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Saturday
Nov032007

I Think She Even Stole the Title for this Post

It's a fact that all parents know; children will make you lose your mind. It starts the first night home from the hospital. You realize that they really didn't give you an instruction manual, you have no idea what to do, and HOLY HECK it wasn't a lie that babies wake up every three hours. The fearful sleep deprivation quickly sinks you to depths you never knew were possible.

Later, they suck a little more of your brain out by just being too damn cute for their own good. You find yourself enthralled by simple things like how adorable it is when they hold a rattle all by themselves for the very first time, because surely no other human being has ever before managed such an amazing feat. They drive you absolutely senseless what with their smiles and coos and giggles. You are fully aware that you are being sucked in, but it's worth it.

Throughout these early stages of insanity, you are pretty sure you are just a few moments of alone time away from regaining clarity. But then comes the worst stage of all. It's the stage where you decide that you truly have lost your mind because YOU CAN'T FIND ANYTHING ANYMORE. That camera you could swear you left on the dresser? Obviously you are mistaken because it's not there. You walk over the table where you set down the TV remote, only to think you must have left it elsewhere. You scour the house for your iPod because you just know you brought it in the house, but aren't sure where you put it.

Then it hits you. You live with a thief. A very short, very cute, very sly thief. You figure that it won't be that hard to find the missing items. After all, the thief is short. There aren't a lot of places below their four foot reach where they can hide things. But then weeks go by without any sign of the really invisible stick of deodorant. You have no idea where the thief is stashing things. Suddenly your house seems ten times it's size and the little pocket of space that's holding your prized possessions could be anywhere. It's the proverbial needle in a haystack.

For me, this morning it was the literal knitting needle in a haystack. The sweater that I have so lovingly been working on for the past few weeks is sitting stagnant on a needle, unable to move towards completion because--hello--you need two needles to knit. And needle number two is nowhere to be found. To complicate the situation, Alexis is fully capable of travelling up and down the stairs. So it's not like the needle's current hiding place can in any way be narrowed down. It might still be in the bedroom. But it could also be jammed under couch cushions, stashed in the trash can, buried below the bathroom sink, being used to dismantle Alexis' crib. For all I know, Alexis might have fed it to Meg.

I have tried asking Alexis where she hid it. In the past, she has led me to CDs that she's ripped from their players, bananas that I know she can't have eaten quite that quickly, and various other objects. But she's not budging on the whereabouts of that knitting needle. So I'll buy another pair, knowing full well that the odd number will drive me further down into the crazy abyss.

I am currently missing a knitting needle, a white gold necklace, an iPod case, the top to a mini chopper, a tube of Chapstick, one puppy puzzle piece, and my mind. If you have see them anywhere, please let me know.

Friday
Nov022007

Gimme a Break, Gimme a Break

I present to you photographic evidence that eating too many Kit Kats does indeed cause bodily harm:

THAT is Kit Kat Belly. It's a condition that is likely to result in your shirt riding up and your jeans coming unsnapped. Repeatedly.

Hitting the dog on the head with a maraca will not cure your Kit Kat Belly. It will, however, get you in big trouble with your Mother and she WILL make you feel bad for being mean.

Thursday
Nov012007

Bodily Harm All Around

I decided to join in the madness that is NaBloPoMo, although it won't be much of a challenge. For those not in the know, November is National Blog Posting Month. So lots and lots of bloggers commit to posting every single day during the month. I always post every day and have for over 21 months (give or take a handful of days when Verizon was trying to suck my brains out of my head). It won't be that hard to go the whole month. It wouldn't even be a challenge if I decided I would only blog about parents that annoy me. Cuz' really, those are everywhere. Or at least they have been this week.

Exhibit A crossed my path at Gymboree the other day. Apparently kids feet grow or something because while Alexis was busy wearing way cute sandals all summer, she went and outgrew all but like three pairs socks. Since you can only flip them inside out a few times before it becomes a little too obvious, I thought a sock shopping expedition was warranted. Off to Gymboree we went to dig through clearance bins. Alexis, of course, bee-lined straight for the television. The child that will not just stare at Sesame Street while I'm in the shower, despite my fervent pleas, cannot wait to watch Elmo on the TV in Gymboree. She ran over as fast as her little legs would carry her and prepared to flop down in a chair.

Just as Alexis' little butt was about to meet bright blue plastic, the little girl seated nearby in the bright orange chair gave her a shove. A shove hard enough to send her flying under the clearance rack, four feet away. I dashed over to check for blood and nurse the Category 4 Meltdown while ignoring the urge to go all Jeff Reed on the demon spawn's head. As tears poured down Alexis' chubby little cheeks, a woman previously perusing over-priced sweaters broke from her Very Important Cell Phone Conversation regarding ugly water heater repairmen to toss a nugget of wisdom over her shoulder, "Oh, she's not good at sharing." She then turned back around and resumed her discussions of Ted as her demon spawn unleashed on a second victim.

Anyone who does not see anything wrong with the woman's response, please leave now. I can't be your friend.

Yesterday Alexis and I had another lovely run-in. The mother of the little boy who ripped a book from Alexis' hand as she was holding it and asking me to read to her? Definitely not my friend. That woman was perhaps five feet away, certainly within hearing range, and sitting right next to a whole bookshelf of lovely books not currently in use. I was so proud of Alexis when she politely asked for the book back with a soft "Book, please?" I was even prouder of her that she didn't have a meltdown when the little boy didn't give it back. The whole time I was thinking that if Alexis pulled that, I would be over there making her return the book and apologize. But whatever. What REALLY got my blood boiling was when Alexis and I walked over to the bookshelf to pick out a different book only to have the first one launched directly at my head. Oh yes, it made contact. The mother, on the other hand, didn't. She just kept sitting there watching her little boy. Not one word to us or the little boy.

Is it just me, or are people letting their kids get away with way too much these days? (So asks the woman who let her Toddler eat Kit Kats for breakfast this morning.)