There is nothing more trying to a mother than a child who has missed a nap. And it seemed like such a good idea at the time.

When I told a friend who had previously lived in Ohio that we were moving to Cleveland she said, “I really missed the sunshine when I was there.” I’ve found the same to be true for myself. I’m constantly ripping open curtains and blinds in a desperate attempt to let in all all the sunshine I possibly can. My poor mother-in-law probably perceives this as a serious lack of concern for privacy, as anyone walking by can see all of our goings on. However, I like to play it off by claiming that Mags likes to look out the window at the stray cats who use the front porch for their naps. All I’m saying is, if a mama can’t use her child as a scapegoat once in a while, whatever are the little darlings good for anyway?

Any veteran Clevelander will tell you that if you don’t like the weather, wait around for ten minutes and it’ll change, which is most certainly true. (It’s also true that I’ve heard this saying in basically every state in which I’ve spent more than five minutes but whatevs.) Any veteran Clevelander will also tell you that we’ve had a very mild winter, for which I am eternally grateful since I’m Southern and my “winter” clothes draw constant ridicule from my Northern counterparts, for good reason. It seems that flip-flops aren’t really all that practical up here. Also, I’m quite great with child and a known klutz. A rough winter would’ve been calamity for someone in my condition.

So, suffice it to say that if you’re blessed with a gorgeous day like we had yesterday, it seems like a tremendously great idea to skip the (almost) two-year-old’s nap and go to the playground. Also, I burned my finger and was crabby about it, so I needed to get out of the house.

A great time was had by all. We ran, we played, we went down slides and climbed ladders. We crossed bridges and spun on merry-go-rounds…and by, “we,” I mean my child. Obviously.

After playing, Nana took us all to get fries and drinks, or “bites and cups,” as some in our company like to call them. Then it was off to school for Daddy, to the doctor for me, and poor, poor Nana was left with the unpleasant task of getting Miss Priss to take a nap, which did not happen. She’s stubborn. Maggie, that is, not Nana.

Somewhere between the time I left and the time I got home, my sweet daughter, Margaret, morphed into her evil alter ego, a naughty little girl we like to refer to as Peggy. Peggy is not a nice child.

Peggy was in full-force when I got home last night. She yelled, kicked dogs, and touched things she shouldn’t; she even chastised people for looking at playground pictures of her from earlier in the day. Peggy is an evil dictator and apparently one must avert one’s eyes when pictures of her are produced. Imagine a blonde Kim Jong Il.

Let’s also throw it out there that we’re in the middle of potty training.

We have a chart because we're official like that. Be jealous.

And let’s establish the fact that the middle of dinner is the little lady’s chosen pooping time. You know, just to be convenient.

So, Peggy was in the middle of refusing bites and ordering people to cry when nature called. We galloped up the stairs, I placed the princess on her Sesame Street potty seat and we proceeded to wait it out.

Now, we usually have great conversations while she’s on the potty and I actually enjoy it quite a bit. Last night, while perched atop her throne, Peg decided that she was in the perfect location to launch into her Stevie Wonder impression. And, regardless of whether she’s being Peggy or Maggie, the kid does a mean Stevie Wonder. It is a thing of beauty. However, it also tends to be rather erratic and sometimes violent in the rocking back and forth department.

She was really getting into it and I was enjoying her performance when she rocked so hard that she completely launched herself off of the potty. She may or may not have banged the majority of her torso on the sink/cabinet. Aaaand she might have landed on her face. Who can tell with these things, though?

It was kind of devastating. Maybe one of the saddest things I’ve been a part of…holding a kind of pee-covered, wailing, pants-less child. Poor, poor Peggy.

When I saw that there was no blood and not being one to really fear head trauma, my first thought was that my child would probably never get on the potty again out of sheer terror. This is a horrid, horrid thought for a mommy in the throes of toilet training. I mean, I earned those stickers, too, dangit!!

And, so, having come from the school that preaches, “if you get bucked off the horse, you just get back on,” I unceremoniously dumped my crying child back onto the potty. Because she most certainly did get bucked off and I am most certainly am not waiting a while and starting this potty jazz all over.

And that’s why you never skip the nap. Lesson learned.

Plus, look how cute she is when she wakes up from a nap!

2 thoughts on “Peggy

  1. I just wanted you to know I got out of work early and sat in my car reading this until my actual off time. That’s how excited i was about you joining the blogosphere.
    Peggy sounds like a blast. I should come up with evil, non-napping alter egos for my kids at work.

  2. Pat Thurman

    I love your blog!!! I felt I was sitting in the living room visiting with you! And getting to know Maggie!! Love you,
    Aunt Patricia

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