The Daily Chai Has Writer's Block

I haven't bought today's chai latte, so I will give you a fake review. It was good.

Moving on.

It was bound to happen. I've been writing every day for just over two weeks and now I'm at a loss for something to write about. NOOOOOOOOOOO how will I entertain myself if I'm not writing hilarious hijinx about grammar and insane four year olds?
That reminds me. I went to the mall today with the girls and ate mall food. Delicious. Anna smashed some sushi like a fucking champ and Kate had her normal Subway sub, two cookies (which she always delightfully shares) and strawberry Frutopia. Then we got a banana, strawberry and Nutella crepe. Thrilling, I know!

We bought my ex a present for his upcoming birthday so the kids would have something to give him and then we got rain boots and hot pink converse for Anna.  I loved getting new running shoes when I was a kid, so she better appreciate the fact that I went to two different stores to find the exact right pink for her. At the first store, I tried unsuccessfully to convince her that purple was better than pink. No dice. She knew my game and wasn't falling for it. On to the second store where we were successful in finding two different pinks, both in her size. One on each foot, we walked over to the mirror and Anna gazed with deep satisfaction at the reflection of her feet in the mirror.

"Perfect! Which one do you like best?" I asked her.

"Both of them." If Anna could put charming little smiley face emoticons into her speech, she would.

"Tough, pick one." I replied unyieldingly. She made the right choice and went with the super cool hot pink instead of the lame baby pink. Journeys has the most amazing selection of Chucks just FYI.

She PROMISED me she would wear these sneaks and not rip them off in hysterics and refuse to ever wear them again once we got home. I requested this promise from her because this is what happened last year when I bought her brand new hot pink Vans (please pay special attention to second 12 of the video):

I love my girls. I really do. I'm glad I have both of them in my life and I look at them daily and marvel over the fact that I made human beings from scratch. But there are times, just some times mind you, that I wonder why I had children. Lovely little creatures, but they never stop talking. They are like me in that respect, but imagine, just fucking imagine for one moment, if you had TWO OF ME talking at you, telling you endless stories and asking a constant stream of questions, UNCEASINGLY FOR HOURS ON END. You would pray for bedtime too. 

Some of today's questions were:

Mom! Is the sun really getting closer to the earth all the time? Someone at school said we're all going to die. 

Mom! Why does the word shampoo have the word poo in it? 

Mom! Can we have a treat?

Mom! Is this crepe as good as the ones in Germany?

Mom! Does shampoo have poo in it?

Mom! Why do you have elastic bands around your car's mirror? 

Mom! Can we have a treat?

Mom! Why do I have to wash my hair?

Mom! Why is Elsa's hair yellow and Anna's hair is red?

Mom! Can we have a treat?

Huh, even with writer's block, I manage to have a lot to say. NOW IMAGINE TWO OF ME. Yeah. 

The Daily Chai Got a Late Start

Today's grande chai latte was shared with Kate who said it was delicious. I agreed.

The girls and I had to go out to the house today to pack and purge and make it look good for the pictures to list it. Things are moving forward in that department at least.

We stopped at Walmart to get some storage containers and we went to the girls' section to look for mitts since Kate has lost hers at the very end of the season when it's impossible to replace them. Thank goodness the warmer weather is coming! It is coming, right?

Wonders never cease, we actually found mittens. Kate is pumped about the awesomeness of her mittens pictured here:

Anna wanted mittens too, but she didn't like the only ones small enough for her so we left them. She didn't really need new mittens, she just wanted them. We checked out and Anna started to cry that she wanted mittens too.

"Why Kate gets mittens and I don't? I WANT MITTENS TOO!" she begins to screech as I'm hauling her out of the cart to put it away.

"Anna...my darling. You didn't want the mittens they had, so you didn't get mittens. You didn't need mittens anyway, you are wearing perfectly good mittens."

"BUT I WANT THEM!"

"Well, next time tell me that before it's too late and you will avoid being disappointed. Now it's too late, we have to go home."

"BUT I WANT THEM! KATE GOT MITTENS AND I WANT SOME TOO" Heartwrenching sobs begin to erupt at the tragic loss of cheetah printed mitts and the absolute bloody unfairness of big sister getting something as special as mitts and being the only one left out of the fun. I buckle her into her car seat as tears stream down her face and I say, "Dear girl. It's okay to be disappointed but you need to understand that just because Kate got something doesn't mean I'm going to buy you something too. I'm simply not going to do that and you need to learn to deal with your disappointment."

"NO!!!" She screams back at me. And she begins to spit raspberries in between sobs. Because that is pretty much the epitome of high insults when you're a preschooler. 

Breathe. Carry on. I get into the front seat as she continues to cry and I begin backing out of my parking spot. Suddenly a small pink mitt is viciously thrown at my head. The effect Anna is going for is probably lost as the mitten flutters harmlessly to the floor. I can't help it. I start to laugh. Like, almost peeing my pants laughing, tears beginning to form laughing, great belly laughs erupt from my gut laughing. 

