Gyne-lotri-what?

Today marked a new parenting first for me...my first visit to the feminine hygiene section of the supermarket.

You might be wondering what exactly a toddler would need from the feminine hygiene section of the supermarket.  No, we weren't making tampon ghosts (after all, Halloween is still several months away).  I was on the hunt for Monistat (something else I never thought I'd be saying) to combat a pernicious fungal infection that we've been treating for a few days now.  Turns out diaper cream isn't quite the panacea we thought it was.  We needed to bring in the big guns...hence, the foray into maxi pad manor.

The doctor's other suggestion was to "air out" the area, which is rather complicated given that Peanut isn't toilet trained (she knows the word "potty"...and that's about it).  So on Sunday, Peanut "free balled it", so to speak, which basically entailed walking around our complex sans diaper.  In retrospect it's rather funny...although the site of her peeing down her leg while we were chatting up our neighbors was rather embarrassing yesterday.  Good thing it was bath night. 

Bambi must die!

You know that scene from the movie Bambi where his mother is killed.  The moment that brings tears to the eyes of kids and adults alike?  Well, that might be the best moment in modern American cinema.

Seriously folks, I hate deer.  And the list of things I hate is fairly short.  Like canned asparagus.  And The Bachelorette.  But deer are the definite headliners.

I wasn’t always this way. Don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly not a card carrying member of PETA.  But I wasn’t always this vitriolic.  It all started last year when just a few days after planting my first garden, I discovered that a deer had completely devoured my phlox and hosta.  I was devastated!  Since then, deer have been enemy number one in my suburban neighborhood  Peter lays the fault at my feet, saying that I shouldn’t plant deer candy.  My response – deer should die!

Just last week a coworker of mine was telling me how she had discovered a dead deer in her swimming pool (and not just any deer…a baby deer…cue tearful music).  I am moderately embarrassed to say that I was actually filled with utter glee…one less deer to destroy the garden I have tended and loved (of course, a large river and a busy commuter bridge separate me from said deer, so the likelihood of that deer dining on my hostas is minimal…but it works on a symbolic level).

But perhaps karma is a cruel mistress, as they say, because not two days later I woke up to find that a pack of deer had gone at my garden like the Sunday buffet at Sizzler!  And not just the hosta!  The deer ate every single bud from my lilies, and went to town on the coneflower.  Chewed, red leaves were littered along the ground like blood spatter at a crime scene.  I was seething…and cursing…I wanted revenge!

This year has been one disaster after another.  In addition to the lilies and coneflower, the phlox met a most unfortunate end…death by gardener.  It seems the gardener mistook my budding phlox for a weed and pulled it, roots and all.  So there goes my lovely purple perennial…perhaps I should add gardeners to the list of things I hate?

There is something of a happy ending, though.  Seeing my abject despair, Peter loaded us all into the car for a trip to the nursery to replace my deer candy with deer resistant plants – astilbe, catmint, and mugwort (sounds like a cast off from Harry Potter, no?).  Nothing like a trip to the motherland to ease the pain, and $50 and 3 hours later, I felt somewhat sated.  Somewhat.  However, now I am thinking about doing some redecorating inside the house, too.  Maybe a lodge theme.  Deer head, anyone? 

Oh crap! My kid is the class biter!

Not one bite.

Not two bites.

Three bites.  THREE FRACKING BITES!  

When I went to pick up Peanut from school today, I was presented with the now painfully familiar day care incident report form (in triplicate) informing me that my little darling bit her classmate three times today.  Seriously...one bite wasn’t enough?  I know Peanut tends toward the dramatic - like her daddy - but even this is a bit much for me.  Her teacher tried to soften the blow by telling me, “in Peanut’s defense” her classmate took a crayon that Peanut was using.  Last week, her defense was that a classmate tried to take away a book that Peanut was reading.  

Seriously - there is no defense for biting.  For a child who knows the words “no” and “mine” - and certainly has no trouble screaming at the top of her lungs, biting is completely unacceptable.  So why does she resort to biting the grabby hands in her class to express her anger/annoyance/frustration?

