The Little Things Make The Most Beautiful Flames

So, the stinkbugs are back.

I say that as if you aren't 't already well aware, but I'm fairly certain that everyone everywhere is dealing with them now. And if you aren't? Do you mind if I sleep on your couch? Because I've had quite enough of swatting at things flying around my head. It's time for a road trip.

Obviously, my plan to burn them all with fire isn't going as well as I had hoped.

Except that it is.

Before I get into that, though, I would like to point out that no matter where you've found a stinkbug, someone has found one in a worse place. There are no winners in this game, but at least I now know to be grateful for the minor inconvenience that is Ali Cat eating stinkbugs and then puking up their chewed up bits and pieces all over my family room.

True story. That has been happening daily. It's not that bad when you consider the number of people who have kids who have chewed on a stinkbug. Or two.

Annnnd ... back to the fire. I'm telling you this story for no other reason that because it brings me great joy. It's one of those gleeful moments that I wish I could bottle up and treasure forever and ever. I don't have a bottle that's big enough to hold moments, so I have to settle for blogging.

Anyway, Saturday evening a few friends ended up at our house. As often happens when friends gather around these parts, a fire spontaneously appeared in the fire pit. Or the husband started a fire. Whichever.

As we sat gathered around the warm flames enjoying one another's company, we contemplated the perfection that is a good s'more. And then it happened.

A stinkbug appeared.

The little douchebug proudly strutted its way into our circle and stood there, acting as if it was a part of the group of friends. It wasn't, of course, but it tried very hard to play the part as it stood warming its feet by the fire.

And then it decided it needed to get a little warmer.

And a little warmer yet.

The douchebug went from staring at the fire from about six inches away, to marching its way directly into the flames. It. Was. Marvelous.

It became even more marvelous with the little douchebug burst into flames.

It's the little things in life that bring me great joy, especially when its the little things bursting into flame. Now if only it had taken about a million of its closest friends with it ...

Just Don't Puke On My Shoes

I've never played Chicken. Call me crazy, but I just don't feel the need to risk life and limb for the sake of an adrenaline rush.

Especially since all it takes is for my phone to ring for me to get all wound up.

There's nothing that gets your blood flowing quite like a call from the school nurse, is there? "I have Alexis in my office. She says she has a tummy ache and she has a bit of a fever."

I got the call just as the venti-sized dose of caffeine I had chugged started to take effect. ZOOOOOM!ZOOOOOMY! ZOOOOOOMMMM! You could have peeled me off of the ceiling at that moment, except that I was hiding under my desk and trying very hard not to move a muscle. It was a game of Chicken, and I was not going to flinch.

So ... crickets. That's what the School Nurse heard on the phone.

I didn't dare respond to the news because I knew the School Nurse was busy judging me. Is it better to be That Parent who says, "Tell her to suck it up and call me if she gets worse?" Or is it better to be That Parent who drops everything and rescues their kid from the dungeon-like sick room?

I DON'T KNOW.

I'M VERY NOT EXPERIENCED AT THIS.

I REALLY JUST DIDN'T WANT PUKE ON MY SHOES.

There. I said it. The whole "tummy ache" thing had me thoroughly questioning everything including the reason the sky is blue. I bet it's blue because the clouds get sad when parents wind up with puke on their shoes. I know I get sad when it happens.

And I know that Alexis can make herself throw up if she thinks about it long enough. She doesn't need to be sick AT ALL. She just possesses magical bulimia powers and always has. Don't even think about mentioning puke around her because she will get obsessed with the idea and will prove that I'm right about this whole voluntary puker thing. Make sure you're wearing rainboots.

"What would you like to do?" the nurse cut through my racing thoughts and demanded some sort of response to her description of the situation.

Clearly she didn't understand that if there was going to be puking on shoes, I really wanted it to be over with before I was within ten miles of the kid.

CHICKEN.

DO I DARE LEAVE HER THERE?

DO I DARE PICK HER UP?

WHAT DO I DOOOOOOOOOO?

The thoughts circled my mind like a racecar at Daytona. Zoooooooom!

I flinched. I picked the kid up, and then was treated to a day of her being OBVIOUSLY fine. Not sick. Not even a little bit. I'm thinking that "little bit of a fever" was because the kid spent a few seconds too long thinking about how much she luuuurves Justin Bieber.

I definitely lost this round of Chicken, but I have learned much and will do better next time. Maybe.

Straight A-Head

October is already shaping up to be one of those months that passes by faster than I can blink, so when we saw a decent weather forecast for this past weekend, we decided to make the most of it.

Pumpkin farm time.

And this is where you should be distracted by STRAIGHT HAIR OMG HOW DID THAT HAPPEN?

How, indeed.

Alexis begs me to straighten her hair every single day and has for approximately the past two years, except that it has felt more like an eternity because GIVE IT UP, KID. Curls. She has them. There is no amount of wishing and hoping that's going to change that, so she really should just accept her hair for what it is.

She isn't going to.

So she woke up Saturday morning with desperation in her voice and begging on her To Do List. Initially I completely blocked her out, but then I thought about it for a second.

Blackmail. I know for a fact that I can blackmail the kid to do anything in exchange for straightening her hair. Half an hour after I reached that realization, the family room was really super clean.

So I straightened.

And then held it over her head ALL DAY LONG.

What's that? You don't want to cooperate for a photo?

"I straightened your hair. Now smile."

"Oh, we spent money for animal food and now you're too scared to feed the camel? TOO BAD. I STRAIGHTENED YOUR HAIR."

Lest you be concerned for the poor curl-challenged child, this photo was taken about ten seconds after the teary one.

She was happy. It just took her a second to warm up to the joy of fuzzy things that don't live in her house.

(Photo by Allison)

And man was she happy. All day long. I'm sure part of it was because she was with some of her favorite friends.

But part of it was because she felt pretty with her hair straight.

I hate that she doesn't love everything about herself just the way she is.