Ok baby girl has ALWAYS hated anyone putting anything at all in her hair. Probably a consequence of being born bald and not having more than a tuft of hair until after she was a year old. She wasn't blessed with gobs of hair for me put big fru-fru floppy bows on. <sigh>
But in the spirit of HOPING that one day, maybe, ....I had bought, last Christmas, the most GORGEOUS ballerina jewelry box with four drawers, and a open up cabinet and an flip up top (yanno, so ballerina can pop out and do her thing...), and I've filled it with all kinds of little things. You know those cheapo sets you can get at the dollar aisle at Walgreens? That have lots of cheapo barrettes and teeny scrunchi-like things and polytail holders (old school kind with the ball on either end that you have to have thirty fingers to figure out), etc.? K so I got one of those....then also a bag of colored mini-rubber bands that you can get on the hair brush aisle. Then about four more packs of little colorful barrettes. Then some more pastel rubber bands with little plastic flowers and stars and stuff stuck to them. Plus...have been collecting precious fru-fru bows since she was born, in all colors and holidays, from the Kidz Klozet semi-annual consignment sales. For four bucks a PIECE. (Had I any mad skilz at all I could make these for thirty cents I'm sure)
Well.....so of course baby girl won't WEAR any of this. But she's decided she likes to PLAY with them. At first it was just, she liked to see the ballerina twirl and play her little music-box-dancer gig. Then she realized she could open all the drawers and dump them and reorganize all of it how she wanted (i.e., dump stuff all together).
Alas, last night, while I was working, she got into my room and grabbed the jewelry box and sprinted with it. I was tired. I've quit caring anymore if the ponytail holders are mixed in with the colored rubber bands. So I let her go. Later, I finish work, go into the den to "relax" (LOL!!) and she's playing with it there. Ok. That's fine. I'm sitting on the sofa, trying to package some ebay stuff (more work), and had to bribe her with little colored plastic bags to get her to bring back my kraft paper so I could wrap the ebay stuff. Of course she decides it would be great to pull out every SINGLE rubber band and etc. from the jewelry box and stuff into this little plastic bag (think half the size of a Ziploc sandwich bag-without the handy seal). You see where this is going, don't you?
Right. So an hour-ish later (at 11 p.m. Yes, I did say ELEVEN. P. M.) when we're trying to convince her to go to bed, in my bed, which she has taken over with her daddy (no, don't tut-tut....I could care less, I just wanna SLEEP....at this point I could sleep in broad daylight on a concrete floor if you just leave me alone), she decides she MUST take this bag-o-colored-rubber-bands with her. That and her "people" (the people are very, very important....they travel with her EVERYWHERE....this includes a menagerie of about five to fifteen Beanie Baby to bunny sized stuffed animals). So baby girl goes traipsing down the hall, carrying Bunny and Carrie (the pink Easter lamb originally named "Larry" by older brother, which she decided was a girl), four buttfreckles (more on those later), a couple of Beanie cats, and her bag-o-rubber-bands; with daddy in tow carrying her pillow with the ballerina pillowcase, full-sized pink microfiber blanket, and candy cane microfiber throw which she stole from me last Christmas. All of this is NECESSARY for this 38 pound little child to sleep. Oh--and let's don't forget her chocolate milk.
Like you may have picked up by now, I let a lot of stuff slide. I'm a 35 year old mom of three, with MS, and a full time job (PLUS Facebook!---yeah, I know!). But I had to draw the line at the bag-o-rubber-bands. I wasn't gonna be the one to dig 300 little rubber bands plus barrettes, ponytail holders, etc., out of the bed (even though I don't SLEEP there). So I innocently start tucking her in and arranging her people and swipe bag-o-bands and hide quick behind my back, and....SHE. GOES. APE. SH&T. No, I mean it....HYSTERIA...absolute look of terror in her eyes, which are gushing tears, which are actually more flying out of her tear ducts due to the force behind them. Her precious little baby face is crimson and you can actually see the veins in her neck and forehead (ever truly seen this in a three year old? It's SCARY). Meanwhile I'm trying to put the bag up high and wrestle her back over to the bed to keep her from hurting herself or others and using every last drop I have to just hold her there. I mean it. She's lost her mind over this. Oh, did I mention, it was ELEVEN P.M.?? <can hear neighbors debating calling 911 for domestic violence and almost kinda wishing they would so could get some sleep>
Then who should arrive but Daddy <queue music of angels descending from the clouds>. He has come with the chocolate milk sippy, and to save his child from the evil witch who steals toys (and sundry) from children. Hurrah!! A savior at last!!
He comes in and sees me wrestling this psychotic three year old who has now turned half-octupi, half-WWF on me, both of us in a furious sweat and she with all sorts of preschool blasphemies spewing out of her precious mouth.
Daddy-Hero: "What's WRONG??"
Me: "She wants to bring that plastic bag-o-rubber-bands to bed! So I took it and put it up there!"
Daddy-Hero: "Well give it to her! I'll get it from her when she falls to sleep and put it up!"
Ok. I just want to go to sleep. But at the very LEAST--I'm taping it closed. So I retrieve it, tape it twice, and hand it to baby girl. She scampers, whimpering, back into the bed, as daddy hushes her and says it's alright and tucks her back in with her milk/people/rubber bands. As I'm turning around to LEAVE and pass out on the sofa from exhaustion, I hear the most sad, precious baby girl little voice..."tank you!! <sniffle> tank you!, tank you....daddy!"
When will I learn??