Toddling with Tiddy

The following is a very accurate depiction of life with an almost three year old daughter.

 

Grinding Out My Issues

I have a ton of stressful shit going on in my professional life right now. And despite all of the wise, sage advice I have been doling out on this blog lately, I am failing miserably at heeding my own words.


This stress has been manifesting itself in a physical way. Last weekend, Mister Fergs, Biddy and I went to Seven Springs to ski and hang out with our friends. Everything was great. Biddy was having a blast, skiing her little heart out. The weather was warm and lovely. I woke up early Saturday morning and got caught up on work email. It was all shaping up to be an epic weekend…

I tend to process stress in a very sneaky way. I convince myself that I’m living in the moment and having an amazing time, and consciously, I usually am. However, there is always a big pot of stress simmering on the burner in the back of my mind. The laundry I didn’t fold and put away before we left home, the meetings I didn’t schedule Friday afternoon for the following week, uncertainty about my position at work. These things mix together, cooking all day until they boil over and appear as a surprise anxiety attack or even worse—what happened on Saturday night.

Mister Fergs and I had a few cocktails went to bed around ten pm. Apparently, I started grinding my teeth at some point while I was sleeping. This is a bad habit I have had since I was little. I don’t do it every night, just when I’m under significant stress. The grinding was so intense last Saturday night, I actually shattered my back tooth. Needless to say, I woke up at 2:30 am with intense pain in my lower right jaw.

You have most likely experienced tooth pain at least once in your life. It is so excruciating and certainly not a welcome wake up call. I immediately started rummaging through the condo for some Advil, which I make sure is always in ample supply. I figured four tablets would do the trick and I would be pain free and back to sleep in a half hour.

In a cruel twist of fate, my alcoholic friends had taken all of the Advil and all that remained was an empty bottle. I ran through my available options. Coping with the pain was not one of them. I could get into the car and drive ten miles to the closest gas station. I could walk up to my friends’ nearby condo, wake them up and see if they had any. Pulling the tooth also crossed my mind.  This drastic measure sounds ridiculous but totally made sense to me at the time.

Before setting off in the dark night, I did one last sweep of the condo just in case I missed a bottle somewhere. When I opened the medicine cabinet again, I spied Biddy’s toddler Advil and a light went off in my head. This could work.

Toddler Advil is the color of a blue raspberry Slush Puppy. If you spend a lot of time in gas stations, you know what I’m talking about. Biddy always willingly slurps it down and asks for more so I always assumed it tasted like candy. As I stood at the bathroom sink, doing Advil shooters, one after the other, I seriously started questioning my daughter’s taste buds.

As a person who once counted Jagermeister as her shot of choice, I feel as though I’m pretty hardcore. However, it took everything I had to keep this bright blue, sickly sweet liquid down. Good God, it was nasty. Sheer determination to rid myself of the pain got me through the ordeal. With my iPad to distract me, I sat down on the couch and proceeded to surf Pinterest while I waited for relief.

What I had not realized was the Advil I had taken was liquid so it seemed to take effect much sooner than I am used to. I high-fived myself for my resourcefulness and finally fell back to sleep.

What did I learn from this ordeal?

1. I have not conquered my anxiety issues. Need some work in this area.

2. Advil in liquid form for adults is a great idea.

3. Probably time to take the dentist up on that mouth guard he has been pushing.

4. We need more Advil at the condo.

It’s January 14th and despite my New Year’s declarations, my crazies are still acting up. However, I’m encouraged by the fact we are only two weeks into 2013.  I'm not going to change overnight.

Thank God I signed up for dental insurance this year.

Monday Inspiration

Pony Tales

The challenge of having your very own blog is trying to come up with subjects to write about. What are you mofos going to find interesting? I can only write so many posts about poop and champagne.

I really enjoy getting texts and emails from my friends and readers with topics they want me to tackle. The latest is a text I received from my best friend Jodi. The following is a transcript of the conversation:


                             
Jodi: Poss Tiddy post. Side pony tails. I feel this should not occur in women over…say 28

Tiddy: Dude. I wore one to work yesterday. Lol.
Tiddy: It was a low side pony?

Jodi: In my humble opinion, both low and high. You should do a survey, have people vote on    the appropriateness?

Tiddy: Lol I am going to write about this and also include a photo of my low side pony which makes me look stylish and adorable.

Jodi: (sends this pic)

Tiddy: That’s not how I wear it.
Jodi: Haaaaaaaa. Can’t wait to hear feedback.

Background info: Jodi and I went to high school together and we were college roommates. When I say college roommates, I mean we lived in the same bedroom together for four years. We have shared clothes, money, underwear and Lord knows what else. She is the Godmother of my child and the closest thing I have ever had to a sister. We are as different as day and night, which is probably why we get along so well. Needless to say, I was not offended in the least when she started ripping on my side pony. She can suck it.

My justification for a side pony:

1. My hairline totally sucks. It is like a bad version of J-Lo’s hairline—baby hairs, bald spots, uneven. It is my cross to bear. By rocking the side pony, I can sweep my bangs over this whole nightmare and nobody knows about my dirty little secret.

2. Sometimes I don’t feel like washing my hair, yet it is too dirty/greasy to wear down. Side pony! Instant glamour! She’s not gross, she’s well-groomed and so put together!

3. I miss the 80s and it is a way for me to relive my Barbie and the Rockers/Girls Just Want to Have Fun phase.

Below you will find an example of my elegant side pony.  I would also like to point out that when this photo was posted on Facebook, Jodi publicly commented, "Sooooooo pretty."

It is up to you, stylish readers, to weigh in on this little difference of opinion. Could you please take a moment to cast your vote on this very important issue? You will find the survey on the side of this blog.  I will leave it up for one week and Jodi and I will discuss the results once they in.  Let your voice be heard.

Puppy Love

This is my dog Nacho. He’s a twenty pound Yorkie with devastating good looks and a shitty attitude. Shortly after Mister Fergs and I got married, I had an overwhelming urge to take care of something. In retrospect, my biological alarm clock was ringing, and getting a dog was my way of hitting the snooze button.

For months, I poured over newspaper ads, Craigslist and breeder Websites searching for a little Yorkie I could call my very own. This little guy was going to go everywhere with me and would have the best doggie outfits and bones money could buy. He would only eat dog food specially formulated for Yorkies and be squired around town in an elaborate handbag with obnoxious logos plastered all over it. At this time, I was in my twenties and was significantly more self involved and out of touch with reality than my 35 year old self is today.

