…just for a few moments. Although I am totally in vacation mode, so this entry might be entirely too mellow. You’ve been warned.
Greetings from NC coast, where we’ve been having a total estrogen fest the last couple of days. My husband had to work, so it’s just been me, the toddler, and my sitter Krysta, who is a total rock star and has been with us for two of my baby’s three years. Also along for this trip: entirely too many stuffed animals, including Bernard, a HUGE stuffed dog that I never would have thought I’d end up bringing anywhere. But right at 6am, when she woke up Sunday, Sasha was talking about how he was coming. I said I didn’t think so, he was too big. She countered with, “He can squeeze in!” This continued ALL morning, with both of us holding our respective grounds.
My husband finally said to me, “You might want to just take him,” and I was like, “NO, it’s crazy, he’s enormous and I already said no.” He sighed. “Do you really want to hear her cry for him the entire trip?” (Which is what she did in Cape Cod.) No, but I had to be firm. I called my mother. “Oh, just let her take him,” she said. But she ALWAYS takes Sasha’s side, whether it’s over cookies for breakfast or anything else. What’s up with that? As we started packing the car, I tried to divert Sasha while I piled in everything else. I thought I might have psyched her out, but…no. She dragged Bernard out by the ear and proceeded to stuff him in herself. I said no. She said there was room. There were tears (not mine) and raised voices (guilty) and then we took a time out (both of us) to think. In the end:
I know, I know. You should never say no and then give in. But this was not the hill I wanted to die on. So he came. With George the giraffe. He’s on the couch with her now while she eats breakfast. So I am just trying to let it go, even though I feel like I’ve been totally bested. Oh, well. Best thing to do is turn AWAY from Bernard and my failings as an authority figure and just look the other way. Say, at this:
Ahhhh. That’s better.