Lately Charlotte has been channeling her inner Pebbles Flintstone with her outer hairdo.  The other little girls in the Waddler class have all been sporting “sprouts” since the teachers started pulling their hair back.  Her hair is long enough that it’s in her face, but not so long she needs a haircut.

My mom disagrees and believes it’s first haircut time.  That’s okay.  Her disagreement helps prove my point in this post.

Everyday I sit Charlotte in my lap and pull her thin baby strands into one of those those tiny clear rubber ponytail holders and top it off with her signature bow.  Okay, I just made that sound really easy.  I should tell you how it really goes.

I get ready.

Brush. {check} Two ponytail holders {check} (I always have two, because inevitably I drop one of those little buggers and it’s gone until it gets stuck in the vaccum.) Bow. {check}

I put her in my lap.  She whines and wiggles down.  I snag her, squirming and screaming as I brush, tug, and twist the rubber band.  She breaks free and runs.  I’m back to hair one.   I scoop her up and distract her with a toy.  Once again I brush, tug, and twist as fast as my fingers can before sliding the clippy bow under the elastic.  Phew!  We made it until she tears it out in the car seat.

Greyson watches this with horror.  He exclaims, “Amy!  You’re pulling her hair!”  “Uh, yeah.  I have to fix it,” I reply.

(Translation:  In the South “fixing” your hair means doing your hair.  As in, “I fix my hair every morning.”)

He says, “But, doesn’t that hurt her to pull her hair?!?”  I say, “Well, yeah sort of. But, that’s just part of doing your hair.”

It was then I realized,” The Mother Daughter Hair Wars” have begun for a new generation.  Yeah, putting Charlotte’s hair in a little ponytail is not very comfortable.  I probably pulled a little.  But my mom pulled too, so did her mother before her, and her mother before her.

This is me as a toddler with a simple barrette I no doubt ripped out and my Mom had to replace to take this picture.  The second picture is me as a 6-year-old clearly thrilled with my side Topsy-Tail ponytail.  (Please tell me I’m not the only one to remember the Topsy-Tail.)  The final picture is of me in High School with my millionth bun for the millionth ballet recital.

These pictures do not include the umpteenth double and single french braids, banana clips, pigtails, crimp irons, sponge rollers, updos, perms, and even a hairpiece for dance competitions dubbed “the ferret”.  My mother may or may not have encouraged my sister and I to wear panties over our curlers to bed to keep them in as we slept, only to have the curls die midday in the North Carolina humidity.

One year my mom took me to the salon so I could get “The Rachel.”  Over many years she would subtly and not so subtly suggest when my sister and I should get trims because we looked “scraggly”.  She was the first to disapprove of my highlights and the first to point out early grays.

Greyson said once, “Why does your mom always ask about your hair?”  I said, “I dunno.  She’s my mom.”

Mothers and daughters have fought and cried over hair for eons.  My curly haired friends have epic stories of their domestic hair wars.  The thing is, some of the best conversations I can remember with my mama were when she was brushing my hair or we were getting ready for something.  She was always the one to complement me when my hair looked pretty.

I don’t want to start a hair war with my daughter.  It’s just hair.  Really, it’s not that important.  But, every tug and every style is part of what bonds us as girls and women.

“I promise that my personal tragedy will not interfere with my ability to do good hair.”- Steel Magnolias

I had never given much thought to Jessica Seinfeld and her legally challenged Deceptively Delicious, but I’m thinking of downloading it to my Nook.

We’re hit and miss with vegetables in our house.  Some days Charlotte is fine with them.  Other days she tosses them on the floor.  The dog subsequently turns her nose up at the green things and waits patiently for anything else to fall from the high chair into her drooly jaws.  This leaves us forever scooping up peas, broccoli, or beans.

Out to eat this weekend I ordered Charlotte a grilled cheese off the kids menu.  I cringed when the waitress asked if I wanted the side of fries.  She offered steamed broccoli.  When Charlotte’s food came she gobbled up the sandwich and spit out the broccoli.

::sigh::

Then I did something I’m not proud of, but it got vegetables in my child.  “Excuse me, can I get a side of cheese sauce?”