Mister Fergs never had a dog growing up and was not all about welcoming this furry creature into our home. He was understandably apprehensive about the whole situation and brought up good, cerebral points about how a new pet was going to impact our lifestyle. We would have to feed it, walk it and find someone to watch it when we went away, which was frequently. The dog would have to be potty trained and groomed regularly.

“Not a problem,” I assured him. “I will take care of everything. I grew up with dogs and I know all about them. You won’t have to lift a finger.” He still wasn’t sold. Eventually, after weeks and weeks of pleading, crying and full on tantrums, he acquiesced. We were getting the dog.

It happened on a Sunday afternoon. I had contacted a breeder about 20 miles from our home and she had one boy left. He was on the bigger side, she explained, so she would knock a hundred bucks off of the price. Instead of having us drive all the way out to her “farm,” she would just meet us in the parking lot at Chuck E Cheese. First red flag.

We pulled up in the parking lot and Mister Fergs wasn't talking at all. I was doing everything I could to distract him from the situation—playing a new CD I had just gotten, talking about the weather. It wasn’t working. He was a man who was resigned to his fate and he didn’t like it.

The breeder was late and we were ready to pull away and forget the whole thing when she pulled up in a car held together with duct tape with smoke pouring out of it. Second red flag. She emerged holding an adorable mild mannered puppy that smelled like a pack of Marlboro Reds. That was it. I had to rescue this little guy from a raging nicotine habit and an inevitable case of canine lung cancer. She showed us the dog’s papers detailing his pedigree and certification from some random kennel club. They had a dirty footprint on them. Third red flag.

Mister Fergs reluctantly peeled some cash out of his wallet and just like that, we were dog owners. We drove straight to Pet Smart to buy Nacho all of the things he would need to be comfortable in our home—food, cage, bowls, bones and puppy pee pads. As we were perusing the aisles, a seemingly nice woman came up to us and said, “What a cute little puppy!” and started to pet him.

Mister Fergs, beaming with pride, replied, “Yes! We just got him!” I was so relieved that he was starting to get excited about the dog. At that point, the woman started screaming at him. “Just so you know, your dog is full of worms. These breeders use cheap wormers and they don’t work and that puppy’s insides are just crawling with worms.”

I thought he was going to vomit right then and there, and to be honest, I wasn’t far behind.

We made it home and settled into life with a puppy. And it sucked. I will honestly say it was worse than having a newborn. He peed and pooped all over the floor. He barked at Mister Ferguson incessantly. He chewed up all of my favorite shoes and ripped those puppy pee pads to shreds. He kept getting bigger and bigger and busted out of that doggie handbag at record speed. When I took him to the vet recently, she asked what kind of dog he was. I said, “He’s a purebread Yorkie. I have his papers right here!”

She looked at me, laughed and said, “You know these are just computer printouts. Anyone with Microsoft Word can make them.”

All of the hopes I had for this adorable, tiny constant puppy companion were shattered. Yet, despite his flaws and his rakish lazy ear, we love him to pieces. Even Mister Ferguson has come around.

Nacho has been a part of our lives for six years now. He has bonded with our daughter and waits outside of her door every morning until she wakes up. He loves to fish and chew on Dingo bones. He hates the mailman with a passion and I am confident he would rip his face off given the opportunity. He is significantly more high maintenance than my toddler.

Although we don’t dote on him nearly as much as we did pre-baby, we still adore him. He doesn’t get special Yorkie food anymore, he eats Beneful from the grocery store. In fact, I haven’t set foot in a Pet Smart in years. We try to keep him stocked with bones and take him on walks when it isn’t snowing or raining like crazy.

Unfortunately, Nacho has recently developed a case of halitosis in his older age. It’s awful. It smells like he has been eating shit sandwiches. After a few cocktails the other night, Mister Fergs and I decided we were going to brush his teeth. I held his face, while Mister Fergs played doggie dentist. Bad idea. It was a mess, Nacho was pissed and his breath still stinks. I’m making him an appointment this week and leaving that job to the professionals.

In hindsight, purchasing a puppy in a Chuck E Cheese parking lot wasn't a great idea, but it happened and I wouldn't trade my big-boned, bad-breathed, high maintenance "Yorkie" for anything.  He is, however, the one and only dog this family will have.

Internetting With Tiddy Volume 1

The Internet never ceases to amaze me, and neither do you!  A few of my friends decided to post Tiddy.com on Facebook and Pinterest yesterday and this little blog saw more traffic than ever!  It was so successful that I shamelessly made my two favorite Aunts post it this morning. 

Seriously, thank you from the bottom of my heart for posting Tiddy.com and recommending it to your friends.  I love you, I love your support and I love writing to you on this blog.

Another thing I love is mindless Internetting.  Today I am starting a new series of weekly blog posts in which I share with you the best things I have come across on the Web.  Since this will be a regular thing, I welcome any suggestions you have!

Fun Websites to Check Out When You’re Bored and Want to Laugh

STFU Parents
Happy Place
Lamebook
Girls Above Me


Great iPhone App

Running with GPS has really taken the mystery out of training for long distance runs. Now you know exactly how far you’ve gone, how fast you’ve run and how many calories you burned. Turns out my guesstimating was way off! A few years ago, I got a very bulky and complicated GPS watch that I adored until I came across this app. It takes care of business while letting me listen to hardcore gangster rap on Pandora, politely interrupting Rick Ross to let me know when each mile is up. The app is called Run Keeper and you can read about it here.

Inappropriate But Hilarious Gift

This is terrible, terrible, terrible but made me laugh so hard I bought ten of them to hand out to various friends who share the same twisted sense of humor. You can buy it here.


A Product You Didn’t Know You Needed

My cousin bought this for me for Christmas and I am seriously in love. I busted out my new beer sweater at the ski lodge last weekend and it blew everyone’s mind. It is cute, never loses its shape and is a great way to keep track of your beer. They have a ton of great designs and you can buy them here.


Life-Changing Beauty Product

I was hanging out with my friend Jenny drinking champagne and watching infomercials recently when we came across the concept of airbrush makeup. Lucky for you, we did a bunch of research and found the most affordable and effective system available. I know it seems intimidating and complicated, but it is not. We were both airbrushing competently within five minutes of opening our packages. Not only is it quick and easy, it makes your skin look flawless and even reduces the appearance of wrinkles. There are many different systems available, but we recommend “Tickled Pink.” You can find it here.

