To be 2 1/2

So I was going to call this post to be a toddler...but is Olivia still a toddler? I don't know where you draw the line with all the titles of children. Babycenter.com does it this way "newborn, baby, toddler and then preschooler". Those emails I get but no longer read are titled "your pre-schooler this week"...the smartass in me thinks...aren't all those titles technically preschoolers? Oh well I guess it's easier to just call her 2 1/2...even though technically she isn't half until the 9th of September...and yes that matters to me!

Oh my Olivia girl! She is a nutcase these days. Nutty can mean funny and crazy and both those terms seem to apply to her, and I don't mean crazy as in amusing. I mean crazy as in crazy! So the other day as I complained of her bi-polarness and terrible twos my sister in law Alyssa sent me this video.



Which I found hilarious and strangely accurate..."A strange evil force grips the child transforming him into a deranged destructive monster making him capable of unspeakable horrors". Ha ha.

Besides that it seems like being 2 1/2 is like being in a constant state of frustration...on both ends, for both mother and child. Frustration for me because Olivia is like happy one minute and completely hysterical the next. Olivia seems like she is frustrated because she has the mind to do whatever she wants but she isn't allowed to or actually isn't capable to follow through. She seems frustrated a lot. She can't get one of her toy people into the toy bus and it's immediately a huge dramatic affair. Throw yourself on the floor in tears. She is asking to do something we can't at the moment do and she runs off to her room blubbering on and on in mostly unintelligible phrases. She tells me "it's not fair" at least 3 times a day or will scold me with such phrases as "don't talk like that to me Mommy, it's not a nice thing to say". This comes when I mention bedtime or naptime. She picked up that phrase from me...when she gets sassy I tell her not to talk to me that way. Or when she has learned some less than desirable words from Daddy or occasionally Mommy and I tell her "don't say those words, they aren't nice things to say". She apparently equates bedtime and naptimes with me being sassy or using a 4 letter word...nice!

So my life these days is a whirlwind of emotions...as if I don't have enough of my own emotions now I get to deal with the always irrational emotional reactions of a 2 year old. Maybe a lot of this is normal...but she really seems to have a flair for the theatrical productions you might call a tantrum. Usually she gets mad at me for one thing or another and starts wailing like a tea kettle. I respond to this by telling her if she is going to be sad she has to go be sad in her room. So she storms off, slams the door and stays in there long enough to eventually calm down. Sometimes this takes 2 minutes, sometimes it takes 20. Sometimes I go check on her and she will tell me "I'm still sad Mommy, please go away"...well at least she's polite about it. Then she will come out and tell me "I'm not sad anymore Mommy, I happy". And we are all roses and daises until the next inevitable injustice in her little mind.

This sounds amusing and you know a lot of the time it is...but it is always wearing!!! And I think if she is like this now at 2...I can only imagine what the teenage years will bring...oh boy!

Last Names

So when Olivia was born there was a big debate as to what her last name would be. Well basically just a big debate or rather an issue with my Mother. Well probably my entire family but she is the only one who seemed to express this concern verbally. Since Mitchell and I are not married she thought Olivia should have my last name. Come to think of it nobody mentioned the last name thing on Mitch's side...and all Mitch ever said was that is was up to me but he would like her to have his last name. Back then in my pregnant mind and after birth sentimentalities I figured that Mitch and I would get married one day...probably soon, Ha!. So what was the use in giving her my last name if we would eventually get married and then would have to change it again. So she was given Mitchell's last name.

I didn't realize the weirdness this would be in my life until a bit later. Whenever I filled out any forms or doctor records they would ask her name and then the parent responsible for their name. So there it was on paper in front of me...Mitchell and Olivia had the same last name and there I was all alone with Larsen. It was weird. And more and more time passed and it became kinda evident that my last name was not going to be changing anytime soon...if ever. It made me feel stupid...why didn't I give her my last name? Mostly I didn't because I had been Larsen all my life and Emily Larsen at that and it seemed so plain so boring. Mitch's name seemed so much more exotic so she became Olivia Marie Benveniste just for the sound of it. Then I kinda forgot about it for a while...didn't care that her last name was different...except when I thought about how one day she would be in school and she wouldn't have the same last name as me and then I would feel sad all over again. I have gone back a forth the past 2 1/2 years caring and not caring about the decision to give her someone else's last name and not my own. Something has happened recently that has brought it all to light again.

