sweetie mcghee

You know what Britton did for the first time on Monday night? I asked her for a kiss goodnight, and she pursed her lips up and leaned in for a kiss! It was so precious, so cute, and just so Britton. She has been doing it every night since, though she is fickle as to who gets a kiss. If she's not feeling it, she turns her head away with a devilish grin.

And, in other news, Grandpa taught Britton the art of making a pressed ham sandwich tonight. Do you see her concentration?

demise of a hairbow: a pictorial

So few of Britton's ponytails survive her discovery. And if the poneytail makes it to daycare, the hairbow never makes it home.

a letter on love

A co-worker and I were discussing marriage- how you know if you want to get married, and more importantly, how you know who to marry. Love, economics, or a little of both? Can you have your head in the clouds and your creditors on hold? Are romantic comedies the exception, or the expectation? So, it got me thinking.

What would I tell my own daughter about love?

Dear Britton,

Please. Don't be ambivalent about love. When you find it, grab it. Hold love to your heart and experience it without constraint. Love those people you choose to be in your life. Time is too short and life is too precious to waste it on people that do not love you back. Always remember - you are worth the kind of love you want.



New love will set your senses on fire. The sky will be bluer, the flowers smell sweeter, the ocean waves crash louder. Life will feel as though all good things were put on this earth for you. Please don't pick this feeling apart with doubt. It is real, it did happen, you have experienced something you can never explain. And the people who understand don't need the explanation, for it has happened to them as well.



True love, real love, will change. Please don't fear this. Just as the fanciest sports car can't race at maximum power without blowing its engine apart at some point, so the human heart (and mind) can't hold the intensity of new love forever. Love transformed does not mean it is less of love. The gift is in changing together, to become more than you are as individuals without losing who you are as individuals.



So please, please don't be ambivalent about love.

before we all got sick

It's not just your kid that gets sick when she attends daycare. No, it's the whole family. Grandma and I have been battling "the crud" that is making its way through our office building. It consists mostly of coughing, a headache, and general "I need a nap"-ness. The hub crawled home yesterday, succumbing to sickness though not yet fully embracing the sickness. By the way - if you see what looks like a slightly moist large pink sponge on the ground somewhere along Interstate 20, could you pick it up? That's my hub's lung. But today, on his three hour drive to Oklahoma City to meet the movers, he acknowledged that he was, in fact, sick. People, history in the making.

I loathe being sick with a passion. I use all my sick time for Britton (I know, I know - martyr alert), so when I get around to being sick I'm stuck using vacation days. And I won't because those are days for being off work and doing something awesome, not laying around high on nyquil and catching up on the Maury Povich show. So I drag myself to work and complain about being sick so that everyone around me will just wish I had stayed home already, and calls are made to HR inquiring if sick days can be donated to me. I kid, I kid. Kind of.

But before we all were sick, hacking and draining and sneezing and whatnot, we had a fabulous Sunday afternoon. And here's how that went...

(Side note - yes, I'm still using the iPhone as my sole source of photo-taking because the camera charger is still in OKC, so bear with me).

Checking out Grandma's camera...



Playing with Daddy....




Accessorizing with Aunt Jessica's gift (please notice that wild look in Sadie's eye, like the glasses are made of steak and not plastic)...

it's like you know

Britton spent last night sicker than I have ever seen her. Not to say she hasn't been sick before, but this was the first time she had a raging fever, coughed and gagged, and in general was miserable. I went to bed early thinking she would "sleep it off," but Grandma woke up at 1:00 a.m. with Britton coughing and throwing up. And I got up at 4:45 for more of the same, except at that point she was also having horrendous stomach cramps. The hub and I considered taking her to the hospital, but then Britton decided that even on no sleep she wanted to feel better. She played with Sadie, ate a little cereal bar, and drank some water. By 8:00 a.m. we were in the car on the way to the ENT doctor for our follow-up visit.