Work Smart

I flew on my company’s plane to a meeting yesterday. I write this for two reasons:


1. To shamelessly point out how glamorous my life is, and

2. I still can’t believe it myself and putting it in writing makes it seem more real to me.

Nothing makes you feel like a pimp like flying on a private plane. You drive right up on the tarmac and board. There’s no security, taking your shoes off, waiting in lines. You just walk right on, buckle your seat belt and it takes off. They don’t even tell you to turn off your electronic devices. The whole affair is totally gangster and makes you not want to fly commercial ever again.

This is not the first time I have flown on the plane, but the novelty still has not worn off. It’s not a Lear jet or anything, but every time I get on I feel a lot like P. Diddy. Since I am always flying with co-workers, I have to resist the urge to drape myself in obnoxious outfits and huge sunglasses to really maximize the experience. It is sooooooo hard, but I manage.

Since committing to this career as a professional geisha, I have really been working my beav off. Sometimes (not always), hard work is rewarded with more difficult, interesting work and if you’re like me, that’s the kind of shit that keeps you going. Getting up at 5:30 am to do emails and get organized for the day really sucks sometimes, but I’m starting to see the benefits. My boss, who I could write a ten page blog about and probably will one day, is a very supportive and colorful individual who definitely makes my work days exciting and fun. My favorite is when we hang up on a phone call and he reminds me to “shit it and get it.” I’m not sure how we found each other, but it is a work relationship made in heaven.

I have been a working girl for more than 14 years now and have had about 14 different jobs and five careers. All of this hustling has exposed me to crazy bosses, nutty coworkers, lifelong friends and hard lessons. Sometimes work can seem a lot like an episode of Survivor, and you need to be in it to win it.

1. Always be Yourself. This is such a trite little statement, but hear me out. I have a huge complex about not being taken seriously at work. This could be in my head or reality—I haven’t figured it out yet. I like to wear elaborate outfits and high, high heels and jewelry to work. I’m blonde and I laugh a lot. Lately I have been looking a lot like a character straight out of Dallas. Not exactly serious career woman material. However, I refuse to shrink myself to fit into that mold. I’m different and that’s a good thing. Pretending to be someone you’re not is exhausting. Plus, how are you going to stand out if you look and act like everyone else? Sometimes I feel like I have to work harder to prove myself, but at least I’m being myself.

2. Don’t be a Jealous Shrew. The lady who is always sniveling and whispering about people sleeping their way to the top is not who you want to be. Act genuinely happy about the success of others around you—even if it kills you. You’re not always going to be the shining star and you’re not always going to get what you want. Get over it. Constantly complaining and whining makes you look like a douche and also really minimizes your chance at being promoted into management.

3. Mind Your Own Business. Gossip is fantastic—until it is about you. If your co-workers want to grope each other or the lady from billing is eating people’s sandwiches, it’s not bothering you (unless it is your sandwich). Talking about people’s shortcomings can temporarily make you feel better about your own, but you don’t want people only hanging around you because you have the latest gossip.

4. Pay Attention. Pretend every person at work is wearing a sign around their neck that says, “Make me feel important.” Call people by their names, remember their kids’ names and be fascinated by the crossword puzzle competition they participated in last weekend. It doesn’t matter if it is the CEO of the company or the guy who fixes your computer, a little attention goes a long way. Plus, when your computer gets a virus because you tried to watch the Hulk Hogan sex tape online, you will want that computer guy to be discreet.

5. Have fun. At the end of the day, you spend a large portion of your life at work. You may as well find a way to enjoy it. Surround yourself with positive coworkers that make you laugh and don’t take things too seriously. This is a hard lesson to learn, and I am still getting there. Work is just work and if you hate your job, look for a new one.

When Mister Ferguson read my blog the other day and said, “Wow! Tiddy is really dark this year,” I suppose he had a point. I’m sure it has been apparent to all of you dear readers that my usually light hearted blog posts have been hijacked by some deep-thinking, self-help lady. What can I say? Sometimes you take a look at your life and realize things have to change. Writing to all of you is like therapy to me and I love all of the text messages, emails and phone calls I get from you to discuss your thoughts on subjects I write about.  If we don't know each other personally, you can email me here.

Before I sign off, I have to reveal a serious blog crush I have going on right now. I’m always looking for blogs to follow that make me laugh and this one literally kills me. I actually sent the writer a fan email and she responded, which made me feel like I was 12 years old and I was hearing from Donnie Wahlberg himself. Anyway, you should check out her blog called “Bitches Gotta Eat” here. I knew I was going to love it when I saw the heading –“Tacos. Hot dudes. Diarrhea. Jams.” Completely sums up my college years.

Truth

Craft Porn

Last week, I promised to try a new recipe or craft from Pinterest every week. I have decided to post these attempts on tiddy.com for your inspiration/amusement.

Are you on Pinterest? I am a full-fledged addict. It is porn for crafters. Each night before I go to sleep, I snuggle in bed with my iPad and pin inspirational quotes and low-fat recipes. The effort pretty much ends there as I never follow up and complete the projects.

One of my favorite blogs is Pinstrosity, where readers send in photos of popular pins they tried at home. The blog posts the original pin and the attempt. Here is an example:

Pinterest makes things seem so easy. Five minutes on the site and you’re a regular Martha Stewart. And the ideas are so simple, yet life changing. For example, did you know you could wrap potatoes in tin foil in the morning, put them in a crock pot all day and have baked potatoes for dinner? Pinterest taught me that. Have you ever thought about substituting guacamole for mayonnaise for a healthier chicken salad? What if I told you that you could make the same rustic dining room table in the Pottery Barn catalog with 30 bucks worth of materials from Home Depot?

Some of the ideas are totally lame (Valentine’s Day cannolis, homemade wasp traps) but mostly awesome, which brings me to this week’s Pinterest attempt.

When I saw this pin, I knew it was going to be a winner. What an amazing birthday gift! Instead of merely purchasing a bottle of booze for a friend, you take it one step further and make it FANCY! Although the picture does not do it justice, it really turned out great! The green bottle really sets off all of the colors. Although it is very obvious, I want to point out that the photo on the left is the pin and my bottle is on the right.

Some helpful hints: I bought a shitload of gems at Oriental Trading Company online for about five bucks.When I say shitload, I mean 5,000. Guess what you’re getting for your birthday?

I used my hot glue gun which was extremely messy. Next time, I am going to try some clear craft glue.

You should also outline the labels with gems first and then work out from there. Otherwise, the lines won’t be as precise. I also made this mistake.