Olivia knows her name. If you ask her what her name is she will tell you "Wivia Benvnissy"...if you ask her what daddy's name is she says "Mitchell Benvnissy". I don't know how she figured that her and daddy have the same last name...no one ever told her she just seemed to know. If you ask her mommy's name she says "Emly Benvnissy". Somehow in her little 2 year old head she knows that Mommies and Daddies and babies have the same last name. It's amazing really that she made that connection without anyone pointing it out. But herein lies the problem. That is not my name and I feel like I should correct her, but at the same time I don't want to confuse her...I don't want her to know that sometimes Mommies and Daddies don't have the same last name. Mitchell will tell her "that's right, that's Mommy's name", and this kinda makes me mad. Mad because he doesn't know how it feels that I am the lone Larsen, mad that I have put her in a situation that is confusing, mad that it has been him mostly that has kept us from not all having the same last name and here he is boldly telling her a lie. I don't know...I just don't know if I should correct her or not. Like I have said before I don't see a time where Mitch and I won't be a couple, but I don't know if we will ever get married. I guess it's just another one of those times where I am reminded that my child is different from a lot of kids out there and all of her family. And Mitchell and I did this to her...and it makes me sad.

Confession...

So since the majority of people who read my blog are family they obviously know that I grew up in a Mormon home. I don't know what to classify myself as these days...not Mormon so much but not anything else either. The old term "Jack Mormon" doesn't seem to apply because I don't go to church or necessarily know what I believe when it comes to the religion as a whole. It's just part of who I am at this point. When people ask what religion I am I usually respond with "I grew up Mormon"..."I used to be Mormon"..."my whole family is Mormon"...or simply "I don't go to Church". I don't really consider myself Mormon since a requirement of that means going to church and following all the rules of the roost so to speak. I don't know how to explain it really.

I guess an example could be like hair color. This makes sense to me because #1 I am known for coloring my hair quite a bit in the past and #2 I don't currently have a hair color anywhere near my natural color. So I am naturally blonde. For my whole life I have had a dirty blonde hair color...usually hidden beneath whatever color it happens to be at the moment. When I see pictures of myself as a kid I have blonde hair...So I guess you would say "I am a blonde". When I think of myself I usually think of myself as a blonde I suppose, but I am not blonde and I have not been blonde in a really long time. Does this make sense? And to further the analogy even more, when I have been blonde in recent years...it's not the blonde I was born with...it's not the blonde that grows in at the root. It's part of who I am, who I used to, who I grew up knowing but it's not necessarily who I am today...but I know it's part of me. I guess I kinda feel that way about being Mormon. I think when you are raised a specific way, and being Mormon is very specific, you can't help but have certain aspects of your way of thinking be forever influenced by it. Like how I am 30 years old and I feel like I am really old to not be married and I definitely thought I would have more than 1 child by this age. But the topic of this post is not Religion. I guess I used it as a segway into the real topic...Caffeine...lots and lots of Caffeine.

So as you know Mormons are not supposed to drink or do drugs. And growing up I was always told that Caffeine was a drug and since it tends to be in a lot of pain relief medication I guess this is true. So this means that growing up I was not supposed to have any soda with caffeine in it. So basically no brown soda...well with the exception of Root Beer. I remember the first time I had Coca Cola. The neighbors across the street from us "the Almonds" invited me to go to the movies with them...they had 3 girls, one my age. I remember we went to see the movie "Hot to Trot"...which was something about a talking horse. Anyways with the popcorn and candy there also came a fountain drink and it was Coke. I didn't know what it was when I took a swig...I don't think I even realized there were other sodas besides sprite and root beer. And it tasted good!!!! I don't remember if I told my parents about it or not. But it would still be a few years away before I would really develop "feelings" for Coca Cola Classic.

Starting in 4th grade and up to about 10th Grade I had a best friend named Danielle. She was basically an only child since her only sibling was like 12 or 15 years older than her. I played with Danielle everyday, spent the night over almost every weekend. She had a pool and her Dad worked for the Sacramento Kings and we would go to games and run around in the back of the Arco Arena or up in her dad's office. Danielle also always had Coke. ALWAYS!!!!! There was always a ton of it in the fridge and we would just drink it like water. I don't think my mom ever knew and it's not like she could have stopped me from drinking it when she wasn't around. That is when I would say I really became a caffeine drinker. And by jr high and high school I would say most Mormon kids drink caffeinated sodas, even though technically you aren't supposed to. It was like ehhhh not huge on the sin list for teenagers...there were bigger things to worry about. But it was always just soda...energy drinks didn't come on the scene til much later and of course "coffee" was like "the devil". It was like the main concensus that by not drinking caffeine they really meant...don't drink coffee...it was like sodas didn't count.

