I woke up this morning and it was still winter.
It has been winter here for about 900 years. It has been winter for so long that I'm pretty certain that the weather will never be warm again. Ever. I am going to be stuck in this house for the rest of my life with these kids, who will never age, and it will never be warm enough to go outside and run them around the block so that they'll take a freakin' nap already, ever, ever again. Ever. Because it's February 13th, and I am completely Over It. Snow is cute on Christmas. It's fun when there's a good hard blizzard. But this piddly 2 inches is just a nuisance, and it isn't funny anymore. If we don't get some nice weather soon, I am going to have to do something drastic. I'll set all our trees on fire and then go out in shorts and a t-shirt and roast marshmallows. When the neighbors ask me what I'm doing, setting all the trees on fire, I'll say, "Working on my tan!" like it's obvious and look at them like they're stupid.
Mary Grace is in a Phase. It doesn't help that she's giving up her nap. Some days she needs it, some days she doesn't, and she can't send me an e-mail or a text message like a civilized person. Oh no. I have to guess whether today is a nap day or a not a nap day. Guess what, kiddo? Today is a nap day for me! Go to sleep already.
If I fail to put her down for a nap on a nap day, chaos ensues, with lots of screaming and crying and hissy fits over freaking everything, including such controversial topics as cheese (as in, there is NOT enough Big Cheese on ANYTHING), milk (as in, this chocolate milk isn't chocolate enough), and toys (as in, all of the toys belong to Mary Grace, even Claire's toys, because Claire is Mary Grace's toy, and if your toy comes with toys, the toy's toys are your toys, and duh Mommy, why isn't that obvious??).
On the other hand, if I try to put her down for a nap on a non-nap day, I end up laying upstairs with her, wrestling with Claire to try to keep her quiet (and not succeeding at all, which is why she hasn't had her afternoon nap today, yet, either), for a good hour, hour and a half before I finally see the light (that it isn't going to happen) and I give in and bring them back downstairs where I can ignore them while I blog. Meanwhile, in the 60 - 90 minutes that I've been saying, "Shhhh..." and singing Twinkle Star, I have become dehydrated, extremely sleepy, and not a little bit cranky.
Sometimes I am able to get her down for a nap, and only at 11:30 pm, when her little brown eyes are wiiiiide open, do I realize that oops, today was a non-nap day, and no one sent me a telegram. Damnit.
But back to the phase. Part of her owning Claire is that she gets to decide what toys Claire can and can't have at any given time. And it just so happens that whatever toy Claire happens to have in her hand at any given moment, even if it is a cheap assed lead paint Happy Meal toy that she carelessly tossed aside microseconds after receiving it in her transfats extravaganza of a "meal" and hasn't looked at since, is the toy she will absolutely die if she doesn't get her hands on it right this very second oh my God.
She has been spending a lot of time in time out.
She has also been hitting, spitting, and licking. I totally can't figure out the licking. It's like she's gone feral or something. And she is way, way too attached to me. BJ says that her level of attachment is no different than it ever has been, but I swear to you it feels as though she would cheerfully fuse her body to mine if I gave her half a chance. She's just not happy unless she's touching me. And she has no boundaries. None. And she gets mad at ME when I say, "Mary Grace, it is not appropriate to stick your hands down Mommy's pants."
And since it's been winter for 900 years, her hands are really cold.
Can you say "cabin fever"? I knew you could.
PS - obviously marketing isn't my forte because no one (Brandon, Heather, Karen, Tammy, Other Heather, Jenny, Michelle....) stopped by for one of my yucky Valentine's cookies, which means I'm going to have to take them to Karen's office and foist them upon her employees, who will graciously tell me that they're not yucky right before they spit them into the office recycling.