Pre-Helenoween

What a busy weekend it was. let me give you a little rundown on what occurred:


*inhales large breath*

Friday night, get off work early. Pick Helena up. Take her to the school carnival. Jump on bouncy houses. Slide down inflatable slides. Balance an egg. Attempt to do rock climbing wall. Get too scared. Get face painted. Eat roasted corn. Eat kettle corn. Skip helping out at the class booth. Having too much fun. Get hair spraypainted. Leave carnival. Short drive from the school to Biltmore. Outdoor movies in the park. Watch Beetlejuice. Pet stranger's dogs. Veg on the blanket. Eat more kettle corn. Pack up. Go home. Friends visit. Show off decorations. Friends leave. Make a list of everything you have to do. Reconsider. Watch reruns of The Office instead.

(while I'm pausing to breathe, you can watch these videos of Helena at the carnival)







Wake up early Saturday morning. Make Helena's breakfast. Take my Carole King record off the wall and realize it works. Listen to it three times. Clean the house. Send Jordon to run errands. Keep cleaning. Set up the food table. Make chili. Make pepperjack pinwheels. Yell at Jordon for taking forever. Make guacamole. Set up the backyard. Change lightbulbs. Bathe Helena. Fashion a wooden finger (with Jordon's help). Trim my wig. Hang up tarps. String lights. Put Helena's costume on. Shower. Put on my costume. Set out food. Put on wig. Guests arrive. Yell at Jordon to put on his costume. Make Spider Cider. Watch how many guys it takes to set up the projector. Drink. Talk. Barely eat. Play games. Drink more. Give prizes. Guests leave. Complain about not taking pictures. Eat a cupcake. Realize how much you drank. Go to sleep. Wake up too late on Sunday morning. Miss going to the cupcake festival Jordon got tickets to. Post-party cleanup. Get told a dozen times to have the party again next year. Complain again about not taking pictures. Calm Helena down for an hour after she realizes she was the murderer from the party game. Relax on couch. Watch Breaking Bad. Watch Breaking Bad. Watch Breaking Bad. Make spaghetti. Eat spaghetti. Watch reruns of The Office. Open the Halloween candy early. Read a story to Helena. Go to sleep.

Phew! I'm exhausted. :P


{Stay tuned for costume party pics}

Helena-ism 306

"I don't want that with the top of my lungs."

In reference to a dingy toy we got from Goodwill to mutilate for our Halloween party.

Helena-ism 305

While simultaneously watching Jordon play Demon's Souls and running Ghost Radar on my phone:

"Demons are real. They live under us and that's what makes the ground hard."

You Spin Me Right Round, Baby

This morning, just before 6 AM, Helena snuck into our room like she does most mornings. What stood out in particular today, is that in the early signs of sunlight peeking through the blinds, I could make out Helena's figure next to the bed – spinning. Her eyes closed, not saying a word, spinning in circles repeatedly. Finally, I guess she decided she had had enough and curled up into bed with me.

I suppose this is no stranger than when she enters the room mumbling half-dream, half-conscious thoughts like "They were all gonna explode" or "The fish looked scary, but then I touched it and it gave me a kiss". On several occasions, Jordon has caught her sliding into the room on her belly. I gather as a way to be stealth gaining access to the bed without our knowledge. Most times I'm not even aware she's crawled into the bed. I just wake up in the morning to find her laying next to me. We must have one of those mattresses you see in the commercials with the lady jumping on the bed with a glass of red wine precariously placed on it.

One morning, I wasn't privy to the fact she was in the bed until I saved her from rolling off the side of it. I've been trying for months to get Helena to spend the whole night in her room. I've tried bribing her, I've tried punishments, resorting to the promise of surprises on the rare instances she spends the entire night in her own bed. I only do this because I know it's important for her to have a routine and get a good night's sleep – that's important for both of us actually. Her teacher reiterated this at the parent/teacher conference I had with her last week. Apparently, Helena likes to pass out on the rug at school. It's hard for me to raise too much of a stink about it though. Because I know one day she won't want to sleep in my bed anymore. Or probably be anywhere near me. There will be no more spinnning. No more sleep-talking or belly sliding. And I'll miss those early morning cuddle sessions, where I catch a glimpse of her sleep-smiling at her dreams.

Helena-ism 304

"I smell something like broccoli that's been sitting in the toilet for days and is burnt."

Helena-ism 303

"How do you spell Thomas? .... But T-H? ... That doesn't make any sense!! It's not 'thOMAS'!" (pronounced with the actual 'th' sound)

We had this same exchange over the spelling of 'school' this morning.