"DON'T. LAUGH. AT. ME!!!!!!" Comes the shriek from the backseat. And another tiny pink mitt comes fluttering at my head. I laugh harder. Kate begins to laugh. Anna shrieks indignantly, "I HATE THESE MITTENS. STOP LAUGHING AT ME. STOP LAUGHING!" The last word is a shrill scream of frustration and anger that only a four year old human can produce. 

Suddenly, "ANNA, NO!!!" yells Kate, "Mom, she took off her boot and she was about to throw it at you!"

"Anna King, if you throw that boot at me I will spank your bottom and I will put you to bed for the rest of the day and you WILL NOT BE ALLOWED TO WATCH A MOVIE." There. That gave her pause. No boot comes flying in my direction but she is still crying. I start to laugh again, I can't help it, it's just so ridiculous how worked up she's gotten over a pair of mittens she didn't even want. 

"STOP. LAUGHING. AT. ME!" She screams again, her voice actually breaking in the effort to maintain the extreme pitch. 

I work my face into something serious and try to keep my traitorous shoulders from shaking in mirth and I say, "I'm sorry Anna. I'll stop now." Meanwhile, I have not stopped laughing at all and I'm pretty sure I just peed my pants. 

The Daily Chai and Kids of Divorce, Part 2

The Daily Chai hates me. It has decided, in its existential crisis that because I didn't order it, it ceased to exist and now, just to spite me, it won't come back. This is what happens when hot drinks start questioning their reason for existence.

I wrote a couple days ago about how Kate is dealing with my separation and the essential splitting of her family as she knew it. Some of you asked, "But what about Anna?" Anna...is a different story. She's only four and she doesn't really understand what's happen or why it's happening. At this stage in her development, she is only beginning to understand cause and effect. Added to that, the world revolves around her and her wants and needs. She understands home and daycare, but her world is pretty small and therefore, fairly uncomplicated. The complexity of adult relationships is beyond her grasp of understanding and she only knows the close, affection bonds between herself and her sister, her mother and her father.  Bonds that have been tested harshly and, in the case of my ex and I, broken. She is striving for independence when she insists on picking her own clothes and getting herself dressed, but she still depends on both me and her dad for the majority of her other needs. She has three feelings: happy, sad and frustrated as fuck. So try explaining that while mommy and daddy don't want to be married anymore, that doesn't mean they don't love YOU! Yeah, right. Really? You guys used to love each other, what happened? Are you going to stop loving me one day? Why don't you love each other anymore? Why don't you live together anymore? Are you going to live together again? I want you to, so you better get on that.

The other night I went over to the house for a visit and Anna came out of the office with a woeful expression on her face and the sad tale of her mean sister Kate not drawing for her anymore because she was doing math. It set the tone for my entire visit, this tearful little face with the trembling chin. She got frustrated when I didn't draw the stick figure EXACTLY to her little dictator's unspoken expectations (I drew it with hands for the love of god, what the fuck was I THINKING??). Then it was time for bed and I do believe all parents will understand the extreme, frightening, nearly bloody tantrum that suddenly erupted at the words, "Okay my darling, bedtime!" Oh well. I carried her writhing, screaming body upstairs anyway and dumped her on my bed to get her undressed.

"But I didn't get to cuddle with you mommy! I want to cuddle!" She screamed in my face. Trying to stay calm, but needing to count to ten, I said, VERY sweetly, "Oh my darling, let's get your PJs on and then we will cuddle all you like!"

"I want to cuddle RIGHT NOW!"

"PJs first, cuddle after," I said, wondering why I had made that stupid stipulation. Now I had to stick to it or be disobeyed forever because my kids will never trust that I mean what I say if I back down one iota from "PJs first, cuddle after."  Why do we put that kind of pressure on ourselves as parents? Jesus.

Well. She started to cry and asked me again, probably for the 58th time since we split up, why don't I love Daddy anymore?

"I do love Daddy, darling, I always will. But it's complicated and sometimes grownups just can't be married anymore."

"Daddy says you don't love him." OH FUCK. Now, I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt here because Anna has been known, frequently, to say that I said things or he said things that were completely and totally untrue. So let's just say he didn't say that to her and move on.

I took that little morsel of human existence into my lap and she wrapped her arms and legs around me like a monkey and lay her damp face on my shoulder while I held her tight and stroked her hair. "I think you may have misunderstood Daddy. We will always love each other. But what's really important my girl is that I love YOU.  You are smart and special and you will always be my girl. I will always, always love you and be there for you when you need me." As I said that last part, I choked a little because the hardest part about this is that I'm NOT always there for her when she needs me. One of us is, she always has one parent available when she needs us, but sometimes you just need your mother. And there are days where I'm no where to be found, so essentially, I just lied to my baby. In that split second, I pictured her, 14 and hooked on crack because she was abandoned by her mother at the age of four and never learned how to form lasting bonds with people which led to a life of crime. Yes, that is where my head goes.

