Giggle. What are these?

My daughter can read in Polish.  Therefore, it’s not the words on the label that threw her off this evening as she went grocery shopping with me.

But what happened was so cute.  We were walking down the aisle while I was checking my grocery list.  When we came where I needed to stop, my daughter giggled and asked, “What are those?!”

I looked at what drew such curious giggling from my daughter and began giggling on my own.

Glancing at her innocent, adorable face and said, “They’re eggs!”

“But they’re white,” she proclaimed.

“Why, yes they are.  Yes, they are.”

Far, far away from the land famous for white eggs, aka America, white eggs here in Poland are a novelty not quite known how to be perceived.

I LOVE MY GAL!

And to top off the trip, she wore an ace bandage on her hand and wrapped her arm in her scarf like a sling.

Just because.

She also threw on her high-heeled (for a 9-year-old) turquoise shoes with no socks.  Believe me—it’s cold outside.

And off we went.  To the grocery store together.

Where she, my precious Adelyne, discovered white eggs.

And where we, mother and daughter, both left with the giggles!

Raising the Perfect Child…(Im)Possible?

She was two years old and I had, to that date, already raised her PERFECTLY!

I mean, she was allowed to eat dirt and play in dirt.  She was hardly ever bathed.  And she was never sick.  Never ever.

On top of all of that bacterial goodness, she was just a doll.  Truly angelic.  Take a look:

She watched TV like a good little girl, still took a pacifier, and barely finished nursing 6 months earlier 😉

Potty training?  Not her!  Diapers and running around naked were her joys.

She was pure, golden-curls delight!  Joy of our hearts.  Such a good little girl.

Let me just say, I had a two-year-old, an angelic two-year-old, and I was patting my back in a BIG way.  Like a major pounding.

Pat-pat-pat!  Well done, Brooke, on raising such a FABULOUS kid.

Hold on.  I deserve more accolades.

Pat-pat-pat!  Super job, Brooke!

Why, thank you!  And you.  And you.  And, yes, you over there.  Thank you.  I know I have done such a fabulous job.  Now blow out your two birthday candles, Adelyne, while Mommy writes a book about parenting for all of those unlucky LOSERS out there.

Two.  My angelic, dirty, bacteria eating daughter…My princess.  My joy.  My bragging rights!

And then it happened…

She turned three!

Say what?  You don’t want to listen?

Say what?  You don’t want me to grocery shop—hence you have thrown your body on the ground—in the Polish grocery store—and have started screaming?!  Loudly?!

Kicking too?!

(Groceries in one hand and dragging a child who is dead weight on the floor of the grocery store, kicking, screaming, and general UN-merriment ensues)

Tears making a path across the floor.  Mine, by the way.

Embarrassment?

Nah…Momma don’t have time for that.

Where is that book I wrote on how to raise your perfect child?  BURN IT!

WHO HAS A BOOK I CAN READ?!

And, for the next year, many of my mornings, afternoons, and evenings all looked like the above grocery scenario.  Yes.  Like my own personal radiator here on earth (Did ya catch that???  That means H-E-Double Hockey Sticks).

My sweet and beautiful and angelic (looking) daughter taught me one VERY important thing her 3rd year of life…

Raising the perfect child is impossible…

But loving her anyway—very possible.  Even when she turns into a 6 year old thief.  Stealing from the homeless to give to herself.

What’s that—a thief?

Yep.  You heard me correctly.  A thief.  A grand one at that.

But we’ll save that for another day…I can only handle so much book burning in one day 😉