Cool-Hearted Snake

3 years, 6 months, and 9 days. The milestone that most parents must wait for their children to reach well into their teen years, was knocked out of the park tonight by my precious, darling toddler. What did the gifted (clearly) tot accomplish at such a young age? Well, she confidently and emphatically declared to the household (and, in reality, the rest of the neighborhood) that I, her mother and giver of life, was 'not cool'. Her exact words, through the tears and snot: "Not cool, mommy. Not cool."

Oh, really?

This would almost offend me - had I not lost every ounce of 'coolness' from the time I conceived this little gem. Cool left me the day I had to use my toes to pick up objects off the floor because I was too fat pregnant to bend over. Cool walked out on me the day I decided that fabric infused with the constricting powers of a tropical anaconda was suitable for underwear. Cool is sucked out of me every day I sing along with Justin Beiber while driving my mid-size, 'crossover' SUV that is one sliding door away from being a mini van. Cool was long gone the second I became interested in various methods of turning average vegetables and snacks into fun insect and/or animal shapes. So tonight - the pint-sized, vocalized affirmation that I was 'not cool' brought me distress ONLY because I had to fight back the urge to burst out in laughter.

So, what was 'Joe Cool' doing to earn the badge of lameness? I was forced to remove the 1,498 toys from my daughter's possession for 7 days. Not my raddest moment. So as I jammed dress-up clothes and potato heads into the closet, my daughter totally wigged out. As each toy left the shelf Charley wailed a heart wrenching, dissertation as to who got her the toy and how it was her most favorite. She snapped when her 'best-favorite-purse-her-Lulu-bought-for-her-forever' was tossed into the closet. (I think she was going with the nonsense-filled sentences to try and build an 'insanity defense').

Background: Charley received a report today from preschool that she was sent to timeout more than once for not picking up her toys. Unfortunately for Charley her mother is a crazy, neurotic public school teacher who privately fears that her kid will grow up to be THAT kid in class, so said mother may slightly overreact to otherwise developmentally normal instances.

But don't worry my kind-hearted friends - in the spirit of the Christmas season that is upon us, the delinquent was allowed to keep 3 parent-selected toys that fit into a small basket. She outgrew her gold, frankincense and myrrh last year, so she was allowed to keep a ball, a book, and baby doll. I actually just needed a way for her to intentionally, practice putting away toys every night (That's right. I even have my three year old child completing daily formative assessments...Stiggins - the next Dobson).

Being told I was 'not cool' was slightly off-putting, however it can not compare to the comment uttered as the last toy was being put away and the tears had eventually stopped. With the biggest smile and sweetest voice, my kind and oh-so-innocent child walked over, wrapped her arms around my leg and said, "Mommy, you are so pretty."

Ah, there's my little sociopath. Good to know that the initial results from my earnest attempt at scrupulously doling out consequences, included mud-slinging, followed by manipulation. I bet Barbara took away all of George W.'s toys back in the day.

How much in therapy fees will this stunt cost me? Or will she be old enough to pay for her therapy herself? 

Pretty Little Liar

See that face? That is the face of addiction. No, not my face; though I do appear to be a potential model for unfortunate souls addicted to Zebra cakes and self-tanner (if Snookie and the mid-90's version of Roseanne had a love child...). No, the face I am referring to is that sweet, little face of the sweet, little girl I'm holding in my lap. Yes, she is an addict. She is so addicted that she can't even tear herself away from her addiction for just one second to capture a loving memory. My baby girl is a recovering TV addict. Look at how lovingly she is gazing at the soft glow of the big screen. She's got it bad.

I'm pretty sure the pre-parent version of myself would be totally disgusted with allowing this to happen, but the post-parent version of myself just wanted to take a damn shower where I could wash my body, hair and shave all in one session - so, I chose my battles and somewhere along the way Charley went from a hit here and there to an every day, all day habit.

There was no intervention, no surprise family gathering, no letters telling her how her habit was making us feel (we are saving that for her teen years). Gary and I just pretty much decided in May to kick our Dish Network habit cold turkey. The bill was getting on my nerves and Gary still may have been slightly rattled by Charley's three-year-old check-up where he received a tongue lashing from the pediatrician about our borderline morbidly-obese toddler. Oops.

So here we are - one month mostly TV-free. We still watch DVD's, but Charley's our seemingly endless access to hundreds of channels is over. Her time in front of the TV has been significantly reduced (until she goes to my parents' house - the classic enablers - who have informed me that taking TV away from a kid is 'primitive bullshit'...thanks for the support on this one, folks).