I taught her how to dip the “little trees” into the cheese.  She thought this was wonderful!  Then Greyson and I made the mistake of laughing uncontrollably as she later dipped the trees in her hair, on her face, and on her clothes.

Most of the broccoli ended up in her belly thanks to the cheese sauce.  I’m not sure if this is good or not.  I’ll take any and all veggie-pushing tips.

Our sweet baby slept through the night at like, 3 weeks old.  No seriously.  She took to breastfeeding right away and had no nipple confusion between breast and bottle.  Her teeth came in with minimal disruption.  Through most of her first year of life she has been an absolute delight, a very good baby.

I feel guilty writing all that.  I promise I’m not bragging (much).

Wait!  Don’t hate me yet.  We’ve seen some changes in her lately.

This weekend she refused to put on her coat.  When we tried to bundle her up, she thrashed around and threw herself down in a demonstration that would’ve stopped the NYPD cold if she were an Occupy Wall Street protester.

When we got to the park she took a ball from another kid and acted like we cut off her finger when we took it away from her.

I worked to “clean” her room and organize all her clothes.  I let her “play”.  This is what happened in 15 minutes…

She was hungry so we fed her.  We placed the food on the tray in front of her and she knocked it all on the ground before screaming and glaring at us like we had poisoned it.

WHO IS THIS PERSON WHO HAS KIDNAPPED OUR BABY?!

Oh…a toddler.

I have to say though, she seems to be getting funnier all the time.  We laugh every time she says, “Uh oh!” when dropping something.  We scoop her up and smother her with kisses when she paddy-cakes or points to the dog and says “woof woof”.

Her hair is getting longer and we can do things like this in the bathtub….

Maybe the cuteness and hilarity of toddlerhood will help me get over the loss of my kidnapped baby.

We kept Charlotte at home today as she fights a nasty cold and fever.  After an epic battle between pediatrician and baby this morning, the doc came out on top and was actually able to look in her ears and determine she had an ear infection.   This will be her first-ever round of antibiotics.  I’m not looking forward to the legendary “Amoxicillin diapers” I’ve heard foretold from other mothers.

I opened the bottle to begin an inevitable mama/baby battle of wills.  I eventually waved the white flag by preparing my newest culinary delight, Applesauce a’ la Amoxicillin.

I would know that cherry/bubblegum smell anywhere.  A flood of memories came back as I flashed back to standing in the kitchen as my mom measured out the pink suspension with an old kitchen teaspoon.  Amoxicillin has been a staple of First World childhoods for decades, mine was no exception.  However, I had forgotten all about the stuff.

That got me thinking of all the other childhood things I had forgotten about until I had a child.  I mean, apart from the occasional babysitting job in college, I had little to no daily interaction with children until I had a baby.  My adult life caused me to forget so many things about childhood.

Here’s a list of stuff I forgot about, or hadn’t thought about in many years…

• 3 Blind Mice– You know, the song?  I miraculously knew all the words when Charlotte’s little toy started playing it.
• Rectal thermometers
• Cups with lids
• Mr. Snuffleupagus–  All of the sudden everyone on Sesame Street can see him.  What’s up with that?  I thought only Big Bird could see him?

muppet.wikia.com

• Crayons that come with kids’ menus
• Doll babies with blinking eyes and thumbs that stick in their mouths
• Receiving blankets
• Board books– Now I realize why little ones can’t have books with regular pages
• Johnson’s Baby Shampoo– Ah!  That smell!  Good thing they’re gonna make it cancer-free now.  I guess we adults can expect our shampoo cancer diagnosis anytime now.
• Stride Rite–  I will NEVER go in on a weekend again.  (That shopping trip deserves it’s own post.)

Two months ago our child was a baby with a small, but quality collection of toys and books.  After her first Birthday and second Christmas a mere 7 weeks apart, she’s a baby/toddler hybrid with every beeping, singing, blinking, plastic, plush plaything you can buy a child.

I’m grateful to our generous family and friends, but short of tearing up the floorboards in our house, I’m not sure where to store all of this.  The pink and purple princess Kozy Koupe courtesy of Grandaddy presents quite the storage snafu.