Explaining that to Peanut, however, has been something of a challenge.  Each time I tell her that biting is “not nice” or to “use her words” in my “I’m not playing around voice”, she flashes me with a smile from ear to ear.  Clearly not the response I was hoping for.  And while I know that this is a developmental hurdle she will need to overcome, it drives me crazy to know we have become that family - the parents of a biter!

In the interest of full disclosure, I suppose I should reveal that this isn’t a new situation.  Peanut has been exercising her chompers on human flesh since she first started teething - but now that she has a full set of teeth her biting has reached a whole new level of pain for the person on the receiving end of her snapping jaw. A little vampire all our own - True Blood for the toddler set.

When I lived in NYC, I worked as a camp director for a time, and I can remember speaking to a parent whose 3 year old had developed a reputation for biting.  I recall how anguished she seemed when she approached me to discuss it, and while I did my best to hear her and develop a plan of action to address any "bitings", I really did not understand the full extent of her situation: the feelings of helplessness, frustration, and a sense that the biting reflects poorly on your parenting skills.  And the other parents (moms, sorry) made their feelings about the biter painfully obvious, as only NYC parents can, effectively demanding that the child be moved to a different class.  

Our one saving grace is that Peanut’s day care has a strict confidentiality policy as it relates to biting...thank god!  So I don’t expect to be dodging a witch hunt any time soon.  At the same time, this is a serious problem that we need to address.  Any suggestions, readers?

Just when you thought it was over - my France travel blah-g "numero deux"

Thanks for tuning in to part two of my little cautionary tale: The Terror of Travelling with a Toddler!

In an effort to perk the little one up, my brother-in-law planned a week of fun kid-friendly outings (of course, he doesn't have or want kids...so you have to kind of wonder).  Unfortunately, none of them matched with Peanut’s sleep schedule so in addition to being sick and uncomfortable, she was also sleep deprived and cranky.  Each night, we would wake bleary eyed as Peanut tossed and turned in her portable crib (lit parapluie in French, literally an “umbrella bed”), crying out, undoing weeks of sleep training we had invested in prior to our trip.  I was worn down, raw and moody...driving Peter absolutely crazy (surprisingly, he held it together pretty well...impressive AND annoying because I, like Peanut, was an absolute mess).

Even so it was fun to explore the wonders of Brittany.  We visited Quiberon, a seaside town on a small islet and ate at a charming little creperie.  We went to the Pont Scorff Zoo and fed popcorn to the giraffes (who have huge tongues!!!).  The zoo, however, was showing it’s age, with animals in cramped cages, crumbling walkways, and empty exhibits.  Rather depressing, actually.  Peter mocked their animal conservation placards, hung throughout the sprawling campus, wondering how a zoo that cares so much for animals can place them in dusty, dirty quarters the size of a postage stamp.  The zoo was also built on a hill, and as Peanut wouldn’t walk, we had to either push or carry her all day long - I felt like the yodeling mountain climber from the Price is Right!  

Watch out for that last step - it's a doozy!

We also visited Mamie and Papie (Peanut’s grandparents) at the Port Navalo campground, a camping area where they were vacationing.  I used to dream about renting a Winnebago and setting off for a tour of the US...not anymore.  Nothing is less attractive then being cooped up in a box on wheels for two weeks with no space to move, then using shared showers and toilets at an old, rundown campground...I prefer less roughin’ it - more Regency.  

Port Navalo - minus the half naked hairy people in tents.

To add insult to injury, Peanut got three splinters in her hand while playing on my brother-in-law’s deck.  Removing them was no walk in the park...Peanut screaming as I held her while Peter and his brother worked to remove the shards of wood from her hand.  That wasn’t fun for any of us.  

In fact, the best part of the trip was the last 36 hours.  Finally fever free and more or less on local time, we spent our last day at Parc Animalier et Botanique de Branfere, a lovely zoological park that houses animals in sprawling zones modeled after their natural habitats.  Peanut particularly loved the monkeys and the giraffes...and we loved that she was finally in a good mood.  We also had fun on the Parcabout, a large mesh trampoline made up of a series of corridors and open areas that is strung from the trees.  

I don't know what "Parcabout" means - but it's lots of fun!

