Conversations with V

I Think She’s A Bit Of A Free Spirit

Me: “Vista, maybe you should go put your pyjamas on.”

Vista: “NO!”

Me: “Let me rephrase that.  Vista, go put your pyjamas on.”

Vista: “NO!  I’m going to stay nudie FOREVER!”

Me: “You can do that when you turn 18 and move to a nudist colony.  While you live under this roof, you will have to wear clothes.”

Vista: “I don’t care.  I want to be nudie!”

Me: “It’s not summer anymore.  It’s cold at night. Go put your pyjamas on…. NOW.”

Vista: “Well this sucks!”


a) I can’t believe I have to have these conversations with my five year old.
b) I’m starting to sound more and more like my parents.  Kill me now.
c) Clothes are highly over-rated, but I’ll never tell her that.

Why A Spoon?

I’m cooking dinner and I’ve already kicked the dogs out of the kitchen several times.  I can see them slinking just outside the kitchen door, trying to look ever so casual as they prepare for another attempt at begging food.

Me:  “Dammit Spyro!  Go lay down”

Dog:  Makes as if to go lay down then turns back to the kitchen when he thinks I’m not looking

Me: “Go lay down or I’m going to stab you with this fork!”

Vista: “Nooooo Mommy!  Don’t stab him with a fork!!

Me: “Fine.  How about a spoon”

Vista: Thinks about it for a minute. “Yeah, OK.  Use a spoon…. He’d like that!”  Skips off smiling

Me to Bil:  “Something tells me she really didn’t understand that conversation.”


I don’t think I’ll be letting her watch Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves any time soon…

Why a Spoon, Cousin?

I Laughed, I Cried, I Peed My Pants

We have been trying, in vain, to potty train Vista for going on a year now.

To say she’s not on board with it is putting it mildly.

Some days she does great.  But we have to be constantly on her, reminding her to go to the bathroom.

And then the arguments start.

Like tonight.

Bil was doing the bedtime routine and part of that is getting her to use the toilet before getting her pj’s on.

He took off her diaper (which was dry – yay) and told her to go pee on the potty.

V:  “No.”

Bil: “Vista, just go pee on the potty.”

V: “No.  I don’t have to go pee.”

Bil: “Well, just TRY.”

V:  *starts sobbing*  “No, because I peed in my diaper…”

Bil: “What? No you didn’t.  It was dry.  Now go pee on the potty.”

V: *still sobbing* “Then what was that pssssssss sound?”

Bil:  *completely bewildered*  “What pssssss sound?”

V: “The pssssss sound…. It was the sound of me peeing in my diaper”  *cue a fresh round of sobs*

(the kid needs an Academy Award.  She can make herself cry at the drop of a hat)

Bil: “Vista…. you did not pee in your diaper.  It was dry.  Now  GO. PEE. ON. THE. POTTY.”

V: “Then what was that psssssss sound?  It was….”

Bil: “No! There was no pssssss sound.  Your diaper was dry.  GO PEE!”

V: “But I don’t have to pee.  I peed in my diaper!”

Bil: “You. Did. NOT. Pee. In. Your Diaper.  It was dry.  If you peed in it, then what happened to the pee?  Did it just vanish?”

V: “Yes!  It vanished!  …… Wait…What’s ‘vanished’ mean?


Meanwhile, I’m sitting in the living room listening to this go down.  By the end I think I was laughing so hard I just about peed myself.  Hmmmmm…Perhaps I’m not the best person to be trying to potty train my kid after all.




Paging Dr. Freud

Vista, at the ripe old age of 4, is a master manipulator.

She’s smart.  Waaaay too smart.  And she knows exactly how to play people.

I watch her do it with her therapists when she’s not in the mood to work with them.  She’ll play dumb, bat her eyelashes, cock her head to the side, smile, and give a ‘I don’t know’ shrug.   At which point we’ve now trained her therapists to glance over at me, where I can give a slight nod to indicate ‘yes, she knows this.  She’s just fucking with you right now.’

