I Hear Ya, Universe. I Swear.

I didn't realize I play favorites with the strangers in my life until I sat in the drive thru line at Starbucks. As I waited for the voice to greet me over the speaker, I realized I was hoping to hear a ray of sunshine.

That ray of sunshine belongs to the barista who wears his joy proudly. His voice smiles and his heart shines through with his every syllable. Everything about him is happy and there is no way to walk away from an encounter with him without grinning. He doesn't try to be joyous. He just is, with every fiber of his being. I've said maybe 20 words to him ever, but each and every encounter has left me basking in the glow of the sunshine he radiates.

His voice was not the one that cut through the silence, though. Instead, it was the voice of an actress. She's the barista I was dreading because it is so very evident that the perky and polite mask that she wears is exactly that -- a mask. She tries very hard to come across as happy, but the efforts are hollow and transparent. She follows a script that she seems to hope will convince people that she's kind, but sometimes she forgets her lines and she's left exposed. I saw it happen for myself once when I ordered Alexis the exact same drink I have ordered for her for a year. "We don't carry that. We've never carried it," the actress replied. What do you say to that? I BOUGHT IT YESTERDAY! She threw down her script and argued the point, showing her true colors as her voice dropped an octave and her eyes turned dark with anger and spite.

She tries to convince the world that she's happy, but she really isn't. All it takes is a few seconds around her co-worker to see the difference between trying to be happy and being built of joy.

As I approached the window, there seemed to be a delay. Of course. People who are trying too hard to be a character they aren't need time to put reposition their masks once in a while. Once the wolf in sheep's clothing finished with the car in front of me, I pulled up and waited. She smiled her artificial smile as she leaned out the window to hand me my drink.

"The car in front of you paid for your drink," she told me. I smiled at the random act of kindness even as I smirked that someone who was trying so hard to exude generosity was being upstaged by a random stranger. I handed over the gift card I had already pulled out of my pocket and handed it to her.

"I'd like to pay it forward, please," I told her.

She smiled her fake smile and continued on with her fake day. She is the barista who once made Alexis cry when she refused to make a favorite drink, but I like that the universe set up my revenge to play out that way.

It's always a good thing when the universe reminds you that kindness wins. Always.

Testing Underwater Boundaries

There was a point earlier this evening when Alexis was in full-blown meltdown mode because she wants to start blogging. The meltdown was its own special brand of crazy not worth getting into right now, but it started with her staring at a blank scream and WAILING "I don't know what to write!" That was followed by much sobbing and drama and have you ever met a 7-year old girl? Yeah. THAT.

If the short person hadn't been so blinded by exhaustion that she could have thought straight, she would have known she wants to write about how I'm so mean because I make her do silly things like sleep and wear appropriate clothes.

I don't know how it is that someone who loves sleep as much as I do ended up with a kid who hates sleep, but there it is. I'm trying to just accept this injustice.

The appropriate clothes thing, however, is a whole other issue. I figure that if I'm paying for clothes, I have veto power. That means Alexis can pick out whatever she wants when we go shopping, but I can say no. I often say no. She knows the rules and she respects the rules. She knows to shop the clearance racks. She knows clothes need to be reasonably well made. And she knows to stay away from bikinis.

Look, I know. I know there are people who think tiny girls in tiny bikinis are adorable, but I don't. I think tiny girls in swimsuits that cover stuff and stay in place while they run and swim and splash and play are adorable. You can disagree with me. It's cool. I'm not buying your clothes, so you don't have to worry about me vetoing what you like.

But Alexis does. Bikinis are an instant veto.

Apparently that fact annoys the child.

This past weekend we visited Castaway Bay. We spent the day splashing and sliding and swimming and GOOD GRIEF THE KID HAD FUN. I can't even put into words how much she enjoyed herself. "Bliss" is the best word I have to describe the look that was on her face all day long. Except, there were moments where the bliss melted away. It was replaced with OMG MY MOM IS SOOOOO MEAN face.