If you decide to make this, send me a pic and I will post. You know I’m going to bedazzle a bottle of champagne next!  Also, if there is a pin you want me to attempt, send it to me for my next Pinterest post!  If I don't receive any suggestions, I will be making my own gummy bears using sugar-free Jello next week.  I am dead serious.

Monday Inspiration

All of Our Days Are Nice

Today was fantastic. It was one of those days when you wake up with no expectations. I got up early to write a key email for work. I drank some coffee and ate breakfast with Mister Ferguson and Biddy—Mickey Mouse pancakes!

I got an early text from my buddy Kimmy. She and her husband Dicky (who also happens to be my hairdresser) were coming up to Seven Springs to ski for the day. My in-laws happened to be visiting us this weekend and offered to take Biddy to noon mass. I told them to pray for us and suited up to hit the slopes.

In the winter, we pretty much spend every weekend at Seven Springs. It is a ski resort in Western Pennsylvania with decent skiing and an amazing party scene. It is also an ideal place to check out premier ski fashion on the slopes. Nowhere else in this country would you find such an abundance of Steeler jerseys, camouflage jumpsuits, hunter orange jackets and jeans. These getups and many, many more are always on display for your enjoyment.

When Mister Fergs and I met up with Dicky/Kimmy today, Kimmy was coming off of a mountain meltdown. She had attempted to start her morning with an aggressive run and ended up having a tantrum mid-slope. This has happened to me so many times, I can’t even count. I have beaten my husband with my poles, cried and even hyperventilated when he has taken me out of my comfort zone.

I could care less about skiing aggressive runs, so we all agreed the best course of action was for the girls to cruise around and leave the back diamonds to the boys. We split off and Kimmy and I talked a little, skied a little and laughed a lot. We met as co-workers almost ten years ago. And while we no longer work for the same company, we have remained great friends. Kimmy is one of my favorite people to spend time with. One of the best memories I have of her is when we used to practice the art of ventriloquism when we were bored at work. We would try to have full conversations without moving our lips. We got pretty good at it too!

After a few runs, we met up with our husbands and had a leisurely lunch at Helens, which is a quaint little fancy restaurant on the side of the mountain that allows you to wear your ski boots. We all had crab bisque soup over mashed potatoes and a few bottles of red wine. I have been drinking boxed wine for so long that I am kind of out of the loop when it comes to bottled brands. We left the ordering up to Dicky. He chose Cupcake Pinot Noir and it was delicious. I highly recommend it.

When we got up to pay the bill, a family of four (Mom, Dad, two young kids) was walking out of the restaurant. As they left, the hostess called out, “Have a nice day!”

The mother whipped around, gave her a death stare and replied in the snottiest tone I have ever heard, “All of our days are nice.”

Needless to say, we all had a few glasses of wine so we collapsed in laughter. That lady was a complete and total douche. We went back out on the slopes with good energy and tore it up.

When I think about the day’s events, there isn’t one thing that I can point out that was outstanding. It was a just a day that I didn’t worry about anything, had a good time and laughed a lot. I guess Ice Cube said it best…Today Was a Good Day.

Potty Mouth

This is my daughter. I got a text message from her day care teacher today that said, “I guess the peg game at school really stresses Biddy out. She keeps yelling dammit at it.” By looking at the photo, it is hard to imagine this sweet little girl yelling profanities at a toy. It is also not a mystery where she picked up the word.


It’s situations like these that make me realize how much I have to learn about being a parent. Lately, bloggers everywhere have been posting these great lists with titles like “25 Things to Teach Your Daughter,” and “15 Rules for Raising a Boy.” I have to admit, I was thinking about making my own list and posting it right here on tiddy.com.

The reality is, I am nowhere near qualified to give parenting advice or even make a clever list for you. I gave birth without taking a class or reading a book about it. When Biddy was a baby, a new mommy friend asked me, “At what stage did you introduce green beans?”

What? I was supposed to do that? Did that come in the multi-pack from Sam’s Club? If not, she had not met green beans at that point.

My little bunny is almost three years old and isn’t even remotely interested in being potty trained. And I have no idea what to do about that. I took great comfort when my Mom told me, “It’s not like she will go to kindergarten in diapers.” Do they even make them that size? I blame myself a little for this. I did not want to buy one of those little potties for her because I thought it was gross and couldn’t fathom cleaning it out every time she pooped in it. Instead, I bought her a special seat that fits on the regular toilet and a step stool. Is this what is holding her back from getting out of diapers? If so, I will wait. I’m still not cleaning that thing out.

For all of my shortcomings as a parent, my little girl continues to thrive. She’s fearless. She hops right onto a ski lift without batting an eyelash. She will ride for an hour on the front of her Daddy’s paddleboard and even ski with him behind the boat. She looks people in the eye and speaks with confidence. These are all things she has learned from being a part of our family and I am very proud of that. It’s just the basics we need to work on! We will get there.

Even though I am not going to write a list of 25 ways to parent your daughter, I want to publish one that I read recently. This list is profound, completely doable and not cheesy like the majority of the lists I have read thus far. I even cried a little as a read it. This was published on the blog Diapers and Daisies. You can find the website here.

1. Paint her nails. Then let her scratch it off and dirty them up. Teach her to care about her appearance, and then quickly remind her that living and having fun is most important.

2. Let her put on your makeup, even if it means bright-red-smudged lips and streaked-blue eyes. Let her experiment in her attempts to be like you…then let her be herself.

3. Let her be wild. She may want to stay home and read books on the couch, or she may want to hop on the back of a motorcycle-gasp. She may be a homebody or a traveler. She may fall in love with the wrong boy, or meet Mr. Right at age 5. Try to remember that you were her age once. Everyone makes mistakes, let her make her own.

4. Be present. Be there for her at her Kindergarten performances, her dance recitals, her soccer games…her everyday-little-moments. When she looks through the crowds of people, she will be looking for your smile and pride. Show it to her as often as possible.

5. Encourage her to try on your shoes and play dress-up. If she would rather wear her brother’s superman cape with high heels, allow it. If she wants to wear a tutu or dinosaur costume to the grocery store, why stop her? She needs to decide who she is and be confident in her decision.

6. Teach her to be independent. Show her by example that woman can be strong. Find and follow your own passions. Search for outlets of expression and enjoyment for yourself- not just your husband or children. Define yourself by your own attributes, not by what others expect you to be. Know who you are as a person, and help your daughter find out who she is.

