Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Love The Bear, Hate Shadow
My L (age 7) is deathly afraid of Oobi. If you have a little one, you probably know who this Oobi is--the hand w/the Mr. Potato Head eyeballs. I think he's on Noggin (for your viewing pleasure). He's not meant to be scary, as he was made for little 'uns. There are probably little kid Oobi groupies everywhere who loooove Ooobi. L, not so much. She hasn't watched Oobi in years, and she actually liked Oobi on the show, way back when. Oobi was fine when she was three. But somehow he's made it into her dreams and he is her #1 nightmare. She has the most vivid, terrifying ones. Oobi has sharp silver teeth (fangs)and black hair. Oobi is crawling under her covers from the bottom of her bed to the top. She can see him moving in the blankets. He's peering over at her from the top of her headboard. Geez, I'm even getting freaked out typing that out. Poor thing. Our latest was last night. She doesn't even need to be asleep to get upset. I think she saw a commercial yesterday that she thought Oobi was on. Same idea with the hands bit. We put her to bed at 7:30 and she was still up at 9:30, two night lights on, the radio, and the hall light on. She was watching the hall like a little PJ clad hawk. Lots of snuggling and "Lord, please help us to not have Oobi dreams. Just rainbows and Wiggle dreams, mmmm k?" prayers were in order.
She also loved Bear In The Big Blue House. Personally, I would have to leave the room when that story telling Shadow would come on ("Where oh where oh where is Shadow?"). She gave me the heebies with her creepy man voice...I had my own nightmares with that one. Love the bear, hate Shadow.
I wonder if I've given my own girls nightmares. One Christmas a couple years back, my hubby set me up with all these spa goodies and in the mix was this facial mask. So one night I pamper myself with a long, luxurious, much needed, smelly good, bath. Long, long overdue kind of thing. There were bubbles. Afterwards, I decide to try the facial mask. It's one of those you actually have to mix yourself. So I follow the directions and stir it up with the little Popsicle stick included. It's making a lot. How big do they think my face is? Am I supposed to put this on my whole body, or what? Nonetheless, I'm doing exactly what the directions say. It's totally green too. So I slather this baby on my face and sure enough...it's a mask. A thick, rubbery, goopy, droopy (highlighting the droopiness here), WAY TOO MUCH STUFF ON MY FACE, very GREEN--Wicked Witch on Wizard of Oz Green--mask. A cross between the Elephant Man and the Wicked Witch. I'm looking good. Good and SCARY! So I have to leave it on for you know...15 minutes or something. I poke little holes where I imagine my nose to be and open the bathroom door to go read while I get beautiful under that crazy mask. And there are my two little (ages 4 and 2) girlies sitting on my bed reading books before bed. They see me and I swear that time stands still. I freeze and try to smile, but you know, all they see is the Elephant Man wearing their mom's robe. I swear their little face cheeks were trembling. Mouths agape. Eyes wider than wide. They were speechless. And terrified. They are so going to need therapy some day. Then hubby comes in sees me and same reaction. Dang it...help me out here a little bit hun (I'm getting beautiful under this mess)! To this day, they still refer to it. I'm still trying to explain to them that that was me. As far as I know, no bad dreams. Though I don't know how they couldn't have them.
Then there was the time my daughter called me a, "Monster". Yeah, that was a good day. Good Momma moment. L again. She was around 2. Back when I had no idea what I was doing. I still don't, but back then I REALLY didn't know what I was doing. We were just getting to that place where we really had to think about discipline. I think tantrums were starting. Lots of whining or something. Something very appropriate for a two-year-old. Back when I was all about reading piles of parenting books, magazine articles, Dr. Phil, Google and wishing for Supernanny. Oh and I was very pregnant with my second. I was totally fat with child, hormonal, and had the very bad hair. So I think I lost it. I yelled at her. Like it was one of the first times I ever yelled at her. She totally didn't know what to do with that. Really didn't know me anymore. She was shocked. Me too. Her word for "scary" was "loud" at the time. Appropriate either way. So she started crying and pointing at me and saying over and over..."Loooud...looooud..." And then, the very dreaded..."Mooooonster..." shaking in her diaper, still pointing her sweet eensy weensy finger at me. That was the absolute worst. So bad, I can't believe I'm telling you. I'll need therapy for this one. We'll have to drive together. So yeah...very big and costly trip to Toys R Us after that one.
Somehow, 5 years later, we are still friends. She still desperately calls me, when she sees Oobi poking his Mr. Potato Head angry eyes around the corner, to come save her. And though I've gotten better at the discipline, I'm not gonna lie...sometimes that Monster face (a.k.a. The Look) of mine comes in handy. Really lights a fire, if you know what I mean. As long as I'm still the one chasing nightmares away, I think we're good. Oobi doesn't have a chance.