The Burgh Baby Wants a Blog

Alexis sat at the desk, her hands poised over the computer keyboard. "Momma, can you show me how to make a blog?" she asked.

I choked down the OH HELL NO by replying, "I don't know how." That, of course, got me absolutely nowhere with She Who Knows Too Much. She whined and she pushed and she fussed that she needed help. I think the idea originated from an episode of Monster High, but I can't be sure. All I know is OH HELL NO.

"What would you write about if you had a blog?" I finally asked. I was hoping to convince her that a journal was the way to go, but I needn't have worried because she was moments away from a complete meltdown.

"Hmmm..." she tapped her chin as she thought, thereby proving she is the most adorable kid ever. The adorable fell from her face as she pondered, though. In it's place came tears. Lots and lots of tears.

"Momma, what if the kids at school find my blog and read it and make fun of me?" she began to wail.

"Then don't have a blog," I replied. These things ARE that simple, internet. If you don't want people to make fun of you for your words, DON'T PUT THEM OUT THERE. Alexis didn't seem to think it was that simple, though. She continued to sob and cry and throw a fit.

"But, Momma! What if nobody reads my blog!" she added. Hey, you know what makes sense? Having a meltdown because people might read your words and then continuing your meltdown because people might not read your words.

I spent the rest of the night trying to negotiate with the confused human who didn't seem to be able to find her way to the very simple solution -- just don't have a blog, kid. Logic and reasoning didn't get me anywhere, so eventually I turned to The Mean Mom.

"You know what, Alexis?" I said. "It doesn't matter if you want one or not because you aren't old enough. You have to be 15 to have a blog. Those are the rules," I told her.

Shut up. It's not a lie. It's the new rule in our house effective that moment I thought to say the words.

That seemed to resolve the issue, at least for the time being. Or, that's what I thought until the following morning when Alexis showed me something she had written. "Momma, I started a blog but I'm going to keep it in this notebook until I'm old enough."

Her first "blog post" was a fantastic one. I might even ask her if I can share it here, but if anyone makes fun of her, they'll have me to answer to.

 

Follow the Pretty Things

"Focus, Alexis," I say. CONSTANTLY.

I say it when she's eating too slowly. I say it when she's dawdling through a parking lot. I say it when she takes the scenic route to get her shoes on in the morning. I say it when she's supposed to be zipping her coat. I say it when she's supposed to be brushing her teeth. I say it when she's just standing there breathing because she's probably supposed to be doing something while she breathes.

The point is I say it A LOT.

And sometimes I say it when Alexis and I are walking through the aisles of Target, in search of nothing in particular. Alexis seems to think that "in search of nothing in particular" is code for "let's just camp out in the toy department all night long."

The last time I said it was this past weekend when we were grabbing really terrible Valentine's chocolates for 90% off, which, the hell? Why do they even make orange cream-filled chocolates? Nobody likes those disgusting little balls of goo, not even when they're practically free. Anyway, we were walking down the aisles and a certain short person was dragging as if she had a ball and chain attached to her ankle.

"Alexis, please focus," I told her.

"I can't focus when there are so many pretty things," she replied.

Huh. I have no idea where she gets that from.

::cough::

Here She Grows Again

Have you ever argued with a 7-year old girl? It's a little like arguing with a wall, except that the wall knows your weaknesses. It can lash out with words that cut deep, but it means no harm because C'MON, IT'S A WALL.

Er ... a 7-year old.

So maybe it's just Alexis, but maybe it's not and all kids are like this, but arguing with her is brutal. BRUTAL. She can find holes in my non-logic while drafting her own version of reality. She knows which words will send me spiraling out of control, even as she spirals out of control.

"I don't have anything to wear!" she will wail.

I think the words feel true in her heart, but she probably should look around at the pile of clothes around her before she says them. She knows it makes me absolutely coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs when she says it. Perhaps that is the point.

But our arguments are always just millimeters from turning into giggling fits. All I have to do is echo a particularly magnificent whine or she can yell "I LOVE YOU EVEN WHEN YOU'RE GRUMPY" or we can just simply lock eyes and it's all over. Laughter takes over. That's the way it has been for a very long time.

Until about two weeks ago, that is. About two weeks ago the fights were frequent. The fights were serious. The fights were particularly stupid. It took me a day or two to realize I needed to take a step back and be the adult, but eventually I did. When the kid is completely unreasonable, there is always an explanation. She wasn't hungry, she wasn't tired, she wasn't ... WAIT.

"Alexis, did you grow again?" I asked her. It's a question that always stops her arguing ways because she has an auto-on switch with her glowiness when she answers that question.

"Yes!" she bragged.

"Come here a second," I told her as I grabbed her hand and led her to the nook in her old bedroom where we have tracked her growth for the past three years.

Alexis stood perfectly still as I measured and made a little scratch in pencil and then squinted and checked my work. And checked it again.

 

Never mind how far she has come since that first mark back in September of 2010. That is insignificant because I very clearly remember that Alexis couldn't reach the light switches when we first moved into this house. I don't need that pencil mark to remind me.

Rather, it's the distance between the other marks. Slow and steady. Steady and slow. Growing and growing. And then BAM.

About six inches in six months. Having witnessed the chaos, I'd say four of those inches magically appeared in the past couple of weeks.

No wonder the kid is a grouch as of late. She's really very busy doing that growing up thing.