The One About Needing Her Momma More Than The Training Wheels

In some ways, I feel like I'm already listening to the *tick* *tick* *tick* of borrowed time. When I was her age, the training wheels were gone and I was flying free through the neighborhood.

But, I was far more independent than she is. I was born trying to run away while she has spent her life trying to crawl back into the womb. It's one of the ways our personalities are fundamentally different.

While I rarely ask for help (one of my faults, if we're being honest), she asks for help entirely too often.

It's OK, though. It's good to be needed and not a day goes by without the short person making me feel VERY, VERY, VERY needed.

Maybe a little too needed.

At 5 1/2, she still flat-out refuses to ride her bike alone. She still refuses to ride her bike fast. She still refuses to even consider putting her feet on the pedals when within 50 feet of a hill. She still demands that I hold on to her at all times.

And if I demand that she try being a little independent, that she act a little more like the Big Girl she is on the outside, the waterworks start.

She may be starting to look like a Big Girl, but she still needs her mommy. In her heart, she's still a Little Girl.

Sometimes I think this growing up thing is harder on her than it is me. She wants to be a Big Girl, but she most definitely isn't ready just yet.

Just keep borrowing that time, Alexis. I'm kind of enjoying it.

Worth the High Price. Definitely.

Every time I mention that Alexis essentially runs the show when it comes to the music selection in the car, I get grief about it. I don't think that there's a good way to explain why I grant the kid control other than to say, well, because she cares about it more than I do.

I love music. I really, really do. In fact, I very nearly was a music major in college. I was offered a full scholarship at a college in North Dakota and a partial scholarship at another college. Perhaps you've heard of it? Oberlin? Yeah. Seriously. Obviously, I decided to go in another direction and things worked out just fine, but I really do love all things music.

Alexis loves it more.

She has spent her entire life bopping to the rhythm in her head, dancing to the beat that only she can hear, and composing lyrics that often make sense to only her. She spends hours "performing" in her playroom and even more time creating a stage wherever she goes. From the retaining wall in the garden to stairs at the playground, all the world is her stage and every passing moment is an opportunity to perform.

So if she wants to sing along to some Katy Perry while we eat dinner? OK. If she wants to jam to a little Britney Spears when we're walking through the mall? Fine. If she wants to blast Pink at top volume while we're driving home? Sure. I can usually tune the noise out.

I draw the line at Justin Bieber, though. I have to have standards, and my standards want to punch him in the face. I don't really know why his music annoys me so much, but it does. I'd rather listen to the Black-Eyed Peas live (which, ACK! they're horrible live!) 24 hours a day and 7 days a week for the rest of my life than even one second of Justin Bieber.

Alexis, of course, loooooooves Justin Bieber. Just last week she told me that she hopes he breaks up with Selena Gomez so he can be her boyfriend instead. Just as soon as I was done chaining her to a register in the basement, I told her she's not dating until she's 50-years old.

I live in a Justin Bieber-free zone. As I should.

Or at least, I used to.

See, I have this thing for the $5 albums on Amazon. I'm sort of addicted to snagging one or two each month. I usually get albums specifically for Alexis with the idea that her terrible taste in music is far less annoying when it rotates a lot. For example, I can handle Britney Spears once or twice per week. Every day, though? NOOOOOOOO.

Justin Bieber has a $5 album this month. I stared at it one afternoon for a few minutes, contemplating what sort of award I would deserve if I bought it for Alexis. Then I punched myself in the face for even considering it. But then I thought about it again later that night, and again the next night, and then again Saturday morning. I kept thinking about how I tortured my parents with New Kids on the Block and how they rolled their eyes, but went along with it.

You guys, my parents sucked as parents in many, many ways. It bothered me to realize they had me beat in that one aspect. If they could tolerate really bad music, I should be able to, too.

But I couldn't just buy the Justin Bieber album. HELL NO. Instead, I figured I would dangle it in front of Alexis' face for a bit and see what I could get out of it. I showed it to her on my laptop and then asked her what she thought she could do to earn it. Her immediate response was to say, "I'll clean my playroom!"

I could not have possibly asked for anything bigger.