Let's Make Beautiful Music

Last week, we took Helena to a free concert at a new venue downtown called The Crescent Ballroom. Granted, the concert was held in the more bar-esque, loungy area as opposed to the main stage – probably not the most appropriate setting for a kid at nine o'clock on a weeknight. But she was on Fall Break the next day and given the nature of the music, I thought it would be right up her alley.

Allow me to backtrack... about a year ago, the two of us were in the car and were listening to a song that went into a pretty extensive violin solo. Helena, never having heard a violin before, asked what was making that pretty sound. And thus, her love for the violin began. When she saw a little girl in her class bring hers in and play Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, it was the first time I realized I am a slacker as a parent. Well, maybe not a slacker... but falling behind anyway.

While other kids are already in swimming competitions and playing instruments at recitals, Helena's biggest extracurricular activity is Spongebob Squarepants marathons. And for the past year, as events unfolded and changed in our lives, I've endured Helena's requests to begin violin lessons. Always assuring her one day we'd get around to it. Yet, here we still are.

So, as soon as I brought up seeing a real live violinist, not going wasn't an option. We got prime seats right near the stage, and she impatiently sat through the opening act in the dim, quiet bar. Of course, making noises and squirming around and jumping on Jordon. All the while saying things like "Do you like this music?" "It's too loud." and "When's the violin player coming up?" as we shushed her repeatedly. At one point, she said, "I'm going to play the violin." And began making screeching noises, which I can only assume will resemble much what the actual violin will sound like when she first picks it up.

The violin player, named Tobie Milford, finally approached the stage and from the moment he pulled the instrument from its case, Helena was frozen. I have never seen her sit so still for so long, without being asleep (which eventually happened about five songs in). When she watched him though, I saw something in her. I saw the desire to want to be able to play an instrument like that. I saw the curiosity reflected in her eyes and the genuine interest as she bobbed her head from side to side in a rhythm that complemented each tune. It was a beautiful thing.

As I carried all of her dead weight in my arms out into the night and back to the car, I made myself a promise – that it was time to start keeping some promises.

I Can't Believe You Signed Up for This

Oh my gosh, I'm in trouble... Do you see these crazies that I live with? Although one is six and the other 27, my interaction with them is generally the same. I even mix their names up from time to time, when I'm yelling at them for something they didn't do.

"Jor-- I mean, Helena! Go to sleep!"

"Hele-- Jordon, you left the faucet dripping again!"

True, there are times I feel like a parent to both of them. What with their mutually exclusive clumsiness, the spills I wipe up, the clothes I pick up from the floor, and spells of their unending jibberish conversations

"Jordon, what does 'hoonky lonkey' mean?"

"It's when a ferocious warrior comes down with a cold."

In spite of all of that, ...actually, not even in spite of all of that, maybe because of all of that, I feel lucky. It's not easy to be a single parent. It's not easy to feel like you shouldn't fall in love again because things didn't work out so great for you the first time or because you don't want just anybody coming around your kid. You don't want to fall in love with someone your child won't like. Or worse, have a person enter your world that you both love, get attached to, and then they leave. Yea, these are all things that ran through my mind when I got divorced. And, to be honest, I thought I was pretty much done with love at that point. I didn't have a very good taste of it and couldn't really figure out how anyone else could fit into mine and Helena's crazy little world.

I'm not usually quick to admit this, but I was wrong. And thank God I was wrong, because somehow – after years of telling myself that it wasn't in the cards for me – I fell in love. A real kind of love that I only hope most people know, but don't think they do. I stumbled upon a man who fell in love back, and took on the duties of a role model in a way so seamless it's like he's been there all along. There are days I'm sure he thinks what did I get myself into? There has to be. Even I have those days. But he is patient and kind and has never once made me feel like the little Hellcat is anything less than the amazing little human that she is.

And once, where I imagined nobody could fit into our lives, I wonder now how we would ever get by without him. I'm pretty sure he feels the same way, although I bet he'd have a much easier time playing video games.

Helena-ism 302

The other morning:

Me: "Helena, where are you? You're supposed to be in here getting ready for school."

Helena: "I am! I was just in your room tickling Jordon's feet."

Me: "I don't think tickling Jordon's feet is part of your checklist for getting ready."

Helena: "Sure, it is. Get dressed. Check. Brush my hair. Check. Brush my teeth. Check. Tickle Jordon's feet. Check!"

So That's How It's Gonna Be, Huh?

When Helena takes a bath, I run through the list of body parts to double-check whether or not she's washed them.

"Is your face clean? Behind your ears? Your hands, your elbows, your armpits? How 'bout your knees? Behind your knees? In between your toes? Is your butt clean?"

