I can make it work if I really want it to. She doesn't want me to color my face, my hair, my clothes, my brother... If this isn't censorship, I don't know what is.

And the worst part- her home decorating. I mean, the woman has been working on painting the house since I've been born. And you know what? She paints an entire wall without a single line, scribble or smear of color. What is that taupe nonsense? Seriously, there are hundreds of square feet of walls in our house that are the same colors! I decided maybe she is just tired and busy and overwhelmed with everything she never gets to on any given day (or, at least, that's what I hear her whining about week in and week out...) So I'm going to help her. I've started adding some art work to our walls. I started small, in little places she couldn't see, like the wall space under my crib. After I'd been working on that for a while, I tried out a small space in the living room, to see what she'd say. She SAID we shouldn't color on the walls, but then she didn't clean it up right away, and showed it to both Grandma and Dad when they got home. So I decided she secretly really liked it and was hoping I'd do more.

Well, turns out, she just feels threatened by my superior taste. I think she's embarrassed that I, at just two years old, have already grasped the importance of making your home warm and homey and comforting. That people like to see self-expression and abstraction in a home-made gift. That the educational workbooks and crafts are giving guidelines on how to draw a circle or square. These are for the unimaginative- they really do intend for you to practice on the couch and table. At least, that's the conclusion I've come to with all the thinking time I've had while spending time alone in my room.

Naps- Josiah and Gabrielle

J- So, this will be our first time trying to write a post together, we'll see how this goes. Gabby's thoughts will be in intalics from here on out, right Gabby?

G- It's my turn, I'm really mad at you. This was my idea for a blogging topic and you just stole it from me. Like you always do. Like you take away everything that's ever brought me joy. Just like those little toys you call Legos. I don't know what they are for, and I don't actually enjoy them at all except to put them in my mouth, but you always, ALWAYS, take them from me. And does Mom do anything about that at all? NO! NEVER! It's always, "Thank you, Josiah, those pieces aren't safe for Gabby, let's go put them somewhere so she doesn't get hurt." Yes, thank you, evil queen of ruining all things even remotely fun or interesting. Act like it's for MY benefit. You know you wouldn't even care at all except you think someone else will find out you let me play with them. Just like how I used to get to climb on the couch...

J- Okay, Okay, Gabs? I think we got it. I'm sorry you feel I've stolen your idea. Would you like to type first, then? We're talking about naps...?

G- Yeah, Dummy, I KNOW we're talking about naps, it was my idea, remember? Just because you're 16 months older than me and I'm still in diapers doesn't mean I'm stupid. Girls develop before boys, REMEMBER? Sheesh, am I going to have to put up with this my whole life? "Josiah, help your sister, show her how, she doesn't understand..." Oh I understand, crazy lady who talks in that pretend sweet voice when she really wants to scream until her eyeballs pop out. I get it. You're trying to hold me back. You know that I will be the better woman some day and you are just determined that I never can be. It's YOUR fault I have to put up with this, why didn't you just have me first. You get nothing right...

J- Um, Gabby? I'm really, uh, enjoying what you have to say, and it's very well written. But, well, um, were you going to talk about naps? Because, uh, it's no big deal, I'll just change the title...

G- Oh, so now my title's not good enough either? What are you, some sort of expert? What exactly do you know about titles? HMMM?!?!? Stop looking at me with those obnoxiously big blue eyes that everyone always raves about while completely ignoring my much more interesting eyes that change colors. ANSWER ME?

J- Um, I don't remember the question...?

G- I. SAID. WHAT. DO. YOU. KNOW. ABOUT. TITLES.

J- Nothing, really. We'll name this whatever you want. I'm sorry.

G- Okay, thanks.

J- Okay, good. So now, do you want to talk about naps now? I mean, you actually skipped yours today in preparation for talking about this. So I think it would be a good time to dig in. Gabby? Gabs? Hey, Gabrielle?

G- ZZZZZZZZZZZZ.....

Shoes- by Gabrielle

I LOVE SHOES!

Have you seen them? Do you know what I'm talking about? Yeah, shoes, that's it! They go on your feet and they make it so you can climb things and not get stuff in your toes. How wonderful! You can have many different pairs, and can get some to match about every outfit you own. (Trust me, I know, Mom tries...) But, more importantly, it's one of the best ways to pick a fight with adults. I'm here to share with you the various fights you can pick, and the most effective way to exasperate the adults in your life. Because that's what we almost-2-years olds are all about.

First it starts with not wanting them on at all. This can be a minor argument, used when you first get dressed in the morning. I like to keep this battle short, but loud. It works best with the throwing of socks, and, if you're lucky, anything else someone left in your reach. This morning I got a really good launch on a tube of diaper cream Mom had left on the table. Dinged her right in the forehead, I'm sure it left a mark. Fabulous. But I keep this fight short and sweet, because I like Mom to feel like she's won. This lulls her into a sense of serenity and a belief of control, and makes the later battles that much more delicious. Awesome.

The next fight is most effective with girls, but I do admit I learned it from my brother. It's the "Keep changing your mind about what shoe you want to wear" fight, which looks a lot like the "Beg to wear sandles in the rain/snow," fight and the "Try to wear shoes you outgrew a year ago" fight. The beauty of this fight is that it can happen any time and any place. Have had your shoes on for hours, and are happily coloring? What better time to randomly thrash about, grabbing at your shoes, and throwing a total fit? Mom getting you ready to go out to eat? This is the BEST time to declare you want a different set of more fashionable foot protectors. Who is Mom to complain, she changes her shoes two or three times before we leave the house. The beauty of this fight is it's versatility- there are no shortages for reasons to want to change your shoes. And you can't beat how long you can use it- I think Mom and I will be fighting about this for YEARS to come... AWESOME.

Another effective shoe fight- laces. Okay, if your Mom is smarter than my Mom, you might not have as much luck with this one, because very savvy moms only buy velcro. Some moms, like mine, are seduced by the cuteness of lace up shoes, but are able to resist the temptation, knowing what we are capable of. But if you ARE velcro-trapped, like I once was, you can figure a way out of it. See, my Mom always kept me in Velcro, whose only good use is to snag tights making Mom sigh with irritation all winter long. She thought, because I've never been a shoe-fighter, that for this winter she could get me some shoes with laces. (Remember what I said about lulling her... this was a long-played lull, and one I'm quite proud of...) Now that I have two pairs of shoes with laces, I'm in hog-heaven. I untie those things every chance I get. Double knots? PSHAH! Nothing to me. And every time she tries to tie them, another total fight comes out. It's wonderful. Pair this with the previous fight, and you can demand to always wear your laced shoes, that you always unlace... oh, the joy! Just thinking about it makes me so happy, I can barely type straight...

So, in thinking of shoes, don't forget these wonderful tantrum opportunities. And I'm sure, with some creativity, you can come up with some of your own. As suggestions, consider the "I WANT to wear my shoes to bed" fight, the "Why can't I put my dirty shoes on Grandma's sofa" fight, and the "But I LIKE my shoes on the wrong feet" fights... These should be a good start, and bring you many strife-filled days ahead. Happy screaming!