Alexis was wearing a tankini because of course she was. That's really the only kind of swimsuit that fits her. But, every once in a while, I would notice that the tankini top was running a little higher than normal. I'd give the kid a good glare and watch as she huffed, puffed, and unrolled her swimsuit top.

Yes, that's right. The 7-year old was attempting the Catholic schoolroom bathroom uniform switcheroo with her swimsuit, and she was doing it when I could see her. Up would go the tankini, smaller and smaller, tinier and tinier. Down would go the tankini ... what kind of evil mom would demand such a thing?

This mom, that's who.

After about the seventy eleventeenth kajillion time I had to glare at the kid to put her swimsuit back down, I finally asked her why. WHY MUST THOU TEST MY PATIENCE, CHILD?

"Mooooooooooom, there are a lot of cute boys here!" she replied.

I'll take six heavy duty chains, a case of duct tape, and a glass of water please. Don't ask questions, just send over the stuff, please.

I Am Candy Crush Saga's Latest Victim

I'm not confessing to anything, but it's possible that we took a mini-vacation this past weekend just so I could have a few hours in the car enjoying absolute and total silence. That does work with 7-year olds, by the way, so if you have a toddler and you're looking for silence, hang in there. It's a few years away, but you will reach a point where you can hand over an electronic device and then sit there enveloped in soothing sounds of mouths frozen in place as little fingers click and swipe and otherwise stay busy.

It's pretty awesome.

So as we headed to Sandusky to visit a water park, I sat in the passenger seat blissfully paying attention to the nothingness that comes from a busy kid. I listened as she giggled while watching a movie and then made out with the quiet. Then I kissed the quiet. And then I hugged it and held it tight.

And then I just sat there and swam in that silence.

Eventually, though, the pure joy gave way to a twitch. I needed to do something. I've spent the past several years trying to squeeze extra work in between work and parenting and is that a five minute opening? EDIT CLIENT PHOTOS! GOOOOO!

I'm not good at doing nothing is what I'm saying.

So I pulled out my phone and started trying to catch up on emails, but that lasted about 15 seconds because I cannot type on an iPhone without ending up with sentences that say things like monkey to the bank in the horse. Autocorrect is not my friend, and there was a lot of potential to make a bigger mess than I have with my 100+ unanswered emails.

So.

So I pulled up twitter and then saw it.

"Candy Crush Saga."

I don't know who mentioned it, but I HATE YOU.

I also hate the other person who mentioned it a few tweets later because that's all it took. I decided it was a sign that it was time to download a completely pointless game on my phone and play it for a few hours.

Several days later, OMG CANDY CRUSH SAGA OWNS ME.

You guys. YOU GUYS. I need an intervention. I started out just playing in the car on the way to Sandusky, but soon I was so desperate for more lives so I could keep playing that I started looking for help. I didn't connect the game to Facebook and ask friends for help because OH HELL NO. Of course not! I am not that annoying person! Instead, I asked Dr. Google for ideas and he was all, "Guuuurl, it's time to go live in the future!"

Hello, my name is Michelle and my iPhone now thinks it's Thursday. THURSDAY. That is how far into the future I have set the time on my phone so that I can keep my Candy Crush Saga fix alive. Wait. WAIT! Now it's Friday. Woooooo! Friday!

And I'm back. Sorry, I had to play one more board. Just one more, though. I can quit anytime. See this? this is me not playing that stupid game. Yup, still not playing. Not now either. Hey! I think I made it through a full 10 seconds without even thinking about swapping pieces of candy around! Ummmmm ... SQUIRREL!

I most certainly did not attempt to distract you so I could go play some more.

Help. Just ... help. Somebody send me some Girl Scout cookies or something so I stop playing long enough to break free from the Candy Crush Saga chains that bind me.

(I'm on level 66. You?)

(She had fun on the mini vacation! See! I have proof that not every second of it was spent playing a stupid game!)