We are not exactly what you would call a crunchy sort of family. We're not running around spraying aerosol hairspray at the ozone layer or anything, we just haven't quite reached the reusable toilet paper level of crazy (nor will we ever--sorry planet Earth). I'm trying very hard to stop with the 700 plastic bags when we go shopping, I have banned purchases of anything that plugs in (Shut up. That's totally watching out for the planet and has nothing to do with me being sick of the Electronics Graveyard.), and I've been making it a habit to go the Farmers Market in an attempt to get better quality locally grown produce which usually has not been dipped in pesticides, herbicides, and other grossicides.

Alexis LOVES going to the Farmers Market. I do believe it is her #2 most favorite destination, falling closely behind a shoe store. (Shoe stores to her are better than candy stores and toy stores. Figure that one out and tell me I'm not screwed in a few years.) We were running dangerously low on all things berry, so I picked up the Toddler from daycare and off we went to do a little betchtuble shopping.

As we were driving along, Alexis was happily listing all the betchtubles she was going to buy. She wanted some boobberries, chaspberries, bawberries, tomatoes, zucchini, ledduce, and corns. She was all set.

Until this.

Um, yeah. Apparently we aren't the only ones that appreciate the ability to buy a package of blueberries without auctioning off a kidney and a first-born child first. That little traffic pileup was all cars waiting to turn into the Farmers Market. There really was no good way around it, so we sat. And sat. And sat.

Alexis started to get pissed. She wanted to go buy betchtubles. Now. You know what's fun? Having a kid throw a tantrum in the car, inches from your head which is not quite as detachable as you would like. Girlfriend has got some lungs is all I'm saying. And she was pissed.

BETCHTUBLES!

I totally felt like somebody needed to just stamp a big red FAIL on my forehead right about then. How do you explain to a 2-year old that her betchtubles will still be there and that there's nothing you can do but wait in traffic? Of course, me taking her picture totally made her feel all better. Not.

Twenty minutes and two eardrums later, we finally made it to the Farmers Market where the day was saved because HELLO, FUNNEL CAKE! Nom, nom, nom. OK, so I was all about the funnel cake and that in no way amused Alexis. But, the kettle corn did. Girlfriend was SOOOO happy to get to buy all her betchtubles and to snack on her beloved kettle corn that she forgot all about how miserable she had been just minutes before.

After downing a healthy dinner consisting of kettle corn and cereal, we headed out to take care of some errands and do our duty to make sure Target stays in business. On the way home, Alexis and I played the LOUDEST game of I Spy you have ever witnessed. I don't think Mr. Husband was quite as amused as we were as we yelled out I SPY SUMPIN GEEN! (Technically, I pronounced it "I spy something green" when it was my turn to be the spy.) We play I Spy a lot, usually with colors and shapes and numbers and letters. It's pretty darn fun.

As we were headed home, cruising along the highway after dark, we had to get a little more creative with what we spied since it's really not possible to spot colors without the assistance of the sun or Mr. Edison. I decided to spy French fries (AKA McDonalds), a flag, and some other glowy object that were visible in the dark. Then came Alexis and her turn. She yelled, "I SPY COFFEE!"

She spied the Starbucks logo on a roadside sign. If having a two-year old who recognizes the Starbucks logo isn't a sign of kick-ass parenting, I don't know what is.