Bad news. One look at Britton and Dr. Disney (the man has Disney stuff everywhere) said, "These meds will clear up that upper respiratory infection." And she has fluid behind her ear drums because.....the tube in the left ear is out. Just hanging out in her ear canal like a loitering teenager with nowhere to be. So Britton is on medicine for an entire month to make sure her ears don't get infected and to clear up the respiratory infection. Then it's back to Dr. Disney in a month for a hearing test and decision about if Britton is getting tubes AGAIN.

Plus, did I mention we're closing on the new house in one week? On the day I turn 32 (uh, I mean 28)? And the hub is going to Oklahoma City for two days to hover over the movers and leaving me with Sickly Sickerson? Then while I am living amongst the boxes the hub is leaving for a business trip? On the same day Britton has a doctor's appointment he was taking her to because I am out of time off from work? And in the middle of all of this we have to introduce Britton to living in another new house, and going to a new daycare? And why am I still asking questions?

If I make it to Halloween without a stress-induced breakdown, I will consider myself awesome. Until then, pass the zoloft.

goldilocks and the daycare

Admittedly, I think anything less than kicking the daycare biters out on their need-to-be-spanked behinds is not enough action on the part of my daycare. This lackadaisical "kids will be kids" attitude, accompanied by an overwhelming concern for the biter (because any kid who bites must apparently be going through horrendous things at home, and why am I not concerned for his well-being?!) makes me irritated with the daycare in general. But today really pushed it beyond reason.

Here is what Britton wore home from daycare...



Seriously. It's a size 12 months (she's in 24 months), and completely out of season. Okay, that's my fault for not updating her just-in-case clothes. But the daycare workers thought it better to change her into that than to keep her in her normal clothes. Why?



Apparently Britton had ravioli today for lunch. So I grabbed the shopping bag containing her clothes, waited until I got home, and opened it prepared for the worst. Because, frankly, I love the little striped shirt she was wearing and I didn't want tomato stains ruining it.


Britton didn't care how much practice it took, as long as the "Best New Roller Skater of 1970" trophy was hers...



You know what I saw when I opened that bag? This...



I dare you to find the devastating mess of ravioli that rendered her clothing completely inappropriate and downright dangerous to wear for the rest of the day today. I dare you! Because unless you look really hard, you won't see those two tiny spots of ravioli sauce on her pants.

Seriously, people. The biting? No big deal. But the ravioli.........that is cause for concern and chaos. Oy.

bite me

I got a call this morning that Britton had been bitten by a boy in her class. TWICE. As in TWO DIFFERENT INCIDENTS. And you know what? I was also numb to the news. Not that I didn't care about my baby being hurt, or not understanding why she is continually hurt by the people in the place I make her go. But because I can't do anything about it. We're moving in less than three weeks, and me and Grandma have been hunting for daycares on our lunch hour. There's been tons of calls, a couple of visits, and the center I've found is great. It's in a church, houses only 66 kids total, and has rooms cleared of junk so that the kids can actually walk without walking into each other.

But it's 45 minutes from where I live for the next two weeks and four days. So I can't take her there yet, and I am almost out of vacation time, save the two days I have reserved for when my sister has her baby. Therefore, no keeping her at home until we move. And you know what? I'M ANGRY. I'm angry at the daycare for hiring useless people to act like "teachers" when they are nothing like the teachers I know. I'm angry at her "teachers" for being more afraid of calling me about the biting than what effect it may have on Britton. I'm angry at the biter's parents, who can't or won't parent to a decent level. I'm angry at the other kids in her class, who could have been the one sitting closest to him and been the one to get it. I'm angry at my work because I don't get nearly enough days off to deal with the life I have outside of those nine hours, five days per week. I'm angry at our moving situation, because when every fiber of my being wants to yank her out of that center with a raised middle finger towards management, I'm stuck.

But most of all I'm angry with myself. Because I can't do what moms are supposed to do. I can't protect her. I haven't stopped this injustice, this pain, these bites for a total of EIGHT TIMES. I've let her down and I can't make it right. I can't explain anything to her because she doesn't understand. I can't do anything but be angry.