All of these questions received a simple and polite "yes" in response, with the exception of the last one. With the last question, she proceeded to stand up in the tub, turn around, and spread her cheeks in my face. As if seeing her anus wasn't enough, Helena then farted. Right in my face!!

Her reply to this? "Well, it was clean!" Followed by an uproarious giggle fit. Not sure if any of you have ever been in a position to actually witness expelled flatulence.... it's not recommended.

Helena-ism 301

"If he's not interested in my hugs, I'm not gonna give him any."

Even an Angel Can Be a Devil

I stand by my statement that my daughter is the absolute best. I love her more than anything. Well... put her next to a humungous cheesecake, and I may have a harder time making a decision. But I suppose she would say the same about me when faced with that same situation.

I want this blog to be real though. I don't want everyone out there thinking that little miss Helena is the picture perfect image of a well-behaved, intelligent, cooperative child. She will cooperate most of the time, if it fits in with what she wants at that particular moment. Sometimes, what she wants is to make me happy and that's why she won't hesitate to organize her laundry for me or put her shoes in the closet. But sooooometimes... you can do EVERYTHING for her, and it still will not be good enough. I chalk it up to "Only Child Syndrome".

You see, Helena has been conditioned to getting her way. Between grandparents who love to spoil her, an auntie who will entertain her ridiculous requests, and a mom (yes, I'm guilty too) who doesn't always want to be the bad guy – she's become accustomed to late bedtimes, dinners of her personal selection, toys or new clothes upon every visit to a store. The list could go on and on. The problem with this is that the older she gets, the more entitled she becomes. The more she thinks she deserves without having to do anything but look cute in order to get it. Most of the time, it works.

But because I am trying to raise a decent, appreciative, productive member of society and not just have a kid that likes me, sometimes I have to adjust my perspective. And last night was one of those nights.

The evening started nice enough. She cleaned her room easily, with promises of baked macaroni & cheese for dinner (her choice) and quality time playing Little Big Planet on Playstation. Dinner only encountered a minor hiccup, when she scoffed at me mixing broccoli in the macaroni. The problem isn't that she dislikes broccoli, she LOVES broccoli. She just didn't want it mixed together. My solution: "That's the way I made it, so that's the way you're going to eat it." Commence eating dinner.

After dinner, we began playing Little Big Planet (which is a game Helena adores and always asks Jordon & I to play with her). First Issue: Jordon puts a big flower on her dress while making her character. She didn't want a flower on her dress. Cue irrational crying. To appease her crying, Jordon removes the flower from her dress. But that guy, the ever-constant joker that he is, put the flower sqaure on her face. "Whattt?!?! I took it off your dress!" Of course, we both though this was hilarious. Helena did not agree. She proceeded to walk over to him on the couch and punch him on the arm. Immediately after doing this, and knowing it was the absolute wrong thing to do, she apologized... to me!

When I told her it wasn't ever alright to hit someone or get so worked up over something that should have been funny, she didn't seem remorseful. Instead, she tried to justify why she had done it. What he did wrong that caused her to act in that way. To be honest, it was hard to not think of her dad and the way he would react to certain situations when they weren't going his way. I don't want her exhibiting those kind of habits. Luckily, Jordon is very forgiving and never angry at anything, and when she finally apologized to him, he told her to come sit back down and play. To have fun with us. And we did have fun... until it was bedtime.

I read a story to Helena called "Fancy Nancy Sees Stars". Of course, she had to make a comment that the illustrations were "a little boring". But I continued to read anyway. When I tucked her in and kissed her good night, she asked for another book to look at to help her fall asleep. I grabbed a book and gave it to her, but it wasn't the book that she wanted. So, what did she do? What any rational person would do... she threw the book across the room. (Could you sense that sarcasm?) That was the third strike for her and I told her she needed to learn to appreciate what she gets. That she was allowed to stay up late and play video games, I made what she wanted for dinner, we had had fun, right?

But after all of these unnecessary outbursts, I realized. I'm not the fun one. I am the parent, and this is my job. And my job is to teach her to appreciate the good things. To not complain when people do nice things for you, just because it may not be exactly what you hoped. To not resort to hitting or whining and crying just to get your way. That we don't always get our way all the time. So, to teach this lesson, I had to take something away. And I took away what is most precious to Helena when it comes time for bed: her light. She hated it. She screamed and got hysterical for me to turn on that light, but I didn't falter. If I had given in, it would have further cemented why she has this primary issue in the first place.