And despite some minor ticketing issues, and a dash to make our connecting flight from Nantes to New York at Charles De Gaulle airport, the ride home wasn’t too bad.  We got upgraded to Economy Comfort (which gives a delicious amount of additional leg room - it's amazing what a difference six inches can make), the flight attendants showered us with snacks (and several glasses of wine for me), and we got to skip the hour-long wait at customs thanks to Peanut.

Peter’s new mantra is that he has no intention of travelling with Peanut again any time soon.  I imagine that this strong feeling will begin to fade over time, but I think it will be a long time (if ever) before we consider taking a big trip like this with such a small child.  Peanut has probably already forgotten about her ordeal in France, but that is a nightmare that will live with the two of us for a very, very long time.

The fabulous life of today's super star parents

Nancy O’Dell on Motherhood and Wellness | GoodyBlog

Ok - this kind of sh*t pisses me off. I hate op-ed stories about how busy famous moms keep it all together. The kind of people who have a staff to shop for their groceries and change their kids diapers are not heroes to me...so why oh why are people writing stories about them. Isn't something important happening somewhere that we can read about instead?

The food was delicious, the wine was amazing, but the trip totally sucked!

Whoever said France was a magical place, never traveled there with a toddler.

Five words: fever, ear infection, thrush, diarrhea - it pretty much sums up our week in Brittany.  Whatever visions we may have had of an enjoyable family vacation were more or less destroyed when we discovered Peanut had a fever as we were flying over the Atlantic.  I was nervous enough about the time difference (6 hours), but I hadn’t anticipated that Peanut would also get sick (I mean, who would?).  We hoped it would be a passing virus, and dosed her up with baby ibuprofin.  She was tired and out of sorts when we landed, but in a relatively good mood most of the first day.

The calm before the storm!

Our trip to Brittany included a transfer to a smaller plane from Paris to Nantes.  At baggage claim, with Peanut slumbering in my lap, we found out that while we had made it to Nantes our stroller was still in Paris (lucky dog).  So they provided us with a spare, a stroller that looked like it was made for one of Peanut’s dolls.  We met up with my brother-in-law and loaded up into his car.  He had arranged to borrow both a bed and a car seat for us to use, really a mixed blessing.  While it meant we had less to carry, we were stuck with a car seat that looked like it had been manufactured in the 1970s and was made for a child smaller than our Peanut (it looked more like papasan chair than a car seat).

That evening was the first of several restless, unhappy nights for all of us...followed by days of whining and discomfort.  We finally broke down and took Peanut to see a pediatrician when the fever still hadn’t gone down by day three.  With a diagnosis of an ear infection, and a prescription for augmentin, we had hoped the worst was over: not even close! The whining continued through day 7, by which time Peanut had gotten on my very last nerve.

Just as bad as the illness was the fact that we couldn't get Peanut to eat anything. A creature of habit, Peanut didn’t have a taste for French cuisine (seriously) and refused all food we offered her.  She turned down pain au chocolat/chocolate pastry and tarte au citron/lemon tart in favor of cheerios and goldfish, our rapidly decreasing supply of snacks that I had brought from home.  

How can you not love this?

I had intended to bring a full backpack of snacks, but Peter edited down my supply just as we were leaving for the airport, reducing it by a full two thirds, an action I think he regretted later when we had a moaning, hungry toddler.  Ultimately, we were able to get her to eat her old favorite, plain cold pasta, potato chips and milk...dinner of champions.  She also enjoyed eating Chipsters for breakfast - which Peter picked up at the Carrefour - and we just loved hearing her say “cheeps”.

Cheeps...cheeps!

I, however, ate up a storm (and yes, tomorrow I diet) and drank glass after glass of delicious wine.  My brother-in-law and sister-in-law have a garden, and they cooked up some amazing meals for us with vegetables and fruit they had grown.  My favorites: crepes (of course...no one makes them like the French), macaroons (not like what they serve you for Passover!) and langoustines, a sort of cross between shrimp, lobster and crayfish.

If you have't tried one of these...get yourself to a French bakery immediately.  You will be glad you did.

But even good food couldn’t fix this mess of a vacation.  Stay tuned for part two coming tomorrow!