There are days where I truly think Amelia Bedelia is my spirit animal. I always cringed when she would screw up the simplest of things… but I’m now realizing her and I have more in common than I care to admit. Wanna hear about my day? Probably not. But I’ll share anyway because I’m an “over sharer.” And one day I’ll read my blog post and think it’s funny. But today I don’t think it’s funny.  I never have liked alcohol, I pretty much think it’s gross. But I may take up drinking wine after this fun day. My friends seem to think it’s the answer to most problems… So cheers to vino!

January 29, 2018: 1:00 am- Olive wakes up. Olive refuses to fall back asleep. She whines. She cries. She screams. I want to cry. I do cry. I’m exhausted. I’m laying on the floor begging her to lay down. She would rather jump up and down, cry, laugh at me, throw her stuffed animals at me. Anything but sleep. She finally fell asleep at 3:30 am. So needless to say, I was tired the next day. And my day only got worse.

Most Amelia Bedelia morning so far. I put Olive down for a nap ( thinking she would fall asleep right away based on how our night went) to which she refused to actually nap. But I left her in her crib because I was showing her discipline. Just kidding. I left her in there because I was hoping for a miracle. So after 20 mins of her throwing every stuffed animal she has, all her blankets, her glass bottle, everything out of her crib, I hear her whine and say “poopoo.” Not a huge deal. She thinks farting is poo poo. So I let her whine and keep “disciplining” her. After a few more minutes she’s getting angry and starting to scream at me. So I walk into her room. 4 of her bunnies are on the floor. Her two “blankies” are also on the floor. Her bottle with milk leaking out is on the floor. Her pants are on the floor. Her…… diaper is not on the floor. It’s in the crib. And yes ma’am you guessed right! DING!! DING!! DING!! She had indeed had “poopoo’ed.” Did I mention Olive had a LOT of blueberries for supper the night before? And that she had a blueberry spinach smoothie for breakfast? Ya. You get where I’m going with this. Fibre, lot’s of fibre. Greenish/blueish colours. Squishiness. Her bare, non clean bum hanging out. I put on my big girl panties (more like grandma panties) and dealt with the blueberry situation.

I made a fairly grand supper. A casserole, salad with homemade dressing (if you don’t make your own dressing- please get in touch with me. I’ll give you recipes and they are delicious and easy. Anyways, moving on). I even made dinner buns. Like…. from scratch. So I guess you could say I was pretty heroic. At supper, we force feed Olive at first. EVERY. TIME. It’s the only way she’ll eat. You force it in her mouth, then she realizes she actually likes it and then she’ll eat it on her own. So Dane forces it in her mouth and she starts wailing. But she swallows it. I give her a piece of bun and she chews it, gags and then pukes. She was not a fan of my heroic efforts. So she ate cucumber for supper.

I, for whatever reason think chocolate chip cookies should be made. So I make some. We have a gas stovetop. So when I take out my cookie sheet and place it on top of the stovetop, the edge of the cookie sheet turns on not one, not two, not three, BUT FOUR burners. SO the parchment paper where my perfectly golden, crispy on the outside, chewy on the inside cookies are situated perfectly, catches fire. Like an actual flame. I have oven mitts on, and I can’t seem to figure out that I need to take them off in order for my hands to actually work. So my cookies are engulfed in flames (slight exaggeration), I’m standing there with thick oven mitts on trying to turn off all the burners, Olive is freaking out because she thinks I’m hurt and she’s crying, Dane is staring at me like he’s just walked into a madhouse. Finally the flames are extinguished, the cookies have been saved, the burners have been turned off, Olive has calmed down. I take off my oven mitts and kinda chuckle while looking at Dane as if to say “oh man, what gong show…” then sear my forearm not in one, but two places on the cookie sheet that had just been in flames. The same arm that mere moments had a huge oven mitt on. I can’t make this stuff up.

There are days that are exhausting and they suck. This day was one of them. But man, that kid lights up my days. I love her laugh. How her tiny, soft hand feels in mine. How she scrunches her face and says “ohh! toot!” whenever she sees something she thinks is cute. How she runs down the hall and she thinks she’s sprinting. How she is obsessed with ice. How she loves all her stuffed animals. How she’s perfect.

The End.

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