Sometimes it can be a little irritating as a parent to simply be known as “mom” or “dad.”  You do lose a bit of your identity in parenthood.  There is no denying that, especially at daycare or preschool.  My daughter’s classmates know me as “Charlotte’s Mommy.”  It’s cool, though.  I understand.  There are lots of mommies and daddies rushing in and out of that place.

I definitely know the names of Charlotte’s friends’ parents and use them.  When Charlotte is speaking with them, we at least try to use their first names.  “Ms. Jane” or “Mr. Bill” seem to be acceptable for most of them.  Besides, I’ve learned two-year-olds are not great at understanding the concept, let alone pronouncing surnames.

Sometimes I just end up being “Charlotte’s Mom” and I can live with that.  It’s not a huge deal.

Today, some parents made it a huge deal.  The school keeps a basket of crackers at the front desk for the children to snack on and whine about when leaving.  The mother of a child in the class behind Charlotte was holding the basket down for her child and Charlotte walked up.  The father was standing beside them.  She held the basket out to Charlotte.

Me to Charlotte: “Can you say ‘thank you’ to Sally’s Mommy?”

Charlotte said “thank you” and the parents sort of scoffed at me.  Then I couldn’t make up what happened next if I tried.

www.etonline.com

The dad started singing the Cheers theme song.  Yes, Cheers, as in Sam, Diane, Norm and Cliff.  Cheers.  He broke out into song with, “Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name.”  The way they looked at me I assumed it was because I didn’t use their names.  Why else would this  guy sing this?  Are you kidding me?!  Your kid isn’t even in my kid’s class!  I think it’s pretty impressive that I know your child’s name, let alone yours.  I ushered Charlotte out the door, quickly.

Sir, I suppose you think you’re a clever cool hipster who’s able to recall 1980’s television show references at a moment’s notice.  But, please know EVERYONE knows that song and you’re not that clever.

I can’t decide what I’ll call them the next time I see them.  But, let me be clear when I say if he EVER irreverently references the phenomenal television legacy that is Cheers, I will go off!  Let’s face it.  “Making your way in the world today takes everything you got.”

Charlotte has been looking a bit shaggy and I wanted to get her spruced up a bit for Easter next week.  I took her to one of those kiddie salons today.  We’ve been really hit or miss with this place.  They made her first haircut cute and special, but then gave her a hot-mess mullet another time.

We walked in and there was a child screaming.  I mean awful screaming like someone was scalping her.  I looked up and was shocked to see that I could indeed see her scalp because the stylist was shaving this baby’s head.  I sat with other Americans staring at these parents trying to comfort their screaming child with their deep accents.  Even though the baby was clearly unhappy, the parents were elated and proud.  The stylist carefully collected a lock the child’s hair in a bag to take home.

A quick Google search informed me this special ritual is called a mundan and is an important time in the life of a Hindu child.  Cool, right?  It was neat that we got to see it.

I did not know this at the time, however, and was dealing with my own tired and hungry tot.  I just wanted their screaming child to leave so mine could get her haircut.

After I took this adorable photo, Charlotte was a force to be reckoned with.  She screamed the entire time.  No amount of animal crackers, cartoons or iPhone distractions would soothe her.  Other parents looked at me with either sympathy or annoyance.  I avoided eye-contact with them.

All my efforts were useless.  I threatened her with a time-out.  I told her the Easter Bunny was watching her.  I bribed her with the holy grail of good-behavior prizes, the Dum-Dum lollipops the stylist had.  She took the bait, but then said, “I want a purple one!”

Oh God.  Not purple.  Anything but purple.  I can’t stand the smell or taste of anything with artificial grape flavoring.  It was never the alcohol in a Jell-o shot that turned my tummy in college.  Nope, I would only lose my liquor if I accidentally took a grape shooter.  I don’t even like my sacred red or orange popcicles to be near the purple ones in the box for fear of any purple enfusion.  This extreme aversion stems from an unfortunate stomach flu as a child after being given a dose of grape flavored Children’s Tylenol.  It was traumatic and the reason no purple candy touches my lips.

