I Know My Way Around A Stick

Today I learned something new. Today I learned how to drive a stick.

Back in January when Sutton was 8 weeks old, he got really sick. Blaker took him to the ER in the middle of the night because his fever was so high, and I had to stay home with Bellamy, who was sleeping. Blaker drove my car because that's where Sutt's car seat was located. After hours of awful tests (blood work, catheters, spinal taps), Sutton was diagnosed with meningitis. Nobody was sure if he was going to live. And where was I? Stuck at home with only Blaker's car to drive, which was a stick. I was horribly upset, and didn't want to try to learn to drive his car with Bellamy there and while I was such an emotional wreck. I had to find a neighbor to drive me to the hospital (an hour away). A neighbor who thought I was crazy because I was running through the neighborhood in January in my pajamas, no shoes, crying hysterically, carrying Bellamy, trying to find someone to drive me all the way to St. Mary's.

I vowed I would never be in that position again.

Today, Blaker took my car and hauled both of the babies to Durham to visit his crazy mother. All of my planets must have been in alignment because I was able to stay home. (Whoo-hoo! No mother-in-law time for me!!) Of course, he had to take my Xterra because both of the car seats won't fit in his Volkswagen GTI. Feeling brave, I took advantage of the situation. I waited until they were gone, strapped myself in and took off. I figured if I could drive a stick through Saturday traffic in Richmond, I would never be scared to drive it again.

And you want to know what happened? I did it. I didn't crash, run over anyone, or stall the car.
That's one more thing to cross of my list of stuff to learn before I kick the bucket. Way to go, Me.

Don't Hiss At Your Brother!

Before I became a mother, there was a world of things I never thought I'd ever have to even consider, much less say. For example, "No, sweetie, the Easter Bunny does NOT want to see your girl parts," (as we are at the mall, fearfully dodging the 7-foot pink rabbit who wants to give my children a bath toy and, most likely, nightmares). Yes, my daughter is a flasher, but that's another story. I've already had to explain to her where babies come from (see Mommy's c-section scar?) and why wine is inappropriate for her sippy cups. Most of the time, I don't put much thought into how bizarre our conversations are, or how far from my parental ideal I have had to venture. Yet today I happened to take notice. Why? Because as we were riding along Interstate today, I heard my daughter hissing (yes, HISSING) from the backseat. This was not a "let's pretend we're a snake" hiss, as I've heard that one before. This was a guttural, growling, let's-call-an-Exorcist-quick-stat-stat hiss. Trying to sound nonchalant, I asked, "Sweetie, are you hissing at Sutton?" The hissing stops. "Yes, Mommy." Pause.  "Why are you hissing at your brother?" "'Cause he's looking at MY HAIR!"

Yes, folks, my daughter was hissing at her brother because he was looking at her hair.

Now, Sutton is 8 months old. He doesn't even know what hair is--just that he likes to pull it whenever he can get his hands on it. It is most likely he was looking at Bellamy's hair from his rear-facing car seat thinking, "If only I could get my hands on THAT stuff...." So I can understand why she doesn't want him looking at her hair. Sort of. But why the hissing? What makes a 3-year-old hiss like something out of a Wes Craven movie?

And, more importantly, what does one do when one's child hisses at her brother for looking at her hair? If you happen to know a definitive answer on that one, please let me know. WHAT TO EXPECT IN THE TODDLER YEARS does not have section on either hissing or demonic possession (trust me, I've checked and rechecked). And until T. Berry Brazelton or Ferber or whoever the "in" baby guru of the moment is writes one, I guess I'll just keep telling my precious, gorgeous, demon-possessed baby girl, "Don't hiss at your brother!"