For the past four days we have had uninterrupted time together as a family over the July 4th holiday. Aside from Instagram and Twitter, I strayed from the Internet and lived my life slightly unplugged.

I often found myself staring at my daughter. I tangled my fingers in her curls and listened to her imagination unravel in tales of princesses, and Little People farm animals. I heard her stories of microscopic, half-imaginary boo-boos that had appeared on her legs and arms. She was quick to regale us with opinions of what foods are yummy and which are yucky. She pushed us away in the water and tested her bravery as she explored jumping in the pool.

I noticed that more and more, my daughter is no longer a baby and I can’t stop her from continuing to grow up. We are along for the ride. Her ride. A ride through fairy tales and daredevil feats. I’ll be here to admire every curl and kiss every boo-boo.

The two-year-old mind is a fascinating thing. Its reasoning and stream of conciousness is amazing.

Here in NC we’ve had more than our share of thunderstorms and rain this summer. The loud thunder and power outages have left our little one wide-eyed. Meanwhile, her summer flick has been Cars. You know, the well-marketed Disney movie with Owen Wilson and sadly, Larry The Cable Guy.

I can’t hate on that mediocre comedian since Charlotte has thickened up her budding southern accent to say “Shooot!” whenever “Mater” is on the screen. It’s pretty adorable.

The other day we were driving home and I saw a big streak of lightning shoot through the clouds.

Me: “Whoa! Charlotte, did you see the lightning in the sky?!”

Her: “Lightnin’ in da sky!?”

Me: “Yeah! Up in those clouds. We’re getting another storm.”

Her: “Lightnin in da sky? No! I can’t reach him in da sky!

We both paused for a moment to ponder what the other had just said.

Her: “Mama, cars are on da ground! Dey not in da sky!”

That was when I realized that to her, “lightning” was Disney and Pixar’s own Lightning McQueen, not the natural phenomenon for which he was named. When we got home and she saw her “Lightning” she showed me he was in fact, safely on the ground and not in the sky. Silly Mama!

Greyson was home bound this weekend for his 20th high school class reunion. (Insert old-man joke here. Trust me. I did.) He got a last-minute grossly overpriced plane ticket and went to hang with the class of ’93. 1993 was the same year Beverly Hills 90210 and Saved By The Bell graduated. (If you remember “Donna Martin graduates!” Awesome, we can be friends.) This dear man has a hard time doing things just for him so I pretty much made him go. He hung out at my 10-year reunion a few years ago and partied with my class like it was 1999, so I made sure he got on a plane Friday.

This started Mother-Daughter Potty Training Weekend ’13.

Charlotte’s teacher and I had a good talk about her bathroom progress. We both know she can do it. She goes everyday, but only because we make her. The child simply does not stop her intense playing/reading/singing/dancing/running long enough to go. She would rather go in her pants than stop and go in the potty. We have flirted with Pull-Ups for too long and I’m sick of the diaper company’s overpriced ploy to keep my kid in their glorified diapers. We’re done. Her teacher has potty trained many toddlers in her career and agreed with me that Pull-Ups aren’t cutting it and this kid needed to go cold turkey.

So we did. No turning back now. Pull-Up at night and during naptime. Panties the rest of the time. We’re doing it.

That conversation was Wednesday, the same day Charlotte spotted the one item she has not stopped talking about since. A girl in her class has an older sister in the Pre K class with a Rapunzel backpack. Seeing the Rapunzel “pack pack” was all Charlotte needed. I promised her I would get her one if she went #1 and #2 on the potty and CONSISTENTLY stayed clean and dry.

I understand this is bribery to teach a life skill.  I don’t care. Feel free to judge me and my parenting. 

Thursday at school she kept her Abby Cadabby panties dry on the way to school. I was very skeptical and filled her cubby container with extra clothes. I was shocked to find her that evening in the same Abby panties, clean and dry.  I was thrilled to tell her she was on her way to her “pack-pack” goal.

Friday she did great until a #2 fiasco at the end of the day that resulted in her teacher having to toss her precious pair of Rapunzel panties. She tearfully told me “Miss Cyn-tee-a frew my Rapunzel panees in da trashcan!” (Translation: Miss Cynthia threw my Rapunzel panties in the trashcan.) Still proud though. The “pack-pack” was in sight.” I even called the Disney Store to make sure they had a stock of Rapunzel backpacks.

Saturday morning I made the mistake of turning on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse which distracted her too much and she got her pants wet. Thankfully, she ran into her BFF Adalyn from her class at the local farmers market and she wanted to go potty because Addie wanted to go potty. Let’s hear it for positive peer-pressure!

What happened Saturday afternoon made me realize my idea of a Mother Daughter Potty Training Weekend was darling, but just ain’t gonna cut it. This is going to go on for awhile.

We were at Michael’s, unsuccessfully finding something for my half-assed attempts at crafting. I kept checking with Charlotte to see that she was “clean and dry.” Things were going great. She had a Rapunzel coloring book and was happily flipping through black and white pages. I let her sit in the large part of the cart so she could stretch her legs. I was searching for the right color paint when I heard it.

Trickle, trickle, trickle, splat splat.