7. Pick flowers with her. Put them in her hair. There is nothing more beautiful than a girl and a flower.

8. Let her get messy. Get messy with her, no matter how much it makes you cringe inside. Splash in the puddles, throw snowballs, make mud pies, finger paint the walls: just let it happen. The most wonderful of memories are often the messy ones.

9. Give her good role models- you being one of them. Introduce her to successful woman- friends, co-workers, doctors, astronauts, or authors. Read to her about influential woman- Eleanor Roosevelt, Rosa Parks, Marie Curie. Read her the words of inspirational woman- Jane Austen, Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson. She should know that anything is possible.

10. Show her affection. Daughters will mimic the compassion of their mother. “I love yous” and Eskimo kisses go a long way.

11. Hold her hand. Whether she is 3 years-old in the parking lot or sixteen years old in the mall, hold on to her always- this will teach her to be confident in herself and proud of her family.

12. Believe in her. It is the moments that she does not believe in herself that she will need you to believe enough for both of you. Whether it is a spelling test in the first grade, a big game or recital, a first date, or the first day of college…remind her of the independent and capable woman you have taught her to be

13. Tell her how beautiful she is. Whether it is her first day of Kindergarten, immediately after a soccer game where she is grass-stained and sweaty, or her wedding day. She needs your reminders. She needs your pride. She needs your reassurance. She is only human.

14. Love her father. Teach her to love a good man, like him. One who lets her be herself…she is after all wonderful

15. Make forts with boxes and blankets. Help her to find magic in the ordinary, to imagine, to create and to believe in fairy tales. Someday she will make her 5 by 5 dorm-room her home with magic touches and inspiration. And she will fall in love with a boy and believe him to be Prince Charming.

16. Read to her. Read her Dr. Seuss and Eric Carle. But also remember the power of Sylvia Plath and Robert Frost. Show her the beauty of words on a page and let her see you enjoy them. Words can be simply written and simply spoken, yet can harvest so much meaning. Help her to find their meaning.

17. Teach her how to love- with passion and kisses. Love her passionately. Love her father passionately and her siblings passionately. Express your love. Show her how to love with no restraint. Let her get her heart broken and try again. Let her cry, and gush, giggle and scream. She will love like you love or hate like you hate. So, choose love for both you and her.

18. Encourage her to dance and sing. Dance and sing with her- even if it sounds or looks horrible. Let her wiggle to nursery rhymes. Let her dance on her daddy's feet and spin in your arms. Then later, let her blast noise and headbang in her bedroom with her door shut if she wants. Or karaoke to Tom Petty in the living room if she would rather. Introduce her to the classics- like The Beatles- and listen to her latest favorite- like Taylor Swift. Share the magic of music together, it will bring you closer- or at least create a soundtrack to your life together.

19. Share secrets together. Communicate. Talk. Talk about anything. Let her tell you about boys, friends, school. Listen. Ask questions. Share dreams, hopes, concerns. She is not only your daughter, you are not only her mother. Be her friend too.

20. Teach her manners. Because sometimes you have to be her mother, not just her friend. The world is a happier place when made up of polite words and smiles.

21. Teach her when to stand-up and when to walk away. Whether she has classmates who tease her because of her glasses, or a boyfriend who tells her she is too fat- let her know she does not have to listen. Make sure she knows how to demand respect- she is worthy of it. It does not mean she has to fight back with fists or words, because sometimes you say more with silence. Also make sure she knows which battles are worth fighting. Remind her that some people can be mean and nasty because of jealousy, or other personal reasons. Help her to understand when to shut her mouth and walk-away. Teach her to be the bigger -the better- person.

22. Let her choose who she loves. Even when you see through the charming boy she thinks he is, let her love him without your disapproving words: she will anyway. When he breaks her heart, be there for her with words of support rather than I told-you-so. Let her mess up again and again until she finds the one. And when she finds the one, tell her.

23. Mother her. Being a mother—to her—is undoubtedly one of your greatest accomplishments. Share with her the joys of motherhood, so one day she will want to be a mother too. Remind her over and over again with words and kisses that no one will ever love her like you love her. No one can replace or replicate a mother’s love for their children.

24. Comfort her. Because sometimes you just need your mommy. When she is sick, rub her back, make her soup and cover her in blankets- no matter how old she is. Someday, if she is giving birth to her own child, push her hair out of her face, encourage her, and tell her how beautiful she is. These are the moments she will remember you for. And someday when her husband rubs her back in attempt to comfort her...she may just whisper, "I need my mommy."

25. Be home. When she is sick with a cold or broken heart, she will come to you: welcome her. When she is engaged or pregnant, she will run to you to share her news: embrace her. When she is lost or confused, she will search for you: find her. When she needs advice on boys, schools, friends or an outfit: tell her. She is your daughter and will always need a safe harbor- where she can turn a key to see comforting eyes and a familiar smile: be home.


Well tonight here at home it looks like we need to wash this little girl's mouth out with soap...and probably our own while we are at it!

123 Present Street

I recently read an article that stated the following:

If you’re depressed, you’re living in the past.

If you’re anxious, you’re living in the future.

If you’re content, you’re living in the present.

Anyone who knows me personally will agree that most of my anxiety issues are a direct result of me living in the future; worrying about what is going to happen tomorrow. What’s going to happen at work? Will I have enough time to complete tasks A, B and C? What will happen if I don’t? What’s going to happen this weekend? What if I forget to do X, Y and Z?

I have always had an unhealthy relationship with the unknown. I hate surprises—whether they are good or bad. I have always found a way to open my Christmas presents prior to the 25th and if there is a secret, I will sniff it out. I even skip to the end of books before I finish them.

If you really want to make me crazy, leave me a message on my voicemail telling me you need to talk to me about “something” and be unavailable when I try to call you back. I will drive to your house to find out what that “something” is. You might just want to know what I’m wearing to the party on Friday night. However, while I’m waiting for you to call me back, I’m thinking the worst. You have melanoma. You have fallen and you can’t get up. You’re stranded in a snowstorm and you need help and I was your last call and now your cell phone is out of batteries. You get the idea.

It’s this “worst-case scenario” type of thinking that keeps me from living in the moment and truly enjoying my surroundings. I’m so busy worrying about my future life that I don’t always appreciate the one I have right now. Instead of obsessing over the meeting I have tomorrow, I should be focused on painting my daughter’s fingernails. The meeting is going to take place whether I think about it or not. Why am I still thinking about it?

