Get Out of Jail Free

There's lots of ways to get sent home from daycare. You can have a fever, you can beat another kid up, or you can cuss a lot. But the fastest way to get out of jail for free, with absolutely no chance that you'll end up like Paris, is to blow chunks. It seems that if you do a thorough enough job of vomiting, not only will your teacher call your parents, she will also insist that you vacate the premises immediately. There's no discussion of "was she eating her hands and just gag herself" or "does she have a fever," you just have to leave. Immediately. Apparently $200 a week does not buy you a vomit-cleaner-upper.

So vomit she did, not long after lunch, and Daddy picked the Kinnley Bear up. They proceeded to have loads of fun while we tried to determine the cause of puke. The current theories are: 1)She ate something she shouldn't have and 2)She ate something she shouldn't have.

Number one is suspected to be fish. You see, Miss Alexis allegedly ate really well at lunch and didn't seem sick at all. The only problem is that the lunch that Daddy packed for her came home with her. So that means she ate school lunch. School lunch was some sort of deep-fried fish disaster accompanied by heaps of fat. If it wasn't the dead animal that got her, it was probably the loads of fat and calories. Our dear Alexis usually, and generally prefers, healthy food. Give her a choice between lima beans and french fries, and I guarantee she will eat the lima beans. Anyway, Daddy is through the roof at the prospect of Alexis eating meat, so his conversation with the daycare owner on Monday morning should be interesting (and I quote, ahem, "Is it really so *bleeping* *bleep* *bleepity* *bleep* to figure out that she doesn't eat anything that used to *bleepity* *bleep* breathe").

Number two is suspected to be, how shall I say, well, Number Two. Um, yeah. When Alexis sticks her hand down her pants, let's just say she's not exactly digging for treasure. And let's not ever relive that moment ever again. Well, maybe once more. I think I will mention it the first time she brings a boy home. I have beautiful before pictures to accompany the story. There are no after pictures because that is just plain wrong.

Where's D-D-D-Dora?

And now for another Dora sighting by the one and only Alexis . . .

Dora is illuminating the way at Lowe's:

Houston, We Have a Problem

Lately Alexis has been throwing fits in the car. I finally figured out why.

I like to listen to ESPN radio in the car (why, yes, I do know how awesome that makes me--but could one of you men please remind my husband of that? he seems to have forgotten just how rare it is that a woman voluntarily pays attention to sports). Apparently, Alexis likes to listen to music in the car. More than once I've switched over to music and she's stopped with the hissy fit action. It's now turning into a daily occurrence. And now that I absolutely refuse to turn on Justin Timberlake no matter how much she begs, she's learning to cope with whatever music is on. Just as long as it is music.

For now I can live with this arrangement. It is, after all, the summer and there are no good sporting events going on (yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, NBA and until yesterday NHL finals--I can't pretend to care about any of the teams in the finals this year). It's not like I'm going to miss some exciting Pirates news. But fall will be here before we know it, and I am NOT listening to some fluffy pop music when I could be listening to Steelers/Penguins talk 24/7. The only person bringing the SexyBack should be Troy Polamalou.

So, Alexis baby, please learn to like listening to sports. And quick like. Otherwise, you are going to have a very miserable time every Sunday from October until February.