Anyway, she calmed down and I put her to bed and lay down beside her in that tiny toddler bed and sang I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane at her insistence. Fuck, that is a sad song to sing to the baby I have to leave behind.

Later, after Kate and I had spent some time watching this incredibly cute Minecraft vlogger (she admitted that half the reason she watches him is because he is so cute and the other reason is because he has pugs), Anna was crying out to me again. I went to her room, "Anna, Anna, my darling, my love, what's wrong now? You need to go to sleep and you've kicked off your covers," I said as I leaned down to tuck her back in.

"I had a hard day today mummy," God, they know how to break your heart, don't they? So back I went into that tiny toddler bed where she "made a spot" for me and I sang Mockingbird to her. Told her she was my girl, that she was my favourite and don't tell Kate. (don't worry, I told Kate the exact same thing moments earlier, they're both aware of my duplicity).

I have no words of wisdom about how to handle this hard time except to say that I express my deep love for her whenever I see her. There is no point in explaining why mummy and daddy don't live together. She doesn't understand, nor should she be burdened with those reasons at her age. Maybe one day, if she is still interested, I will try to explain it to her. Right now,  I concentrate on developing our bond into something meaningful and unbreakable with the hope that it will be strong enough to keep her from losing her mind as a teenager and becoming a prostitute for drugs.

Adventures in Germany, part 2

This happened in March, after we'd lived in Germany for about two months: 

The door to our balcony has a lever on the side that flips up to lock the door and flips down to unlock the door. The entire door shifts down when it's locked so it's quite secure. We leave it unlocked all the time as we are on the second floor and no one can break in. I went out for a smoke this morning first thing, before even having breakfast, which is not something I normally do. However, for whatever reason, I grabbed my coat this morning, one cigarette from my pack and went outside to smoke it. Kate was already up, colouring and  watching cartoons so I figured my minor deviation from the morning routine would not be noticed. 

Before we moved to Germany, Kate never watched TV. It would be on and she wouldn't even look at it. She preferred to play with her toys while we watched our own shows. I think it has something to do with all the German cartoons, but our darling daughter is now addicted to the box. 

Anyway, as soon as she realized where I was she stood at the door, asking to be let out, but of course I shook my head and said no. She seemed to accept this and wandered back to the living room and I went back to reading the magazine I had. Suddenly, I heard a thunk! And I froze.

No, no, no, she did not just do that, did she? Oh yes she had. Without me noticing, Kate had returned to the kitchen and had flipped the lever up, locking me outside and herself inside. This happened at 8:45 in the morning. I tried desperately with much crying and swearing to coax her to pull the bar down and she almost did it twice, but she gave up both times. She just did not have the strength to push it into place to unlock the door. I was stuck. And I panicked. I screamed, I shouted, I coaxed, I cried, I begged Kate to try again.  Please baby, try again. She would not. While the lever was apparently fascinating five minutes before, it was of absolutely no interest to her now.

Fortunately, I had our only cellphone on me, but who on earth would I call? Brad didn't have a phone and I didn't have many people I could call. Our fellow expats were away on a trip so they couldn't come. And it was not even 9:00 am. That is practically dawn to Europeans. 

My best bet was Sonja, the girlfriend of one of Brad's co-workers, Marco. They were a great couple that we had quickly become friends with but Sonja worked late nights as a server at a local bar and she likely wouldn't appreciate an early morning phone call from a stupid woman she barely knew who had managed to get locked out on the balcony by her toddler. I waited until 9:30 and the entire time I was having anxiety attacks about what Kate might get into while she was unattended by her fabulously responsible mother. 

When I finally reached Sonja, it was 9:45 and I'd been out there for an hour, alternately sobbing over my predicament and pounding on the door in the hopes that a sound thumping would dislodge the damn German engineering. No luck. 

Kate spent that hour crying at the door to be let out to join me, playing with the curtain by putting it on her head and saying 'Hat!', sitting in front of the door with her feet up on the glass of the door, playing peekaboo and, finally, getting her shoes, like THAT was the reason that I wouldn't let her come out with me. She went into the living room to put her shoes on and when she succeeded,  she gave me a big smile and lifted one foot and then the other to show me. When I still uncompromisingly would not let her out, she gave up and went to the living room with her shoes still on, sat on the couch and watched cartoons. She had a lovely time, while I sat on a plastic chair and cried. 

Thankfully Sonja's grasp of English was good enough that it was possible to even explain the problem, and she called Marco, who told Brad (without explaining why) that he needed to return home immediately. Poor Brad flew home, imagining the worst only to find his furious, embarrassed wife locked outside and Kate happily watching German SpongeBob.   

To make it even worse, Kate has been saying fuck loudly every time she gets mad today. She's also been telling Brad, complete with fake crying, how mummy cried today. Then she loudly says Fuck!

 And before you EVEN start, I know I should quit smoking.  I'm pretty sure, someone, somewhere, is about to give me the mother of the year award. Oh and they are calling me Rapunzel now.