I suppose recognizing I have a problem is the first step. But how do I completely change my way of thinking? I’ve been living in the future but I want a new address. I know it is impossible to live in the moment all of the time. Unwittingly, our minds will always skip ahead to tomorrow. There’s too much to do, too much to know.

The only person I know who truly lives in the moment is my three year old daughter. Her little mind is never worried about what craft she is going to make tomorrow at day care or whether she has milk in her sippy cup. She just has fun doing what she’s doing at any given moment. I know she won’t be this carefree forever. One day she will start thinking and fretting about tomorrow. It will start small—who will she sit with at lunch? Will a boy notice her in the hallway? Eventually, her world and her tomorrows will get bigger and she will have more to think about—college, marriage, career, her own kids. And while some amount of planning and thinking about the future is healthy, I don’t want it to consume her like it does me. So I’m going to set a better example.

First of all, I need to be less available by phone, text and email. These things interrupt and distract me—constantly pulling me away from the moment. I’m constantly hearing phantom email and text notifications. Turning the phone on vibrate only makes me check it more often because I’m afraid I have missed something. This has to stop. When I am away from work, I need to be away from work. I’m going to start leaving the phone behind sometimes.  Just don't get all pissy when I don't return your texts right away!

Also, I need to acknowledge the future when it arrives. When all of the things I wished and worried for actually do happen, do I ever stop to appreciate them? No. I immediately start worrying and wishing for the next big thing. It’s exhausting.

I’m not big into meditating and all of that, but yoga seems to be helpful. I’m going to start going to classes again. Concentrating on movements and balance forces me to be present in the class. Although it’s hard and I’m not always enjoying myself, it is a good mental exercise.  Sometimes I am concentrating on the BO that is coming off of the Hippie next to me who hasn't shaved her armpits EVER.  But at least I'm not thinking about tomorrow.

Running is great for me also. When I start out, my mind is full of things to worry about. When I’m finished, I’m too tired to think about anything! Training for the marathon will give me many, many hours to focus on the poetic genius of Kanye West and Jay-Z instead of a conference call that is happening later.

In the half hour it took me to type this blog, I didn’t worry about tomorrow. I just enjoyed writing out my thoughts. Right now, I am content.



PS—Don’t even think about calling me and leaving a voicemail tomorrow saying you need to talk to me about “something.”

Errrrday is a Holiday

As the holiday season comes to a close, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the new year ahead. How can I make 2013 better than 2012? Like most Americans, I usually make a list of resolutions that include exercise, losing weight, drinking less, etc. I write them all down on a piece of paper and I’m lucky if I make it to Super Bowl Sunday before I’m knee deep in wings and beer. It is an ugly cycle that repeats itself every year.


I sat down to make my little list today and started to feel an overwhelming sense of dread and anxiety. Instead of forging ahead, I decided to take a step back and ponder why I felt this way. This is what I came up with:

I’m 35 years old. I have a full-time (plus plus) job, a husband and a toddler. This means that I wake up at 5:30 am every weekday to send emails before my daughter wakes up. Once she’s up, I get her fed, bathed, dressed and take her to day care. From there, I get myself ready, work all day and before I know it, my husband and daughter are walking through the door and there’s no dinner on the table. Day over. Wash, rinse, repeat.

The last time I checked, it was 2008. WTF has the time gone? How much longer will I continue to live this way until I make a change?

Don’t get me wrong. There is absolutely nothing wrong with my life. We definitely manage to have more fun than the average bear. The only problem is that we cram ALL this fun into the two days at the end of the week and then spend the next five days on autopilot—emailing, making calls, robot parenting and masquerading as adults. And if after reading my daily routine you were wondering when laundry and grocery shopping gets done, the answer is sometimes it doesn’t.

I love my job. When I am at work, I am genuinely engaged and passionate about what I do. I love my daughter and husband. In my very biased opinion, they are the most adorable humans on the planet and there is no one I would rather spend my time with. However, at the end of the day, something is missing.

I simply cannot make New Year’s resolutions for 2013. As much as I want to force myself to exercise and try some freaky new diet that requires me to eat like a caveman, I don’t think that is the answer for me in 2013. Instead, I have decided to make every day of the next year interesting.

Yes, I will be my own little version of “The Most Interesting Woman in the World.” There are so many things I want to try and experience (and in some cases, re-experience), yet I never make time for them. I get so caught up in my lame ass routine that I don’t even entertain adding something new and exciting to the work week. I realized today that has to change. You cannot live for weekends.

Following is a list of things I RESOLVE to accomplish (or at least try) in 2013:

1. Make my own champagne. This will really cut down on expenses.

2. Make a craft or recipe from Pinterest at least once a week.

3. Run the Pittsburgh Marathon (I know I have done this before, but it doesn’t get less difficult)

4. Blog regularly again.

5. Make a fabric covered headboard.

6. Start Pure Barre classes.

7. Flip a house.

8. Spend more time laughing with people I love.

After reading this list, it seems as though I might become “The Most Interesting Crafter in the World,” but this is my list and I’m definitely not normal.

As depressing as it is that the holidays are over, I am truly excited to begin my new year and I hope you are too. Sometimes spending quality time with the people you love helps you to realize that you don’t have to wait until special occasions to enjoy life. You just have to make a plan and make it happen.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

After a long and eventful trip to North Carolina, Biddy and I are back to the cold, gray, rainy reality that is Pittsburgh.

Unfortunately, the conditions down south weren’t much better during our stay. When we arrived, a black cloud immediately settled over the house—in the form of weather and illness. What began as a marginally painful sore throat quickly blossomed into a full-blown strep infection that settled into my sinus cavity. As the rain poured outside, I spent the majority of the first week on the couch with a bloody nose and zero energy or personality. 

There’s no mystery as to where I picked up the infection. My daughter, although seemingly harmless, is a notorious carrier of some of the most miserable cold and flu causing germs in existence. Over the past year, we have all suffered through countless rounds of illness and boxes of Advil Cold and Sinus. She’s definitely worth it, but I’m looking forward to the day when our immune systems finally adjust.

This time, I was not the only lucky recipient. The timing sucked, not only because we were there on vacation, but also to attend my Aunt Willow’s wedding at the end of the trip. Now she was sick, the groom was sick, and so were the bridesmaids and the wedding singer. There was so much pressure in my face. My teeth hurt, my head hurt and the only thing that relieved the pain was alcohol. So we drank and drank. And when we couldn’t drink anymore, we all went on antibiotics.