And here we arrive at the confession... I like and drink Coffee...and the Mormon in me feels so ashamed of this, lol.

After high school and after becoming inactive in church I never had friends or roommates who were Coffee drinkers so I never much thought about it. I also spent my Senior year of high school making pot after pot of Coffee for the Lawyers office I worked at and the smell of it just grossed me out. Then one day about 3 years ago while I was working in Santa Barbara at a swanky hotel one of my co-workers was like "hey I'm running to Starbucks do you want anything"...I was thinking ummmmm panic...what do I say? I tried to refuse but she insisted and insisted and finally I racked my brain for the name of something at a Coffee Shop so I didn't seem like an uncool, unsophisticated geek...."ummmm okay a small Carmel macciatto". This was a drink a former co-worker at WalMart would always order...I had no idea what it was but if there was carmel in it...it should be at least sweet right? She brought it back and it was not great to be honest. But I drank it because I didn't want to hurt her feelings or feel left out. And then I would drink Coffee here and there when it was offered because it did seem to zing you awake...it had a much more awakening affect than just soda. But I would not say I really was a coffee drinker...yet, nor did I enjoy the taste if it.

Then I got pregnant..so I didn't drink it. But after being pregnant I was of course living with Mitch's family and I was once again offered it. And I also discovered something that made it taste much better. Coffee Creamer flavored with an array of different things. I started to drink Coffee the way the family teased Mitch's mom about..."sandbar bottom" which basically means coffee with creamer and a ton of sugar...hence the "sandy bottom". It began to taste better to me and I appreciated it's ability to wake me up. And that was it. However my family didn't know it and anytime it accidentally came up I felt really embarrassed. I remember last year at the family vacation in Tahoe my brother needing to find a wifi connection and I said there was probably one at Starbucks up the street...then Mitch said "oh yeah Emily you could get a coffee since you have been missing it all week". Everyone looked at me...or it felt like everyone looked at me in shock and I felt so embarrassed. But seeing how my brother and dad have periods of time when they live on energy drinks I don't know why I felt so judged since Coffee probably has less caffeine than Redbull or Rockstar or Monster. I mean my family knows that there were points in my life where I drank alcohol frequently...I mean I obviously have a child out of wedlock so you can do the math on that. But for some reason the Coffee thing felt so shameful.

Here is why...I think. I think Coffee seems like such a normal habit type of a thing. Something Mormons just don't do. And maybe seeing me as a Coffee drinker really paints a picture of a different kind of life. And obviously I do have different life. I guess maybe the realization of that is what really makes me feel guilty. That maybe it's not just about being stubborn or rebellious maybe I just won't ever be "blonde" again...the idea that that probably hurts my family makes me feel bad because it isn't a topic I have ever really addressed, nor want to address with them. I know they aren't "giving up on me"...but I don't always understand why they feel the need to hold on to that so much. I guess to me it doesn't feel like something that matters...I don't know. But there you go....

I LIKE COFFEE!

Whoa 2 posts in 2 days...who am I these days?

So about 6 months ago my Grandma Charlene moved out of her house in Carmichael California to a retirement community in Utah. She waited to do anything with the house or the things in it until all her kids could come out in the summer and decide what things they wanted to have and then filter down the rest to the grandkids. Since I am the only grandchild to live in the area I got to have my pick of what remained after all my Aunts and Uncles took what they wanted.

I got quite a lot considering most of everything worth having was already gone. I got this funky 70's bedroom set that I will probably paint at some point and use in Olivia's room once she is done with the crib. Which will probably be never since Olivia having free will when it comes to being in bed sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. I got a little curio cabinet, you know for all my old lady knickknacks...wait I don't have old lady knickknacks...hmmm still don't know what I'm going to do with it. I got a bunch of old Correlle dishes, teacups, and bowls. Grandma also had these really old vintage TV trays that I never remember seeing anyone use they just sat folded up behind the couch in the TV room...I took those, all four. I hung up 2 as pictures and kept the other 2 for trays. I found an old mother and child framed painting I had never seen hung anywhere in Grandma's house. It didn't even look like something a Mormon would have...it looks very Madonna and child-ish...very Catholic looking. Since I like Catholic art and since I guess we have a half Jack Mormon Half Catholic home I took it. I also took these little wooden landscape pictures I also have never seen before and hung them up in my living room. My dad came over and instantly recognized them as pictures that hung from his Grandmother's house. My great grandmother, who we called Grammie. Who lived until I was about 14, at the ripe old age of 98. I got a little candy dish that my mom says is "depression glass", it's kinda an amber color. I know my other grandma also has the same dish in the classic olive green color. I got an old Kitchenaid mixer in a lovely 70's yellow color. I picked up some old canister/cookie jars with some old mushroom design. An old crystal lamp that was also from my Grammie's house. I found some old snoopy twin sheets and pillowcase that looked as if they has never been used and I took those since ya know Mitch loves Snoopy. The old taxidermy stuffed great white snow owl. One of the things I wanted most of all was a few afghans my Grammie made. I didn't get the one I really wanted but I got 2 others that I love just the same.

