Music Sooths The Zombie Soul

It was, perhaps, a mistake to be there in the first place. Alexis had already professed herself a little too tired and far too cranky to do much of anything. Given that she's 90% zombie, the words, "I'm sleepy" are very foreign coming from her mouth. But I had been looking forward to going to Phipps Conservatory all week, so we were going no matter what.

As we walked amongst the stunning flowers, Alexis' mood fluctuated from ZOMG SO CRANKY to perfectly reasonable. Back and forth, up and down, her attitude adjusted itself and then fell apart and then adjusted itself again. It was all because she had stayed up until past 11: 30 the previous night but then rose with the worms that morning. Even zombie-children need more than six hours of sleep. THIS I KNOW.

Alexis knew it, too. She even managed to apologize for being a grumpy butt a few times, amazing me with her maturity and self-awareness. Of course, it didn't stop her from whining and ripping a head or two off moments later, but whatever. She tries.

As I was about to give up on trying to enjoy the flowers between moments of having to jump off the tracks so I wasn't hit by the incoming roller coaster of a grumpy kid, loud music began to cut through the air. It came from a man standing in the center of the complex, beating loudly on what looked like a metal bowl. The steelpan clanged with crystal clear notes reminiscent of the Caribbean, bringing a jolt of summer to the middle of a cold winter day.

Alexis, of course, grabbed my hand and drug me towards the music. We stood there . . . and stood there . . . and stood there, She Of Much Grump suddenly transfixed and taken to a happier place. She watched as other kids took a turn at making whimsical music.

She stood transfixed as a little boy let the music creep into his soul and began to dance.

She stood transfixed as the man took back the reigns and composed a perfect rendition of the Super Mario Brothers theme.

She didn't want to join in. She didn't want to dance. She just wanted to be.

Sometimes it's good to just be.

She's Bigger Enough

It starts within moments of finding that second line on the pregnancy test--people start handing out advice like they do candy on Halloween. "My kid started reading at four months because I read to him in the womb. You should, too!" "Don't bother with those diapers. These are WAY cuter. Don't worry about the poop-wrangling part. Cute is more important!" "You better start applying for college now or she'll NEVER get in."

My "favorite" of the "You shoulds" was all the recommendations about what to buy. Let's just be honest--all those people who told me we HAD to have something were liars. We didn't need any of it. We especially didn't need a bouncy seat. AT ALL.

Putting Alexis in the bouncy seat was a little like putting our bulldog Meg into a tiny little purse. Awkward. Screamy. Miserable. Of course, just because the kid acted like I was setting her on fire when I strapped her into it didn't mean I didn't keep trying. People swore up and down and left and right that bouncy seats were the greatest invention in the history of mankind. They just FORGOT TO TELL ALEXIS.

I tried and tried and tried that thing, thinking that maybe Alexis just wasn't big enough for it.

It's still sitting upstairs, waiting for her to be big enough, I suppose.

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Alexis is going to be one of those people who have spreadsheets for their spreadsheets, each detailing every moment of every day and every possibility and scenario. She has planned out so much of her future it actually freaks me out. You know it's insane when a preschool teacher is blown away by the fact that the kid has already decided to participate in sports in high school because she wants a letterman jacket. Apparently that's weird? Just don't tell the teacher that Alexis has FAR more than just her high school details figured out. I mean, if you ask her about college she'll tell you she's taking Cody with her. At one point, I caught her packing for college, including a bowl for his water. Seriously.

It's common that Alexis will go on and on about what she's going to do some day. Some day she is going to have a daughter with "yellow hair and blue eyes." Some day she is going to watch TV all day long without me stopping her. Some day she is going to have a bedroom with its own bathroom. She's got it all so figured out that I don't pay much attention when she starts plotting the days that are yet to come.

I caught the words, but didn't really process what they symbolized until later. "When I'm big, do I have to learn how to drive?" she asked as we drove down the road.

"Yes," I replied, like the little drone that I am. The kid is DEFINITELY learning to drive, if only so I don't have to haul her butt all over the place.

"OK," she responded. "When I'm big, I'm going to drive a red car.

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I caught it later. She said, "When I'm big."

Not "When I'm bigger enough."

For as long as Alexis has been forming sentences, she has ALWAYS phrased it, "When I'm bigger enough." She has said it so frequently that Mr. Husband and I adopted her way of saying it. I have to admit, it actually makes more sense than the grammatically correct version.

She has stopped saying, "When I'm bigger enough."

I guess I can put that bouncy seat away.

It's A Shame She's Not At Least A Little Bit Photogenic