For a moment Charlotte stopped her screaming and happily sucked her purple lollipop.  I was safely in the parent’s chair.  She started up again and could not be soothed.  I reminded her that the last kid got her head shaved and she was just getting a trim.  The screams continued.  The stylist suggested I hold her.  Oh God!  I grimiced as my child wailed and smeared her sticky purple pop across my face.  I held my breath, so as not to inhale the purple fumes.  Ugh!  I got a whiff and instantly my mind went back to that night when I was six at my grandmothers and the grape evil escaped my body.

To add to this salon fiasco, the stylist decided to take the time to add a little braid, ribbons and a butterfly clip a-la 1996 to her hair.  Seriously?!  I was gagging, my kid continued to wail, and this woman was giving her a “princess style!?”  The topper was what she did next.  The stylist took a handful of gold glitter and tossed it on my kid’s head.  She said, “It’s fairy dust!”  I think I smiled and said, “Oh!  Fairy Dust!” In my brain I screamed, “Lady! Are you %&#*+=@ crazy!?  Who puts glitter on a two-year-old?  This #&^% is gonna be all over my house for weeks!”

I believe this whole experience was my penance for being a culturally insensitive, impatient American.  The grape lollipop ended up in my hair with chunks of glitter stuck in it.  The smell alone made me want to shave my head.

We’ve been practicing our grunting and bridge guarding.  I think Charlotte would be a pretty cute troll.  You know, like the early nineties collectibles we enjoyed.  Aw!  Here she is…

Now, if Greyson and I were trolls, we’d be gruesome doofuses like a Harry Potter troll.  Ew…

Why are we going to be trolls?  Oh, because since we’ve sold our house we have no where to live.  Surely we’ll doomed to live under a bridge somewhere and be a troll family.

Seriously.  We’ve made offers on three houses.  Two have fallen through and we remain in limbo with the third.  I’m starting to think a mossy bridge over a sparkling stream would be lovely.  But, then I remember we’d probably end up under a highway overpass with some smack addicts and I continue my MLS Google searches.  Well, as long as it’s an overpass near a good elementary school it might work.

If you don’t already read my friend Erin’s blog, you totally should.  She came up with a fun idea for a link up and I’m all about it.  Why?  Because it has to do with sparkly stickers.  Let’s face it, I love sparkly stickers about as much as my two-year-old loves them.

Her idea?  Parents should get gold stars for being awesome, or simply for doing things that aren’t terrible.  Agreed.

• My little potty-trainer said she needed to drop a deuce.  Yes!  We’ve been working on that.  I hurried her to the commode.  I helped her pull down her pants and a turd fell out and rolled on to the bathroom floor.  I did not groan and grimace.  Nope.  I plastered a shit eating grin on my face and said, “Uh oh!  That’s okay!  You got really close to the potty!”  I helped her do her business and cleaned up.  My little one then reminded me “You no eat poo poo, Mama!  Is yucky!”  I had my shit eating grin on for nothing.

I’m no ophthalmologist, just an attention seeker with a laptop.  But, I’m here today to dispel the rumor that pink eye is caused by getting poop in your eye.  This topic came up because I just battled another bout of Oozy Eyeball Disease, better known as Bacterial Conjunctivitis.

The guys in Knocked Up claimed they “farted bare-assed on each other’s pillows” and gave each other pink eye with “poop particles”. This was an exaggeration for comedy, not based on medical knowledge.

My doctor said lots of different bacteria cause pink eye, not just bacteria from fecal matter.  I was concerned when someone told me I was getting pink eye because I change my baby’s diaper and then touch my face.  Eww!  I wash my hands, you sicko!

Right after my coworkers sent me home to wash out my eyes last week, I really did have a reason to wash out my eyes.

I left a meeting and went to my car in a parking deck downtown.  I was climbing the stairs when I turned the corner and saw a man leaning on the railing with it all out.  I mean IT all out.  Yep, a homeless guy using our city’s public parking deck as his private restroom flashed me!  I turned and bolted towards security.  I didn’t bother to call the police.  I had to get to the doctor.  I begged him to give me Listerine, Isopropyl Alcohol or anything to disinfect my eyes and brain from that sight.

I did notice the guy’s eyes before I laid eyes on his junk.  Neither appeared infected.  But again I’m no ophthalmologist, nor urologist.