Cooked Noodles can be the worst Noodles of all

Well folks...it's been 2 years in the game now and I'm not sure if I'm any wiser about this whole motherhood thing. In some ways, I think I have taken some steps back since Noodle has blown the lid off of toddler-hood. I'm about sick of Noggin turned Nick Jr...I'm always surprised by what shows she will like...what she'll actually eat.

I hear her peacefully watching Lazy Town (EXCUSE ME?!) and eating her left over oatmeal. Most days, she would toss both to the side and would rather put on my shoes and walk around in them. Once upon time, all that would satisfy my little babe was a bowl of mashed potatoes and grilled chicken. Now, she raves about butternut squash and the wonders of hummus. She scoffs at the sight of mashed potatoes, but have no fear: as my friend Laurie would say, tater tots are still her "jam".

I've made peace with the fact that my little Noodle is growing up. We have both waged an epic battle over the potty, and 3 out of 5 visits would agree, we are making progress. But there are those days where I could pull my afro apart when she would rather be engrossed with DJ Lance than the Rubberband Man; get your cane little one and run your ass to the bathroom!


My miniature version of moi is just as finicky and attidunal as me; as with every cut eye she makes and selfish toddler diatribes of "I don't want dat!" & "Mine!" & "I wanna eat eat Mommy" & "Let's go!", there are times where I have to realize, she doesn't know any better...this is just a stage in development. I spend most days overwhelmed by her selfishness and ponder could my story end up on Law & Order if I just dropped her off at the local fire station and never looked back...?

Nah! That's not even me. Maybe this woman who may be duly dealing with her own and her eventual toddlers' selfishness. We'll just reminder, it's purely natural to feel overwhelmed that you would act out in ways like this. Nah, I'm not giving up on my Noodle, no matter hard boiled she may seem at times. Sometimes she turns down the temperature and becomes my little baby again.

Stinky down but not out

I am beyond elated! I've had to go to Twitter and Facebook seeking help from my fellow mothers in the struggle, those who've seen the perils of poopy for some advice. I've heard advice from putting cheerios into the potty to 20 minute field trips to the pot. Well my sisters, I followed the ques of a toddler on the edge of no return and I ran her to the potty and ploomp! ploomp! Success!

I would post pictures but that would gross. You wouldn't want to look at something like that. Not even something as gross as this...

What the hell is going on over there at Huffington Post?

Forgiveness is as natural as crying

I have come believe that a mother's forgiveness is necessary in the sustainability of any mother-daughter relationship. Lord knows me and my mom had our blow ups during my teenage years but I know right now, she is somewhere sipping coffee, humored by my weariness dealing with a toddler adamant on stinging me with the tears of guilt, as if pelted from some junior sized laser gun.

As I type these words, she is literally inching into our bedroom, looking pitiful...peering at me under-eyed carrying an empty Easter basket...hoping, just hoping, I will take her out of timeout. It's been going for 15 minutes, with no end in sight.

Doesn't she realize that Black people operate on the wish factor?
Maybe she IS operating on the wish factor..."I wish mommy would put me in timeout!" She's not even taking me seriously. Her tears - only crocodile tears; her misery - only the oldest trick in the book. She doesn't even take me seriously.
Just look at the little monster:


It's not to this point but I know, it will all come in time...


Maybe, I should take the advice of Tichina Arnold on her blog, Beat and Keep it Movin'...

How to waste a "mommy day"

So, Papa Bear got the Noodle for the weekend and all I can do is sit in my bed. Why am I not out and about, enjoying a $20.09 meal?

All I can do is recuperate the energy and enjoy the solitude and peace. But all I think about is how my Noodle is doing, is her hair together, does she have an undershirt on...Let me get out the bed and enjoy some sunshine.

I talk to myself because there is no one to talk to

I can honestly say I talk on the phone and Twitter and FB and email a little too much and a lot of the times, I'm doing it from my cell phone. Unfortunately the bourgie babe has developed a nasty habit of using up her daytime minutes on her VTech phone.


Her mannerisms and gestures are spot on imitations of me. This new epiphany of me raising myself recently is now my quest to truly understand myself and see what can be changed. Is motherhood like another form of time travel?

Harpo ain't doing no beating up in here

Bourgie moms...where are we officially standing on discipline of our bourgie babes? It seems that me and Noodle are at a cross roads in our relationship...a bi-polar universe of devilish defiance and conceding bouts of nurturing affection.

How can I discipline and have a holding period where she renounces her ways in the corner while I actually consider holding back the hug she wants to give me as soon as she knows she's got my eye's attention. She coyly turns to the side to see if I'm watching her in the corner...some jubilant mutter that vobbles between a whisper and cooing (a baby purr, perhaps?). Surely she has a sly cat tale somewhere...toddlers truly know how to stalk their pray because they cut their fangs into their poor mothers, the first victims of child manipulation.

Lord knows I don't want her to be a self doubting, gnagging, idle bourgie chap like that Harlem Heights crew. But how can I deal with an increasingly defiant only child bourgie virago that mirrors my ways and temperament...My God...I'm raising myself, cosmic MOMMY KARMA...the very thing that every baby boomer mother has claimed they want to live to see be walloped onto their Gen X sassily indignant daughters.

How can I deal with me but 30 years ago? Venus is in retrograde.

Potty Obsession

Since we began potty training when the bourgie baby turned 1, it has been an ever present issue between our relationship. She views her training panties as a skull cap; her potty chair as a step ladder, and toilet tissue as confetti. Is there a waning gibbous in the sky?
Today, something odd occurred. After two accidents in her training pants I decided to move the chair into the bedroom to make it more accessible as I hole her up in the bedroom as I grade my online classes. Now, I think she's just messing with me. She's using the chair as a recliner. Sometimes she is sitting there attempting to potty, she'll leave and come back 2-3 times until she's got a good assortment of toys - each time cautious to pull up her training pants as she walks away and pulls them back down when she returns. But now, she's just sitting there with her training pants up playing.

I don't think there's a magic trick to make this happen; similar to how people put hot sauce on a child's thumb or crushing up their vitamins in their morning juice, what would be the potty equivalent? Double sided tape on the rim, cheerios in the bowl, threats punctuated with a spatula?