Now, this story probably paints the Hellcat out to be a horrible excuse for a child. Most of you are probably wondering how I can sing her praises. Be sure, this isn't the norm. This is what kids do though. This is why we have to teach them how to NOT be spoiled, selfish, entitled brats. And you know what? This morning, she was pleasant and responsive and apologized profusely for how she had behaved. We had a long talk about why those things were wrong and she understands. I can't say nights like that won't ever happen again, but she promises they won't. And I could tell this time when she said she was sorry, she actually felt bad. She wasn't saying it to get anything. She wasn't saying so she wouldn't be in trouble. She said it because she didn't want me to be disappointed. And that makes me feel like, maybe... just maybe, I'm doing something right.

Little Socks to Fill

After opening eyes and falling back asleep, opening eyes and falling back asleep, Helena finally responded to my urging of getting her out of bed. (My bed, of course, since she hasn't spent more than three full nights in her room without crawling under the covers with me in the middle of the night. Sometimes this includes rampant sleep-talking and attempting to open the locked doors to the backyard before realizing she is already in my room. Sometimes I'm not even aware she has hoisted herself up onto the bed and I will wake up startled by a silhouette hovering over me. Jordon will tell you how unnerving it can be.) However, I digress...

The morning consisted of about 15 attempts to get Helena dressed over the course of 15 minutes, before I finally dressed her myself in two. Once she had her school clothes on, it came time for putting on socks and shoes. This went on for another five minutes before she complained she couldn't find socks. Now, I don't know about most of you with kids, but to me, there is not much worse than sorting through about a billion tiny minuscule little Helena socks. For some reason, when you run them through the washer and dryer, they multiply. But never reproducing the same sock. No... you'll end up with about 87 unmatchable socks with little to no chance of recovering their mates. It's a hopeless existence.

Somehow, I managed to find two cute, clean, matching socks that were clearly resting on the top of the pile in her drawer. She should have seen them easily, but we all know how kids "look" for things. Regardless, I gave her the socks and, as usual, there was a reason to not put them on.

"They're too little!" she whined.

I countered with, "They're supposed to be little. They make some socks little, so that when you wear skinny jeans – like what you have on – it won't be hard to get them on. Sometimes it's hard to get long socks on under skinny jeans."

Little Helena paused and thought about this for a moment and decided to agree. She plopped down on the carpet in her room and began to put on the pink polka-dotted little socks. Once I saw she was on board, I began to leave the room to finish getting ready myself, and my exit was complemented with

"You're right, I can fit them with my jeans! Mom, you're a genius!"

From the bathroom, as I finished applying my eyeliner, I could hear her velcro-ing her shoes and still repeating, "You're a genius!" It took me a few times of her saying it before I realized what she was actually saying

"JEAAAAAN-ius"

Starting Out

My daughter, Helena, is six years old. She is one of the most charming, adorable children you could ever encounter. I know a lot of people feel this way about their child(ren), but most of you – I'm sorry to say – are severely deluded. Don't get me wrong, Helena has her moments. I struggle getting her out of bed for school in the morning, which I wasn't expecting until about 7th grade (she's in 1st). It takes a minimum of 9 times of asking her to do something, before she will actually listen and heed my request. By that time, I want to rip my hair out.

But she looks at me with her gigantic blue, sparkling eyes and says something like, "I was going to pick up my shoes, but I had to go number 3!" To which I ask, "What is number 3?" Her response, "It's when you have to pee and poop at the same time." When that happens, all that frustration, all that frazzled-ness and stressed-ification that makes up a mom, is all out the window. And I'm laughing like a 1st grader. And she laughs with me.

I've spent the past six years of her life, documenting with pictures, video, a previous stint of a blog with Trimester Journals (which I started when I was pregnant, but lost sight amidst peaks of extreme business and laziness). But I had something horrible happen to me recently. My computer crashed. You see, I also (in the midst of those business and laziness spells) haven't backed it up since I've owned it. And it's as old as Helena, so you can do the math. When I pause to think of the countless photos, documents, and God knows what else is held captive inside that machine, a knot fills my throat.

Besides what I am able to capture from old blog posts and Myspace/Facebook accounts, I have lost everything I had of my little Helena. And now that she is half my size, she's not so little anymore. And those moments and visuals are ones I will never get back. So, I've decided to get better. It may be too late now, but I wanted to ensure that I have a place where any future memories will be and will (hopefully) never be inaccessible.

I've started this blog as a means to honor the awesome little person that I managed to create somehow. I don't want to forget anything about her and the way her mind works as she grows. When she was 5, she said to me once, "Don't you know, Mom? Kids make the rules." I wrote it on the back of an envelope for a utility statement and promised myself I'd start a blog focused on her antics. Well, here I am. Let's hope I don't let her down.