Which brings me to where I took a really long time to where I wanted to get to...the subject of the post...

Grammie and her croqueting. I remember Grammie teaching me how to croquet...well kinda anyway, all I could do was one long chain. And seeing these afghans in my house everyday has made me really curious as to whether I could do one of my own. I mean how does one learn this without someone to teach you? And who could teach me? I kinda suck at knitting and it's not the same thing right? I don't know...I guess being a stay at home mom these days has inspired me to want to have some sort of crafty hobby. Maybe learn to sew better...knit and now I really really want to make an afghan.

So anyone out there want to teach me? And sorry for no pictures...too lazy to take any...maybe one day?

Just me and the Kid...

Since I am no longer working it's just me and Olivia. All. Day. Every. Day. Just me and her. It has been an adjustment, not that I worked that many hours...but having a set time away from her 3-4 days a week was like having something to look forward to when she is having fits or repeating the same phrase over and over. How the volume of her voice takes up all available space in the house and also in my head. She seems to be at a very busy age, a very LOUD age. She also seems to be so needy. And it's always me she needs, even if Mitch is home "Mommy" has to do everything. If Mitch gets her up from a nap, up in the morning the first thing she says is, "Where's my Mommy, I need my Mommy". I think it annoys Mitch because even when he was the one home with her and I worked she never ever was as attached to him...which secretly makes me feel like "nah nah nah nah nah, she likes me better". At the same time it's SOOOOOOOO annoying that even at times when Mitch could help out, she demands to see me, demands to have me make her breakfast, give her a bath, change her diaper, read her stories, put her in the carseat. Mommy! MOmmy! MOMmy! MOMMy! MOMMY!!!!!!!

She loves me the most...which I love and appreciate...and honestly sometimes question why? I don't feel all that exciting these days but she loves me. I feel like my hair is never done, my clothes rarely change from what I slept in the night before, I am constantly telling her to stop, to listen, to use words instead of grunting when she is mad...why does she love me? Why does she prefer my company to anyone else?

Then I had a thought. "Mommyitis". This was a word my dad used growing up to refer to the all consuming need I had to be near my Mother. I have very vivid memories of when she would go out of town and I would cry and scream and literally beg her not to leave me. I was usually in the care of my Dad and brother or a neighbor or a best friends' family. The thought that she was not going to be exactly where I needed her, whenever I needed her...terrified me. This I remember being the case well into the age of probably 11 or 12. I remember once writing her a letter complete with illustrations of her beauty imploring her not to go.

After remembering all this I wondered exactly what changed, when did it happen? When was I no longer so attached to her? I can't remember. I mean I love my mother but we are very different people as I became an adult. Which is fine but also can cause me to be short in the patience department when she says something or does something that annoys me. Or when I enter into one of my periods of wanting to just be a hermit and be alone and she shows up at the door. And I feel unprepared for the visit and instantly become crabby and rude and irritated. But I love my mom...despite what she probably thinks or feels a lot of the time. And that makes me feel bad...but I feel pretty set in my ways and I am my father's daughter. Meaning naturally prone to feeling pretty somber a lot of times...feeling like I sometimes just don't want to be around anyone else except for myself.

Then I began to wonder when it would happen with Olivia. When would she need me less and prefer her own company or the company of her friends instead of mine? It seems to be a female trait more than a male trait. I think sons probably never feel the same pulling away from their mothers the way daughters do. Maybe I am wrong. But I have nephews and I can't ever imagine them getting annoyed with their mother the way a daughter would. My oldest nephew is almost 12 and while I see that he is grown up in a way that he probably gets embarrassed when I tease him or hug him or kiss him...he seems to sense that I need him to still be my little baby nephew and he puts up with it. They say that girls mature faster than boys but I think that boys probably have a sixth sense when it comes to that aspect of growing up. I think they know that their parents or aunts or uncle need to be able to tease them and cuddle them and they just kinda put up with it....in a way a 12 year old girl never would. I wonder why that is...

And then I felt sad. Sad that Olivia would one day no longer need me to be her everything. And I guess that maybe I should not feel so annoyed when she is constantly at my side, always wanting me and no one else.