Alexis NEVER cleans her playroom. She's actually not required to, as it is her space and I can close the door and pretend I don't know that she and her friends set off a few bombs in there. For as long as Alexis is good about cleaning up any and all toys in all of the other rooms of our house, I've told her that the playroom is hers to do what she wants with. It's her "Sacred Space."

But it was soooooooo trashed when she made the offer. I knew it was trashed. She knew it was trashed. She also knew that it would make me crazy happy to see it cleaned up.

Two hours later, silence reigned supreme over the house. I figured Alexis had forgotten that she was supposed to be cleaning her playroom. I walked in expecting to find her coloring or ripping the clothes off of dolls or something. Instead, I walked into a very nearly spotless room.

You guys.

YOU GUYS.

Alexis not only picked up the toys everywhere, she took the time to put them away correctly. Each bin is perfectly organized--the Happy Meal toys are all in a bin together, the play food is organized perfectly, even the play silverware is sorted and stacked neatly. It looks like a really anal retentive person cleaned it all. Namely me. But it wasn't me. It was her. ALL HER.

And all because she wanted a Justin Bieber album.

I think I may want to kiss him on the face.

Projectcascade-itis Strikes Again

I have a very severe case of Projectcascade-itis. I start out trying to do one thing and six months later find myself with about ten related projects all still in progress. It's like a domino effect that just keeps going and going and going, but I never manage to circle back to the start.

Exhibit A: Our guest bedroom. In January, I made up my mind to finally make it look like an actual room. All it needed was a little paint . . .

Hahahahahahahaha! It's not done yet.

Let's take a walk through the mind of a mad woman for a moment and explore just how derailed that project has become. I painted the room in two nights. It turned out fantastic, even. That left me to just put the room back together, but when I went to move furniture into place, I was all, "Man, we really need a dresser in here."

So I went shopping for a dresser.

And couldn't find one I thought was reasonably priced.

I couldn't hang any art on the walls or even figure out where to place the bed until I had a dresser, so I figured I'd give it a little bit and just leave everything piled in the middle of the room where I had put it while I painted. It's still all there, including the dirty paper towels from wiping up a paint drip. Seven months later.

I'M SO AWESOME.

Blah, blah, blah, some months passed and I was still looking for a dresser, but was absolutely dead set against spending a lot of money for a dresser for a guest bedroom that rarely gets used. But then I had a brilliant idea--I would buy a new dresser for Alexis and move hers into that room. It was a perfect idea because her dresser is a little too small for all of her stuff and it was a scratch and dent purchase with a slightly dangerous twist--the top isn't actually attached to the dresser. One of these days she's going to figure out that if she pulls on the fake marble top, it will move. Given that we're talking about my kid, that discovery will end with a broken foot and a phobia of furniture.

I was willing to pay a bit more for a decent dresser for the kid, so I reset my search. I went to every store that sells furniture in this galaxy AND the next, and found ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Everything was either too expensive or she didn't like it or it wasn't something that would fit in with the other furniture in her room.

So, I gave up. I just left the guest bedroom a disaster zone and started working on the dining room paint project from hell (which, surprise! is also not done). That particular project led to me needing some old windows (if you're confused as to how painting a dining room requires old windows, so am I, but it does). We ran to Construction Junction for the windows.

And found this:

Isn't it delightfully hideous! It was actually in a couple of pieces when we bought it. That photo was taken after Mr. Husband reattached a drawer front and fixed the slider thingys (technical term) and made a couple of other minor repairs.

But, it didn't matter that it was a hideous dresser in horrible condition because of this:

KABOOM! $8 for a dresser!

So. I sat there with a guest bedroom that needed a dresser and a hideous $8 dresser that doesn't at all match anything. And was hideous. Did I mention that it was hideous? It was hideous. I did the only thing that made sense and told Alexis that it was her new dresser and asked her how she wanted me to paint it.

I was hoping she'd say something like, "Can you paint it white?"

HAHAHAHAHAHA!

It was white for a while because Mr. Husband couldn't handle how long it was taking me to finish it:

A wise person would have just shoved it in the guest room at that point, but I'm not wise. Instead, I followed Alexis' instructions and made it The Dresser Of Her Dreams.

And this is where I have to be a pain in the butt and make you click over to the Review page to see what happened next. Here's a hint:

Go see the rest and enter to win some Olympic ONE paint right over here.