That finally did the trick. If only we had known sooner! Once I was back on my feet, I was able to accomplish the things I had planned during my stay. One of these things was laser hair removal. As it turns out, my Aunt Prissy is a nurse practitioner at a gynecology office that features aesthetics & laser treatments.

I love the idea of permanent hair removal. To me, not having to worry about waxing or shaving again is equivalent to when I had Lasik surgery and no longer had to bother with contacts. It’s that big of a deal. However, the results are not as immediate as Lasik. You have to go about six times, six weeks apart to achieve hairlessness. I’m totally willing to put in the time and energy to accomplish this goal.

I’m not going to come out and say what I had lasered, but it rhymes with cubes. Surprisingly, it was not awkward to get the treatment from Aunt Prissy for several reasons. Number one, she performs countless pelvic exams a day, so she has seen a lot of vaginas. Number two, she’s very cool and not judgmental, which I really like about her. She was professional and didn’t make me feel weird at all. Number three, I’m much less modest about that whole area since I had a baby.

Since you have to wear goggles during the treatment and can’t see a thing, I’m not totally sure whether she was lasering off my hair or shooting me in the crotch with a BB gun. I really couldn’t tell the difference. The procedure is painful, but so is waxing. The pain is temporary (takes about 20 minutes) and the results are permanent. In six weeks I’m going back for more!

Afterwards, my bikini line was red and not anywhere near beach ready, which was fine because it was cool and windy. However, it was nice enough to take Biddy to the park and to the beach and she loved both! From the moment her feet hit the sand, it was very apparent that she is a natural beach bunny. We had to keep her from running into the water! See for yourself below in a video and photo montage Mister Ferguson put together to document her outdoor activity.

Since this post is crazy long and I have a lot to say about the wedding festivities (including the bachelorette party), I’m going to continue with part II tomorrow. Until then, check out some updates I have made to my side bar. You can now get Tiddy delivered to your inbox and also check out some of my favorite blogs!

Something Old, Something New

Despite the fact that tiddyferguson.com only has two public followers and zero of you mofos comment on my posts (READ please start commenting on my posts), I am continually shocked to see that an average of 900 people read my blog monthly. The beauty of blogger.com (the program I use to create this Web site) is that I can see exactly how many readers I have, if they entered the site from a referring URL or what they searched for on Google that led them to Tiddy.

Sadly (or not), the top Google searches are the following:

big tiddys
girls tiddys and but
girls tiddys
tiddy

If you were looking for porn on Google and you somehow found this site because you can’t spell “titty” correctly, WELCOME! I’m not judging—I’m happy to have you.

Since I’ve started blogging again, I’ve started following other blogs by people who share my common interests—running, mommy-ing, clothes and drinking. I also follow a blog by a very dear high school friend who was both my neighbor and homecoming date. He is a triathlon competitor and the posts detailing his workouts make my marathon training seem like a very pathetic joke. You can find his blog here. Read it when you want to feel like a total lard ass. I’m proud of you, Millhouse.

A blog I have followed for years is skippyhaha, which I stumbled upon through a now defunct site called vintagevantage.com which sold incredible t-shirts, both new and vintage. Over the years, I have learned fascinating tidbits of info from skippyhaha. For example, did you ever notice that there is a white arrow pointing right between the e & the x in the FedEx logo? Now you know.

In addition to providing entertaining trivia and insights, skippyhaha sells vintage t-shirts on the Internets. Not the poser vintage t-shirts you can find at virtually any store in the mall, but kick-ass shirts that were actually made back in the day. She sent me an AMAZING “Wilderness Waterski” shirt from 1981. They just don’t make them like this anymore. I cannot wait to wear this at the lake this summer while I watch Mister Ferguson wakeboard--from the back of the boat with a beer in my hand.

Thank you skippyhaha for my new favorite shirt! Check out skippy’s blog here and her vintage t-shirt store here.

I also want to send out a humongous thank-you to my girl (and adorable mommy-to-be) AR for sending me a fun surprise in the mail when I returned home from North Carolina this week. I love, love, love these New Balance shoes! I feel like they were made just for me.

More on my trip to North Carolina in the next blog. For now (back by popular demand) I’m going to leave you with another round of actual status updates from my Facebook news feed. My Facebook friends never disappoint!

1. Finding an all natural girl in OC is like spotting sasquatch. It’s either terribly dyed hair, covered in terrible tattoos, have random jewels staple gunned into her face or other body parts or a fantastic combo of all 3. To each their own but I'd rather date pinhead from Hellraiser than some of the talent out here.

2. Lady on the treadmill wearing shades would be pretty lame if she didn't just run like 20 miles.

3. I’m looking for a small, blue, Hello Kitty hair bow... not a blue one with Hello Kitty on it, but one that looks like the one Hello Kitty wears. If you have seen it for sale somewhere please let me know :-) Thank you!

4. Been hunting a racoon(s) most of the weekend...so far not winning the battle, but..."the only good varmint is a dead varmint, and to beat the varmint you have to think like a varmint...." I will remove the unwanted houseguests, oh yes, I will remove them!!!

5. My nice peaceful neighborhood has been compromised by what appear to be about 10 college freshmen on spring break. It looks like Akon, Young Jeezy and Chris Brown formed a band with Panic at the Disco and are using my neighbors house as a recording studio. If that's todays college man I fear for Americas future.

6. You’re invited to my birthday at Chocolate City. There will b a photograher on site so please Glam up for my party. I will send out the password the day before the party...letz keep it sexy.

7. When you make it difficult for me to stalk your Facebook page, I can't gather enough information to talk about you with others. Work with me, people.

8. Ran into a former co-worker last night. She said I was still pretty but gained weight. Ummm... thanks?

The Unfriendly Skies

I have been dreading my two-week trip to North Carolina for weeks. Not the actual vacation, but the journey—the journey I was taking solo with a 13-month-old child. Since Mister Ferguson decided to go on a ski “mancation” to Whistler, my baby friend and I decided to head south for a visit with my family. The prospect of warm weather and Carolina BBQ excited us both, so we booked a plane ticket and packed our daisy dukes, flip flops and sippy cups.

Checking in and getting through security was not as bad as I thought it would be—although folding up a stroller, taking off my shoes and feeding both items through the conveyor belt while holding a toddler on my hip was quite a feat. Luckily, Mister Ferguson was flying out roughly the same time we were, so he was there to assist me through that whole process. Unfortunately, we were headed in different directions. Once he boarded his plane destined for blue skies and fresh powder, I was on my own.

