It Was Easier When She Didn't Know How to Talk

Every year around this time, it happens. I get asked for Christmas lists. As much as I loathe writing a list of gift ideas for our little family (and, oh, I LOATHE it), I do understand the need. I get that it's nice to be sure that a gift will be wanted and blah, blah, blah, I just hate that I feel like I'm demanding that people buy me stuff. Which, um, no. I'd almost rather get nothing than have to produce a list.

Regardless, every year around this time, I play along with the list game. I email the husband and ask for his portion. Every year he takes the path of annoying and gives me a list I can't work with, but whatever. Eventually, I manage to yank something useful out of him.

Every year around this time, I put together my list. It is basically the same each time--Boyd's plush ornaments, a Hallmark motion ornament, Christmas decorations, and camera stuff. It's all the stuff that I want but won't buy for myself. Easy enough.

And then there's Alexis. For the first few years of her life, I declared myself Supreme Ruler and Boss of Everything and just picked stuff based on what I thought she would like and which wouldn't make me crazy. Last year was the first year she had any sort of opinion in the whole thing, which was fine because she did a good job. It was better than fine, actually, because she's pretty much the only person who knows what she already has. I could stand in the Barbie aisle for an hour and not know what she does or doesn't have, but she can point out that she already has the Barbie with blue eyes and blond hair that's wearing a purple tank top, jeans, pink shoes, and has a pink butterfly tramp stamp on her back. I probably just described 98% of the Barbie population, but that's EXACTLY why I need the kid to say what she wants. Only she knows what's currently buried in her playroom.

So this year I turned to Alexis and asked her for some ideas. She told me it was a secret. "Fine," I replied. "Can you circle what you want in this catalog so Santa has some ideas?" I continued as I handed her the Target toy flyer.

She circled two things. Two things that even *I* know she already has.

SO. HELPFUL.

I went back to her and asked once again what she would like. Again she refused to tell me. Again I reminded her that Santa needs a little help here. She refused and refused and refused to give me even the slightest idea. Finally, after tons of prodding, she turned to me and said, "Momma, what I want for Christmas is between me and Santa."

Well, then.

Bah. Humbug.

If I were to paint a portrait of my inbox, it would portray piles and piles and piles of papers stacked haphazardly from the floor all the way to the ceiling. That is to say, I'm way behind. I have big dreams of catching up over the Thanksgiving break, but for now, I'm just treading water.

Somehow as I was doggy paddling through email today, I happened to notice a new message purporting to be from PayPal. I gave it a quick once over and thought it to be a phishing scam, but a few words from the email tugged at my soul. I figured it wouldn't hurt to log into the PayPal account in question, just in case.

What I found was that the email was real. I won't bother to copy and paste the whole thing here, but if you read between the lines, basically it says, "Somebody reported that Christmas Crazy is a scam, so now you are going to have to jump through 23523 flaming hoops. If you don't, we're going to shut down your account in six days."

I've had a few hours to stop being angry that someone would be so ridiculous as to potentially keep kids from having the Christmas we've worked to put together. Perhaps it was someone who desperately needs attention. Perhaps it is someone who hates the sparkle and joy of the holidays. Perhaps it's someone who has something against me. Perhaps it's somebody who just has too much time on their hands.

Whatever.

Regardless, there isn't anything I can do to fix whatever it is that person needs. I've posted plenty of photos showing piles of gift cards that were sent to Alle-Kiski HOPE Center and The Women's Center & Shelter of Greater Pittsburgh, as well as photos of the mountains of toys which made their way to Toys for Tots. Literally millions of people have heard mention of me showing up for Stuff-a-Bus with enough toys to fill half a bus. Plenty of people were generous enough to help with the shopping and delivery and saw it all with their own eyes.

Whatever.

To keep PayPal from cancelling the account, I'll be photocopying receipts and getting letters and filling out forms and generally wasting valuable time. I have absolutely everything--I kept every receipt for every toy and gift card last year. I have receipts for everything that has been accomplished so far this year. I'll provide the copies. I'll fill out the forms. I will waste the time of everyone involved at the various agencies. I'll jump through whatever flaming hoops are thrown in front of me because it's for the kids.

But I will absolutely be grumpy while I do it.

Never Ask Dr. Google Anything

It started out completely innocently. I had turned to Dr. Google to try to find something for work, but as often happens, a wormhole opened up and sucked me into the Land of Random. A click here, a search there, a few more clicky clicks and there it was. I found myself looking at a list of symptoms of Bipolar Disorder in children.

As I glanced at the list, I started to place a mental checkmark next to the things that applied to Alexis. Check. Check. Check. And . . . check. And . . OMG . . . check check check.

There was a whole lot of checks.

For a split second, I felt the raw edges of worry begin to seep into my brain. What if? Should I? Do I? Is she?

And then I took another look at the list.

Oppositional behavior. Yup, the kid has been known to do a few things I've told her not to do.

Frequent mood swings. OMG, yes. Alexis is the queen of Giggles Turned to Tears. I mean, it's all fun and games until the Bulldog looks at you wrong.

Silliness, goofiness, giddiness. Ding! Ding! Ding! The kid can't be serious for more than ten seconds at a time.

Restlessness, fidgetiness. Well, yeah, getting Alexis to sit still generally requires duct tape and bricks.

Grandiosity. Hmmm . . . yeah, if you ask Alexis to describe something, she usually exaggerate it a bit.

Impulsivity. Sure. I mean, Alexis has been known to blurt out things like, "Boys can't have ponytails!" after seeing a REALLY big guy who looked like he had just hopped off his Harley.

Distractibility. Oh, hell yes. All it takes is something sparkly or shiny or Jonas and the kid is all "Huh? What's the what?"

Hyperactivity. I imagine bouncing off the walls counts? If so, YES. YES. YES. Alexis is bouncier than a rubber ball on speed.

Thanks to Dr. Google, I now realize Alexis has Bipolar Disorder. Either that, or she's a COMPLETELY NORMAL FOUR-YEAR OLD.

Stupid Dr. Google.