The other day she was throwing a fit while getting ready for school.  It was only 7:30am and I had already had it.  So I looked at her and told her to drop the attitude.  She stopped, cocked her head to the side and gave me the biggest smile.  In return, I rolled my eyes at her.  “Nice try.  That might work on some people, but it doesn’t work on Mama.”

Without missing a beat, she let the smile drop and told me, “It works on Daddy.”


Yeah, my kid’s no dummy.

This morning she was being a typical four year old, running around and not listening to a thing we had to say.  After 5 hours of this, Bil was understandably tired of it and told her “Enough.  You need to start listening to Mommy and Daddy.  You haven’t been listening at all this morning!”

Again, without missing a beat, she turned to him with a straight face and asked him “Why do you think that is?”

That *boom* you heard was Bil’s head exploding.



What We Have Here is a Failure to Communicate

It’s hard when you’re trying to discipline your child by telling her that she’s lost TV privilages for the rest of the night and she helpfully suggests you should take away her dinner too.


Trying to figure out a way to discipline a special needs kid who is completely oblivious to the fact they’re being disciplined?  Well, lets just say it’s an exercise in futility.   No matter what you say or do, there’s only one loser in the situation and it’s ALWAYS the parent.

It’s hard not to get even more frustrated trying to get them to understand they’ve done something wrong, when it’s obvious they have a complete lack of understanding around the entire situation.

Sometimes it makes me wonder if my kid will grow up to be a complete sociopath.  How can you have remorse when you don’t get that you’ve done anything wrong?

All this came up today after she purposely broke another one of her toys.  Why?  Because she didn’t want it anymore.

This is a common occurrence and it frustrates us to no end.  We’ve tried to explain to her that if she doesn’t want to play with a toy, that she can bring it to us and we can give it to another little boy or girl who doesn’t have toys.  But that hasn’t yet sunk in.  We’ve tried making her throw the toy out after she’s broken it, but she’ll happily do it.  She just isn’t that attached to anything.

And midway through the discussion on why she broke her toy, she burst into hysterics because she wanted her old white bed back. Yeah.  Six months after we redecorated her room and moved her into a big-girl bed and we’re still experiencing fallout from it.

Oy.  There are days when being a special needs parent is, well…special.


There is no Mommy…Only Zuul

Vista tends to be a tad… emotional sometimes.  I have no idea where she gets it from.  Really.  *cough* shut up *cough*

Add that to her penchant for taking things very literally and it can make for some… oh… say, interesting situations around here.

This evening was a perfect example.

We had been butting heads all day, so when Bil came home from work I quickly tagged out of the ring and took a breather.

But she wanted mommy, Mommy, MOMMMMMMMMY!

Bil tried his best to distract her and find out what she wanted, but nope.  MOOOOOOOMMMMY.

I finally looked at her and replied “The mommy you have dialed is no longer in service. Please hang up and check with your father again.”

Did I mention my daughter is also stubborn?  Again.  No idea where that comes from.  (shut it)

She gave a big huff.  “But Moooooooom….”

I looked at her with a smile “There is no Mommy.  Only Zuul

Instant.  HYSTERICS.

She ran sobbing to her room.  I raised an eyebrow and looked at Bil.  He shrugged and followed after her.

I could hear him trying to decipher the source of the waterworks.

Vista:  “I waaaaant mommy!”  *sob* *hiccup* *sob*

Bil: “OK.  Well, she’s in the living room”

Vista: “No.  That person said there is no mommy.  Only Zuul.  I don’t WANT Zuul.  I WANT MOMMY!!”  *more wailing*

Bil: “What person?”

Vista: “That person in the living room.  They said there’s no mommy”

Bil: “Wait… you’re talking about Mommy?  What Mommy said?”

Vista: “But there is no Mommy…..”

By this point I had to step in and intervene.  I crawled onto her bed and picked her up and explained that yes, Mommy was here and we were just joking and there was no more Zuul, and so on.  ZOMG… the DRAMA.