I turned and gasped as pee went through the grate of the shopping cart and into the middle of the scrapbooking aisle. I only reacted. No thinking, just reaction. I scooped my bewildered tot up from the dripping cart, snatched the book from her hand, left it on the shelf and ran out of the store. Charlotte screamed the whole time. Not because of her embarassment over leaving her mark in Michael’s. Nope. She was mad I didn’t buy the damn coloring book.

Yes, I should have fessed up to the managers of the store. I’m really sorry, and really embarrassed. I only hope I don’t end up on the “Best of Security Camera Footage” or something like that.

Needless to say, the coloring book wasn’t the only thing she didn’t get. She didn’t get the “pack-pack” yet either.  I REALLY wanted to just slap a Pull-Up back on her, but I didn’t. We kept it up today too.

The moral of the weekend? Donna Martin may have graduated, but it will take longer than a weekend to graduate out of Pull-Ups.

Dear Charlotte,

When someone asks how old you are, you proudly announce, “I’m two!”  This is usually accompanied by you holding up your thumb and pointer finger instead of your pointer and middle finger.  I hear Europeans start finger counts with the thumb, and thus you show two on your hands like an English or French child.  Daddy and are proud of your worldliness with this display.  Way to go kiddo!  Excuse me, Manière d’aller kiddo !

Today you are officially 2-and-a-half.  I don’t know if I want to tell you that for fear that you will stop shouting “I’m two!” These last six months of having you as a two-year-old has been wonderful!  Two has brought discovery.  You have discovered what you like and what you strongly dislike.  You notice everything now!  Everyday you learn something new or ask another question.  Just the other day in the car we talked about the traffic lights and how they turn green and red.  You shout, “Schoo Bus!” whenever you see one.

You adore your friends and talk about them all the time.  You name every kid in your class and talk about them with affection.  Today you even hugged each one before we left.  They all shout “Bye Chalette!” When you leave.  Two-year-old’s love to shout I’ve learned.  With this adoration of your peers comes fierce competitiveness.  You are not one to be pushed around by other toddlers and will vehemently defend yourself with a returned shove.  Sharing and being nice are things you and your friends work on daily.

You still love Sesame Street but your interests have expanded.  Any book or toy with Mickey Mouse is a favorite because of the hit TV preschool show “Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.”  If Daddy and I are being honest, it makes us want to drive nails through our skulls, but you love it.  Being an ever growing girly-girl you have discovered princesses and adore any book or movie with a princess.  I am weary of too much princess because of the messages that can send little girls, but I like the newer princesses in today’s movies.  Besides, your favorite princess is now my favorite too.  You love Rapunzel from “Tangled.” I mean, LOVE her!   You talk about how brave and kind Rapunzel is all the time.  I like the “Tangled” story and I’m okay with your fanaticism.  I try not to get tired of singing the song from the movie in the car over and over to you.  I know it won’t be long until you ask for some other song and I’ll miss the “Rapunzel song.”

You love your baby dolls, blocks, books, balls, kitchen set, trains, dress-up clothes and games.  You are on the move all the time.  Sometimes we can’t keep up.  You have improved identifying your colors and shapes.  I can tell your fine motor skills are getting better and better when you color and play blocks.  You are more adventurous with your food, trying new things that Daddy and I like to eat.  We’re proud of how many fruits and vegetables you love.  Sometimes we just have to tell you that “Rapunzel likes green beans” to get you to eat something.  It makes Daddy and I laugh.

The potty is still a daily learning experience, but I have a feeling you will turn the corner soon.  Especially as it gets closer to when the new baby will be born.

In the morning I ask you what you dreamed about.  It’s  always the same answer, “I dweamed about my baby sister!  She took a nap wiff me!”  That’s when my heart melts and I want to bottle you up at 2-and-a-half forever.

I love you, my darling, darling girl.

Love,

Mama

Hold her a little longer.

Rock her a little more.

Tell her another story.

(You’ve only told her four.)

Let her sleep on your shoulder.

Rejoice in her happy smile.

She’s only two-and-a-half

for such a little while. 

-Author Unknown

Oh hey! We’re homeless and spending two nights in a hotel while we finalize things for one house and then move into another.  It’s a tad chaotic, but fun.  We’re making the most of it.

We’ve been having a lot of discussions with Charlotte about babies, I had to share this recent conversation:

Me: “Charlotte, what do babies do?”

Her: “Um…they cwy!”

Me: “That’s right! They cry. What else do they do?”

Her: “Um…they sweep!’

Me: “That’s right! They sleep. What else?”

Her: “They crap!”

::pause::

::look at Greyson as his mouth drops open::

Me: “Charlotte! That is not a nice thing to say! Where did you hear that?”

Her (looking confused): “They crap!”

Greyson: “Charlotte that’s not how we say that.”

Her (looking confused): “They crap der hans!”

Us (backpeddling, feeling relieved): “Oh! Yes! Babies do clap their hands! That’s so good!”

Charlotte went on to sing a rousing rendition of “If You’re Happy And You Know It Crap Your Hands.” You can imagine Greyson’s hand motions to this version of the song later in the night after Charlotte had gone to bed.