They tell me I'm a hummingbird...

Recently over lunch, a few of my friends and I were debating the very important question of which animal we were most like. It's important to note that it's not what animal you most want to be like, or which animal you like the best. And also, apparently you don't even get to decide for yourself.

They decided I was a hummingbird.

Now, I resisted at first, without really thinking about it -- probably because I'd never arrive at that conclusion myself (although that's sort of the point; it's really more about how others perceive you). All I could think was, what, I'm flighty or something? What? WHY AM I A HUMMINGBIRD? (They also decided I was a robot when we decided who fell into the categories of Robot, Ninja, Pirate, and Hobo, but that's a different entry.)

So I freaked out a little, and maybe I got a little intense about it. (Are hummingbirds intense?) But then my owl friend Rebecca explained, quite calmly and wisely, that I'm a hummingbird because I have a tremendous amount of energy, because I'm "pointed" when I discuss things about which I'm particularly passionate (which, I think, was a polite way of saying I'm too intense about things sometimes), and because, well, I...talk fast. The other day after school, I found myself hanging out in the Coach's office ranting about something or other, and all of a sudden I noticed him staring at me.

"What," I said.

"Do you -- breathe through your pores or something?" he asked.

"I was wondering the same thing," Rebecca said. "That's an impressively long time to not need a pause."

I pretended to be all insulted for a second, but it's not like I don't know I talk fast when I really get going. What I found myself pondering more, actually, was the energy bit. It's true that motherhood -- and probably teaching -- requires a lot of energy. At least, I think it does if you want to actually enjoy these things. But let me tell you what my week with Suzannah has been like.

First of all, in case anyone needs a reminder, she is two-and-a-half. Like, very two-and-a-half. In a lot of ways it's a wonderful age; she's such a little person now, someone I can have conversations with, someone I can play with. She teases me. She's affectionate, free with her hugs and kisses. She laughs easily. She's creative and imaginative. She is also incredibly particular, although she always has been. She's stubborn. The workings of her mind are sometimes completely mysterious to me -- why won't she wear her pink sweats today, for instance? Or why has she chosen this day to suddenly declare that she doesn't like applesauce or suddenly must have a particular toy that has been missing for weeks?

This week, her issue has been that she does not want to get out of her jammies in the morning, no ma'am, no way. And also she doesn't want to go to bed. I mean, she's never been particularly easy to get to bed, but this week it's been pretty ridiculous; she's taken her stalling and manipulation to new levels, telling us that she wants to "rock with Daddy" first. And you should know that her daddy is a sucker for that, and who can blame him? Who wouldn't want to spend some quiet time with this sweet girl in their arms, just rocking? It's just that she wants to do this for twenty hours before she goes to bed, and that doesn't work for us.

It also doesn't work for her to stay in her jammies all day. This is one of those times when I'm really grateful for my part-time schedule, because if we were having this battle at six o'clock in the morning, it wouldn't be pretty. As it stands, I can respond to her refusal to get dressed in a couple of ways.

#1. DAMMIT, SUZANNAH, WE HAVE TO LEAVE IN SEVEN MINUTES. WE NEED TO GET DRESSED.

Believe me, I have to work on not actually shouting these exact words some mornings. I'm not the most patient person in the universe, okay? (I'm a HUMMINGBIRD!) But, as you can imagine, that's not very effective. Suzannah is a sensitive soul, and she would either cry or her NO would be even more emphatic. And then my head would explode.

#2. I can attempt to wrestle her into her clothes.

Not a good idea. Just -- no. I'm bigger than she is, and I will ultimately win, but -- no.

#3. I can do the DANCE OF THE PINK SWEATPANTS. Or the DANCE OF THE ALLIGATOR SHIRT. Or the DANCE OF WHATEVER THE HEE-HAW SHE IS WEARING THAT DAY.

No, really. I literally make up a dance. And I sing a song about the pink sweatshirt. And I dance around. And I make all kinds of weird sounds and I make up actual lyrics and I make up all kinds of weird dance moves and pretty soon, the two of us? We're just grooving there in the kitchen, right next to her breakfast dishes, and before you know it she's shimmied out of her jammies and slipped her arms into her shirt and we're marching into the study going, "Socks and shoes and coat! Socks and shoes and COAT!"

I don't even stop to feel ridiculous about it until later, when I'm explaining the morning's antics to my lunch buddies, and they look at each other and say, "Hummingbird."

"You know for a clownfish, he really isn't that funny..."

I realized this afternoon that it's been a couple of weeks since I've posted here, so I thought I'd check in and dust off the ol' blog. It's...well, it's March. March may be my least favorite month of the year, right up there with January, simply because it's so long and it's got this awkward not-quite-winter/not-quite-spring thing going on. Although to be fair, March weather in Washington does feel like spring to a Montana girl who grew up expecting equal parts snow and sunshine after her birthday. And even though I arrive in my classroom each day to find my students huddled pathetically around the heater (might I add that it never occurs to them to wear a coat to school? Or even a sweatshirt?), I think the weather out here is absolutely gorgeous right now. It's sunny and crisp and things are beginning to grow again. No, it's not seventy-five degrees, but it's March. Why am I surrounded by people who complain incessantly about how frozen they are all the time?

Then again, I just happen to like weather. I wouldn't mind it if rained all weekend, except that I'd really love it if we (and by we, I mean Matt) could get the lawn mowed this weekend. I wouldn't mind if it snowed a little, because I trust that it will not be snowing three months from now. And if it's sunny, I'll suggest to Matt that we bundle up and head out for a hike at Dash Point State Park. Or Discovery Park, if we're feeling ambitious.

...Annnnd I've managed to write two paragraphs about the weather. How Midwestern of me.

Tonight, Suzannah and I are chilling at home, waiting for Matt to arrive with food from Trader Joe's. She's watching Finding Nemo, which is her new favorite movie, and I just have to say:

THIS MOVIE IS TOO TRAUMATIC FOR ME.

I took my cousins to see it when it came out in the theaters several years ago, and I don't remember feeling particularly angsty about it. So when Aaron and Morgan brought it over for Suzannah to watch, I was all, yay! Cute fishies! But I apparently forgot about the beginning, where the Mama fish and all the babies (except for Nemo) die in this vicious attack, and Nemo's dad wakes up to find his one tiny little fish egg left, and then if that isn't bad ENOUGH, Nemo has to turn into this little kid (fish, whatever) who wants to be independent, and his understandably overprotective papa has some issues with this. And then Nemo takes his SCREW YOU, DAD attitude a little too far one day and gets scooped up by a diver and plopped into a fish tank in a dentist's office and his papa is ALL ALONE IN THE SEA. And I cannot even handle it. I'm just not at a point where I can deal with all of these Life Lessons, because suddenly Suzannah is that little clown fish and I AM ALL ALONE IN THE SEA because she has turned into a mouthy teenager or whatever, and aposidjalskdjfas.

I should probably start a fund right now for all the therapy this kid will need because of me.

(Suzannah, by the way, completely adores this movie. I might be a bad, bad Mama for letting her watch it, but she doesn't seem to be traumatized, even if the Life Lessons are lost on her for the time being.)

All I really need from this Friday night -- and I'm dreaming big here -- are the following things:

1. For bathtime to go smoothly (Suzannah is currently in her NO BATH, MAMA phase again)
2. For Suzannah to go to bed at a reasonable hour
3. Pad Thai and these fabulous lemongrass chicken rolls from Trader Joe's
4. Pop Secret Homestyle popcorn
5. An episode or two of Friday Night Lights

I'll take my Life Lessons from Tami Taylor for the time-being.