If you read any legitimate parenting blog or research-based article, they would applaud this move (like, I almost feel I should buy her an organic T-shirt and give her some hummus for lunch) as I am saving her from the societal ills of violence, promiscuity, obesity, acts of disrespect...blah, blah, blah.  I don't buy into all of that. Now, I'm not a complete crazy radical who lets Charley watch South Park (mostly because I don't want to have to some day explain to her preschool teachers why she kicks babies), but I'm not so sure that TV is the root of all evil (ahem, Parent Television Council). In fact, folks, I would like to present a  very compelling case for TV. Over the past month I have noticed some alarming and unhealthy behaviors that seem to indicate she needs TV. The truth is my darling, little addict has accelerated into a cold-hearted, compulsive liar since we have cut out television.

The first set of lies were kinda cute. They went something like this:

Me: (responding to a hateful tone in Cat's voice) Young lady, I can do without the nasty attitude.


Charley: (eyes get dewy and big) No, mommy. I no have attitude. I juss teesin'. 


We even laughed when she came up with the following little fib:


Me: (looking sternly into my rearview mirror) Charley Anne, you best stop the whining and crying. 


Charley: (immediately stops crying and throws on a big, fake smile) No mommy. I not crying. I juss coughing, see...(and she proceeds to hack into her hands like she has TB). 


I gradually became a little more concerned when her pretend-play became extremely elaborate: the hour-long tea parties she hosts while completely naked except for a pair of pink plastic pumps. If anything I'm just scared to death her tea party obsession may send her down the rocky path of Republican.

In isolation, I am sure the above incidents should be shrugged off as just products of an overactive imagination, but when paired with the most recent event, I believe these have all been warning symptoms to her compulsive lying.  I became extremely concerned last Monday.

As I was cleaning out her closet trying to figure out why the hell we still have unopened toys and clothes with tags on them, Charley played at my side delighted with all the new discoveries. At one point I noticed she dug got at all of her coloring pencils - my biggest concern is that she doesn't color on the walls or furniture (again) so I tried to keep an eye on her. It took me a few glances, but I finally noticed that Charley was propped against her desk and giving me some crazy smirk -obviously up to no good. I pretended to ignore her in an attempt to catch her in action (this is clearly the only way when dealing with liars). Then I saw it. My daughter, staring at me the entire time, taking a long, slow drag from her Passion Purple coloring pencil. She inhaled and exhaled with the slim pencil poised between her thumb and her index finger. I'm not certain, but I think squinted a little as she inhaled. This is where I suck as a parent. This is hilarious. I want to burst out laughing, text everyone I know, send out a tweet, write it in her baby book, take a pic...I am NEVER prepared to discipline. Seriously, what do you say when you see your tiny kid smoking?


After staring at the floor and a couple of deep breaths, I finally composed myself enough to slowly ask in my I'm-talking-so-calmly-you-should-be-scared-that-I'm-a-lunatic voice, "Charley, what did you just do with that coloring pencil?"

And at that, she jumps up, shoves the pencil behind her back a says, "Noffing." Holy crap! Are you kidding me? Not only is she SMOKING, but my three year old is trying to hide the damn evidence. Good thing I confiscate cell phones and lame notes for my day job - I knew exactly what to do from here.

"Charley, what is the purple pencil you are holding behind your back?"

"It's noffing. I juss moking."

OMG. What do I do? Do I go into a presentation on the affects of smoking with a slideshow on lung disease? Plus, how does she know how to smoke? What the heck? Or do I address the fact that this little shit just lied to me?

I go for the lying - somehow in my head it's worse. However, as I am putting her in timeout I couldn't stop myself before blurting out, "Young lady, you will ALWAYS be in more trouble for lying than smoking." Well, that just tops the charts of stupid shit I've said as a parent.

I walked out of her bedroom leaving her to cry, knowing she doesn't have a flipping clue as to what just happened. I'm not so sure I know what just happened. I sat down and wondered how she suddenly became a calculated, lying delinquent who smokes in between her topless tea parties.

The only answer I could come up with is - she needs TV. None of this dishonesty ever occurred when she had Dora, Ming Ming, and Carly Shay in her life. Sure, she may have been a Nick Jr. junky but, by God, she was honest. So there it is. The choice we must make as parents. Do we expose our children to the alleged hideous sins of TV or do we raise bold-face, compulsive liars?

For now, I choose lying (obviously for selfish reasons - it cracks me up, it saves me money, and it's ten times more entertaining than watching those twin boys who tell corny jokes on Disney). In the meantime, I'm going to call a few boarding schools to get their minimum ages for enrollment and pray that she doesn't start doing shots out of her princess tea cups after hiding the "juice boxes" under her bed.