It's True. She Is Funny.

There are a lot of reasons I try not to take Mila to Alexis' dance classes. The biggest one is that while Mila is full of awesome on a playground, that awesome doesn't fit well in a small, crowded space. It's effort to keep her contained and happy is all I'm saying.

Contained just isn't her style.

But tonight was one of those nights when she needed to hang out with me. I tried to keep her contained and happy in the car for half an hour, but "I GET OUT!" starts to wear on a person after the first 245132 times a little kid says it.

So I took her in.

The good news is that there are a lot of people who think Mila is adorable. Those people are willing to fawn over her, which is basically her #1 favorite thing in life. Fawn over the child and she will be your best friend forever. Or for about three seconds. Whichever comes first.

After three seconds, she takes off and looks for the next thing to do. At the dance studio, that happens to be running around to the back hallway. It's a little hidden hallway that leads to a door that goes into the studio itself. It's completely invisible from the waiting room so I have no choice but to chase the Tiny Human around.

About the fourth time Mila decided she was done being around her fans, she noticed the actual door to the studio. For whatever reason, she has always ignored it. Today, though, she ran up to that door, stuck her face up to it, and yelled, "ALLLEESSSSUUUUS!"

The good news is that there is a one-way mirror film on the glass. Mila could see in, but nobody could see out. The other good news is that the music was turned up loud, so nobody heard the crazy call for her sister.

The bad news is that Mila doesn't like it when her shenanigans go unnoticed.

So she stepped up her game. She began licking the glass, smooshing her nose against it, and generally acting a fool. Even as I stopped her, she worked harder to be a nut. It became a wrestling match, with me trying to get Mila to go anywhere else while also cleaning up her mess while also being grateful the girls in the class couldn't see what was happening right in front of them.

The fact of the matter is there were a LOT of girls looking right at the door. There's something about mirrors and tweens that leads to lots of looking, so I swear all of them were staring at us. Or, rather, THROUGH us because they were looking at themselves. A LOT.

Mila did her best to be a goof.

The girls in the dance class kept just looking through her. Not a one cracked a smile or giggled or ANYTHING

So Mila kicked up the goofy. And kicked it up. And kicked it up some more.

Finally she stopped trying to be the court jester and turned to me. She seemed defeated and confused and, well, I think she summed up the problem quite well. Miss Mila looked me straight in the eye and said, "But Mila funny" in the saddest voice you've ever heard.

Here's to hoping "contained" is never a thing that Mila does well.


And Then There Were Two Of Us

I am not a runner.

I hate running. Running is stupid. If there are no bears around, there is no reason to run. You will never hear me saying "I ran!" because running. Stupid. Boring. Sooo boring.

But I do it sometimes anyway.

There is no glory in it at all. It's a simple matter of being stupidly stubborn about meeting step goals every day. Add in a pile of impatient, and sometimes I'm stuck with a quick one-mile run late in the evening. And sometimes more.

That's not the point.

The point is, about a year ago, I invited Alexis to join me on a quick run. I figured it could only be better if there was someone to talk to along the way, but then I discovered I was wrong. Miss Alexis, she who is 30 years younger than me, whined so hard I was ready to wine my way through the next ten years. We made it all of 50 yards before she was ready to quit and OMG THE WHINING.

How is it that a kid who can do long tumbling runs, dances for hours on end, and spends half her life on a trampoline can't run 50 yards without wanting to collapse into a pile of goop? UNACCEPTABLE. I told Alexis as much and started making her go with me more often.

And then I broke my toe and running became even more stupid than usual and blah, blah. I stopped with even the quick little runs.

Tonight I decided it was time to get back in the game. Alexis and I laced up and made our way outside. We made it about 3/4 of a mile and my lazy collided with my common sense and suddenly I was all, "Running is stupid. I'm going to walk."


Miss Alexis immediately started in with the "C'mon, slowpoke!" and "You can do it!" and OMG SHE SOUNDED JUST LIKE ME. She said every little motivational thing I say to her, both of the straight-up encouragement and of the reverse psychology type. If I have said it before, she said it tonight.

You guys, I'm annoying. I'm annoying enough that I wanted to punch me in the face, except that it was Alexis sounding like me and she's cute and not very punchable and ugh.

It really sucks when the sins of your parenting because the sins of your kids.



I Better Keep the Keys Hidden. Forever.

I've heard there is some sort of rule that says you shouldn't have kids if you're selfish. To that I say PFFFFFFFFFFT. I can totally be selfish and have kids. I can have both. How's THAT for selfish?

That side of selfish comes with a bit of twist, though. A chocolate and vanilla twist and what? You don't stop for ice cream and eat it in your car when you're alone? You totally should. Eating ice cream without tiny hands trying to grab it is the best because then you don't have to make them cry when you don't let them touch your ice cream.

Not that I've done that. Much.

The point is that I had a photo shoot this past weekend, so on the way home I stopped for ice cream. All-by-myself ice cream. Glorious, glorious, all-by-myself ice cream.

And then I forgot to destroy the evidence.

I meant to throw away the telltale cup when I stopped for groceries, but it ended up staying in the car. I think it's fair to mention that normally *I* do not leave food containers in my car, but the girls sure do. At any given moment, you could make a fairly elaborate casserole with their crumbs. The back seat of my car is exactly what you picture when you think about where the good rats go when they die. There's rat hell, which looks like my super clean front seat, and then there's the back seat full of heaven.


So how it is that Mila managed to look past the disaster zone and notice that little cup from ice cream settled deep into the cup holder in the front seat, I don't know. But she did. "I want ice cream!" she said as I tried to put her in the car. She batted her eyelashes as she said it, of course.

"There is no ice cream," I replied. NOTHING HERE TO SEE, CHILD.

"It's right there! I see it!" she replied. Which, WHAT THE FRESH HELL IS THIS NONSENSE? How is it that my two-year old is fact-checking me? HOW?

We went back and forth for several minutes. As we debated, Mila decided she would prove her point by refusing to be buckled into her car seat. Instead, she lunged towards the front seat and then muscled her way to the little cup.

Have you ever tried to stop a determined 2-year old? It's much like trying to wrestle a greased up pig, I imagine. It might be possible, but you're going to embarrass yourself in the process.

Because I couldn't stop her, Mila made it to the front seat of the car. She grabbed the ice cream cup, looked inside, and glared at me. "It's empeeeee," she glared. The accusations were implied.

"I told you there is no ice cream," I replied. Full circle! Truthiness! I was about to win!

And then Mila turned in the seat, put her hands on the steering wheel, and said, "We go for ice cream."

I am suddenly very grateful she's too short to reach the pedals.