Half an hour later we finally got her calmed down enough that she would go play.

Me: “OK, lets go play before Mommy breaks your bed by sitting on it”

Vista: “Mommy’s going to break my bed?!?  Waaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh”

Me: *headdesk* *headdesk* *headdesk*

Bil: *glare*

I’m pretty sure I’m banned from saying anything for the rest of the night.



Read The ****ing Manual

V: *holding new TV remote* “This button makes the TV quieter”

Me: *going over to check* “Yes it does. How did you know that?”

V: *rolling her eyes a bit at her obviously simple mother* “Because… it says volume…”


Having a 3 year old that reads kinda freaks me out sometimes.

Therapy. We Needs It

Conversations in our house are never normal.  Sometimes they’re weird.  Sometimes they’re scary.  Sometimes they’re borderline psychotic.  Kinda like me.


*standing in the kitchen talking to Bil while I fill a glass with ice*

Me: “Do I ever scare you? I mean, do you ever worry that one day you’re going to come home to find I’ve finally totally and completely lost it?”

Bil: “There’s an ice pick in the drawer over there….”

Me: “Right.  Okay then.”


Bil: “God… another damn email with Microsoft trying to convince the world how awesome SharePoint is.”

Me: “Isn’t it awesome?”

Bil: “Have you read my blog and twitter stream??”

Me: “Well…why do you specialize in it, then?”

Bil: “You can still specialize in something if it sucks.”

Me: “Good point.  I want to specialize in something that sucks too…. What sucks?”

Bil: “Pauly Shore?”

Me: “Perfect.  Going to watch Encino Man now.”


*Vista’s playing with her toys and she has Little People horse.  She’s making neighing sounds that are progressively getting louder and angrier sounding*

Me: “Vista, it sounds like you have a very disagreable horse there.  Maybe he needs to be put down.”

Bil: “I wonder if they make the Fisher Price Glue Factory?  *in his best announcer voice* Now with real glue sounds!”

Me: “I meant she had to put the toy down, not kill the horse…”

Bil: “Oh…right….”


So, yeah… if anyone can recommend a good therapist…

Tastes Likes Chicken

“Vista!  Leave the cat alone, already!”  I said for the umteenth time today.

Vista:  “But he’s a chicken…”

Me: “He’s not a chicken he’s a cat.”

Vista:  “No.  He’s a chicken!”

Me: “You were not thinking of putting him in the stove in your kitchen, were you?!?”

Vista: “No….. I was going to put him in the microwave…”

Me:  *facepalm*

It’s A Match

I woke up this morning to the sound of Vista sobbing hysterically.

A glance at the clock told me it was a smidge after 6am.  In other words, too damn early to be awake.  Ugh.

“Vista, sweetie, what’s wrong?”  I called out dragging myself out of bed.

She came crashing into my room at the sound of my voice.

“I can’t find it!!!” *sob, hiccup, sob*

*sigh*  “Sweetie, what can’t you find?”

“I can’t find the matching sock.  I can’t find ANY socks that match!!!”  *cue fresh sobs*

“Are you kidding me?  Really?  You’re crying at six o’clock in the morning because you can’t find a matching sock?”

By this point I was resisting the urge to slam my head repeatedly on my night table.

*sniffle, hiccup, sniffle* “Yeah… cause they DON’T MATCH!”

socks 300x219 Its A Match

“Vista, I love you, but your OCDness drives me nuts sometimes.”

I get myself out of bed and head over to her sock drawer.  The offending missing sock that matched the other one she had pulled out, was of course sitting right there on top.

I picked it up and handed it to her. Immediately she was all smiles.

It makes me think back to the days when my dad used to call me ‘Jekyll and Hyde’.  I’m pretty sure Vista is karmic punishment for my mood swings as a teen.

On the bright side, she was actually able to put on her socks by herself.

This is a new skill she’s acquired recently, so we’ll celebrate that instead.  Is it too early for champagne?

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