I treated both of us to McDonald’s breakfast because when you have an early flight, you have to have a bacon, egg and cheese biscuit. It’s the law. Biddy enjoyed an Egg McMuffin and half of my hash brown. We sat and talked about what was going on in day care—who was biting who, who was getting ready to walk and who just couldn’t get off the bottle. Just kidding. Our mother-daughter breakfast consisted of Biddy throwing her food on the floor, laughing hysterically and randomly shouting at other travelers while waving her sippy cup full of milk in the air like a tiny drunk person.

When I realized that I was actually getting ready to take this pint-sized heckler on a crowded plane, I started looking around for the duty-free store so I could find some Bailey’s for my coffee or vodka for my orange juice—just a little something for Mommy’s sippy cup. No such luck. I’m a nervous flyer to begin with, so at this point my anxiety level was at an all-time high.

Neither one of us is accustomed to waking up at 3 am, so by the time we boarded the first plane to Charlotte, we were both a little glassy eyed. Our seat was in the next to last row so we kept walking, walking, walking to the back—the whole time Biddy was reaching out and petting the lady in front of us.

Children under the age of 2 fly for free on US Airways, but they have to sit on your lap. Surprisingly, the airline does not count them as a carry-on item. You can buy your baby a seat on the plane and bring a car seat, which initially sounded ridiculous but is now looking like a better option for the next trip. She’s used to sitting in a car seat. She’s not used to sitting in my lap for an hour and a half.

As a mother, it’s impossible to imagine that someone would not find your child as adorable/smart/entertaining as you do, but those people are out there. I know this because we sat right next to them on the plane.

Before the flight, I had Googled “tips for flying with a baby” and had also asked several friends for advice. I was told to have snacks and several new little SILENT toys to keep introducing throughout the flight. So I crammed Goldfish, animal crackers, squishy balls, keys, stuffed animals and binkies galore into a backpack and actually threw in my Kindle (wishful thinking).

I was as prepared as a mother could be. I had anticipated everything except for being seated next to the two biggest assholes flying from Pittsburgh to Charlotte. I have been on the receiving end of many, many stink eyes in my lifetime, but nothing compares to the look our seat mate gave us when we sat down. Staring straight ahead and pretending not to notice, I put Biddy on my lap and went about my business. I got out the first toy, buckled my belt and hoped for the best. Apparently not satisfied that her dirty look had adequately conveyed her displeasure of being seated next to an infant, our seat mate loudly exclaimed to her companion, “Next time I will specify that I would like to be seated as far away as possible from any kids.”

My daughter, who likes everyone, decides this would be a great time to grab at the lady’s magazine. Now I am really freaking out because Biddy has no idea what the word “no” means and it really is impossible/pointless to discipline a one year old (no matter what her pediatrician says). The lady gets really agitated and says, “It’s going to be a looong flight” to her friend. I am apparently deaf/non-existent at this point.

To add to my little nightmare, the pilot comes over the loudspeaker and announces that we will have to sit on the runway an additional 15 minutes while the plane is de-iced. Yay. Biddy is beyond exhausted and is acting out like I have never seen. I’m trying to rock her, hold her still, sing in her ear. She is bucking like a wild horse, arms and legs akimbo. I am dangerously close to tears but somehow hold it together long enough to hear another sigh and “It’s going to be a looong flight.”

I get it. The lady paid a lot of money for the ticket and would rather sit next to someone more Wall Street than Sesame Street. Not the warm and fuzzy grandmother type I was hoping for. In a perfect world, there would be a separate plane for people travelling with children where they could all laugh, cry, kick and scream together. But I don’t own US Airways and I don’t make the rules. I was obviously struggling to maintain my composure and keep my child from running down the aisle. If I could talk to her and tell her to behave I would, but she DOESN’T UNDERSTAND ENGLISH or any other language for that matter.

Biddy is not a cuddler. She has never fallen asleep in my arms and she rarely sits on my lap for more than a minute. She likes action and is constantly on the move. The more I tried to restrain her in our seat, the more she struggled to get free. Despite my best efforts, her foot lightly grazed our surly seatmate’s knee during one of the more intense moments of our grappling session. This prompted a third, “It’s going to be a looong flight.” No shit, lady.

By the fifth time she said it, I had had enough. This woman was a bully. She didn’t have the balls to tell me to my face that my child was being annoying, but had no problem announcing it to the entire plane. The last time she said “It’s going to be a looong flight,” I looked her right in the eyes and said “It sure is!” She didn’t say it again.

That’s the thing about bullies. When you stand up to them, they don’t know what to do with themselves.

Mercifully, when the plane took off five minutes later, Biddy fell asleep and didn’t wake up until the wheels touched the ground. My arm asleep from the weight of her head, I sat in silence, grateful for a quiet moment to think up meaner comebacks to my seatmate’s insults. I caught her sneaking glances at my sleeping baby several times during the flight, making sure she wasn’t going to wake up and disturb her again.

When we got off the plane, we had to wait for our stroller along with everyone else who had to check bags at the gate. It was still all folded up when they handed it to me, so I had to balance Biddy and wrangle it open at the same time. Although it is a simple process, my first two attempts failed. There were no less than 15 people standing there waiting for their bags watching the whole thing. Amazingly, not one person even attempted to help. I eventually got it open and we made our way through the Charlotte airport to our connecting flight.

We had a row to ourselves for the 30 minute flight to Wilmington, so Biddy was free to flop around like a fish out of water the whole time. I was SO happy and relieved to see my parents waiting for us at baggage claim. Although it was only 11:00 am, I felt like I had been going at it for 24 hours.

When we got to the house, I gladly handed Biddy over to my parents so I could decompress for a while. While I cooled off my nervous energy with a bottle of Chardonnay, Biddy was more productive and decided to walk for the VERY FIRST TIME! No kidding, we were there for less than 20 minutes and she just took off. You know what they say, you can’t keep a good woman (or toddler) down!

Moral of this WHOLE LONG STORY: If you happen to see someone at the airport travelling alone with a toddler—DON’T BE AN ASSHOLE! If you’re seated next to them and don’t want to be, keep your mouth shut. I promise that however uncomfortable the child is making you feel, the mother is going through hell. I have been on both sides of the fence, and given the choice, I would gladly be the inconvenienced traveler. It’s not that I don’t love Biddy—it’s just that I love her SO much that I am willing to buy her an airline ticket that entitles her to a seat all to herself!