Grow, Grow, Grow Your Boat

The problem with building a loft for your kid is that sometimes she decides she's not getting out of bed AND THEN WHAT? Do you seriously expect me to climb up there and force the issue when it's Way Too Early O'Clock?

Alexis has been calling my bluff lately. I say I'm going to drag her out of bed and she says, "FINE." Then she sits up there, one eyebrow raised, knowing full well that I'm too tired and old to climb a ladder that early in the day. By the time I muster the level of consciousness required, she has usually finished her book, held a tea party with her stuffed animals, and written out Pi to 58 digits.

What? You thought she was trying to sleep in? IF ONLY.

When Alexis finally makes up her mind to spread her sparkle all around the house, it's with a sense of urgency. You can tell me that threatening to make her go to camp in her pajamas is a bad idea, but IT IS NOT. She is seriously worried that I'm going to do it one of these days. Which I will. I guess it's not so much a threat as it is a promise.

ANYWAY.

She rushes around all over the house, throwing on clothes, combing her hair, shoving her toothbrush under some running water for a second, returning to the bathroom to actually brush her teeth this time because OMG I AM SO MEAN and make her do that every single day. and she fixes her lunch.

By herself.

It's marvelous. I don't check her work because I'm very committed to the concept of not criticizing how someone does their job unless I'm willing to do it for them in the future. You can bet all of your money that I won't be making anybody's lunch anytime soon. If she wants to eat peanut butter and jelly every day, OH WELL. That's her choice. I don't need to monitor her.

I can be hands-off about this whole thing in no small part because the kid is a health food freak. She consistently packs fresh fruit and vegetables without being told because that's what kids who like healthy food do. They eat fruits and vegetables without being told. She's a food nerd.

It was probably a week ago that it happened.

Alexis wanted to take blueberries in her lunch. No big deal -- she knows to rinse them and put them in a small bowl with a lid. It's the sort of thing she manages to do by herself all of the time. I very rarely see the process in action, but she manages. By herself.

For some reason, I was downstairs early. For some reason, I turned towards the kitchen and watched as Alexis FINALLY listened to my constant nagging about climbing on the counters. She climbs on a counter to use the microwave and heat her frozen waffles. She climbs on a counter to reach her cups. She climbs on a counter to get to the bowls. She does a lot of climbing in the morning.

But not that morning.

That morning she was rushing around. She had the just-rinsed blueberries in one hand, and she was looking for a bowl to place in the other. As Alexis realized the bowls were all put away, she walked towards the cabinets. I waited for her to climb up on the kitchen counter like she ALWAYS does, but this time she didn't.

This time she reached up and opened the cabinet while standing on her tippy toes.

She can reach the kitchen cabinets.

When we moved into this house four years ago, Alexis couldn't reach the light switches. Now she can reach the kitchen cabinets. 

Man, I hate it when I blink and years pass by in a millisecond.

 

Glitter Is The Work Of The Devil

We are officially All Of The Hours into cheer season. Alexis continues to be all aboard the crazy train.

Which is to say, she still loves it with all of her heart and soul.

BLURGH.

Go ahead. Try and tell me how I could just not let her do it. I'll quickly provide you with many examples of bitter and angry 30-something year old women who were once not allowed to do something they really wanted to do. There are some battles not worth fighting, y'all. Alexis and cheerleading is at the top of that list.

Besides, it makes her happy. What makes her happy makes me happy and blah, blah, BLAH.

In the interest of doing all things cheerleading, this past weekend Alexis had an event she needed to be at. It involved getting all dolled up in her cheer gear and performing a few little things, so she was excited. VERY excited.

As we were walking up to the event, I heard the words no sane woman wants to hear. EVER. "Do you want glitter in your hair?"

The question was directed at Alexis. In my head, I screamed "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" and tackled the kid in order to protect her from the evil, evil glitter. In reality, I closed my eyes, spun on my heels, and walked away. Good thing Alexis was already where she needed to be!

As I walked away, the glitterification happened. Approximately every drop of glitter ever was dumped on her head and HOOBOY DID SHE THINK IT WAS GREAT. I could hear her smiling from a mile away. Sparkles! Shiny! HOORAY!

As the day went on, the glitter decided to shift. Most of it sort of fell off of her hair and landed squarely on her scalp. Ever tried to pry glitter off of a little girl's scalp? It's about as fun as trying to scrape permanent marker off of your face. I suggest using a chisel.

The rest of the glitter sort of fell ... everywhere. All over my car. All over me. All over the entire universe.

You guys, I think Kesha exploded. It's beyond hope.

The glitterification happened last Saturday. It has been a whole bunch of days since then, which should mean the party is over. Spoiler alert! THE PARTY IS NOT OVER.

There is still glitter embedded in the kid's scalp. There is still glitter all over the inside of my car. And, most notably, as I sat around a conference room table having a very grown-up conversation today, I pried a little piece of glitter off of my eyelid. It was the most professional moment of my life, obviously. I tried to explain that I really hadn't been rolling around in glitter and that my kid had been, but the defense fell on deaf ears.

I should have just blamed Kesha.

You Have One Day, Pittsburgh

Look who decided to make an appearance!

In case you don't recognize him, that's Romero. He's Phipps Conservatory's Corpse Flower.

He started to bloom late in the day on Tuesday, which means you pretty much have until the end of Wednesday to go see him for yourself.

You will smell him before you see him, by the way. He smells like what would happen if a cat caught a mouse but didn't quite kill the mouse and the gimpy mouse crawled under your oven and then you turned on the self-cleaning option.

Which is to say that Romero smells like lightly baked roadkill. Yummy!

He was well worth the wait.

(Phipps is going to be open until 2:00 am and this really is your only chance to see him. Pack a little picnic lunch and go hang out for the afternoon!)