Why, Yes, Those M&Ms DO Look Familiar

If I have a problem, there is a very simple way to resolve it--write about it here. Seriously. Either y'all will provide me with an answer that works out beautifully, or karma will step in and take care of things for me. When I wrote about the potential Castle Dilemma, karma took care of things.

I initially had zero expectations for when the castle would be delivered, but then last Thursday I looked up the tracking number and found that it was scheduled for delivery on Friday. Perfect! Just in time for Easter! Crap! I wasn't sure I wanted it for Easter! And then . . . Karma.

The package got lost. UPS didn't know what had happened to it, they just knew it was still "out for delivery" as late as today, when it was finally truly delivered. I'm guessing the UPS driver knew what was in the box and had a good ol' time playing with it all weekend. I'm picturing him wearing his brown shorts and hiding in the back of the truck with the castle all spread out before him. Regardless, the thing wasn't here for Easter, so Alexis had to suffer and just get a few pieces of candy and some books.

The poor, deprived child. I mean, not only was she stuck with lowly books, she even had the embarrassment of finding the same candy in some of her Easter eggs as she could have found in the pantry for the past five months. As in, I kinda sorta maybe pulled out the leftover clearance Halloween candy I had bought and re-used it as Easter candy.

Oh yes, I did. I am THAT brand of evil.

Regardless, the kid has no idea that she should be disappointed to have received a couple of books and some old/refurbished candy. As she plodded around the house in search of her eggs, she declared this Easter the "Best Easter EVER!"

I can only hope it's this easy to make her happy every Easter.

I Bet My Monday Was Better Than Yours

It wasn't the 102 degree fever.

It wasn't the chills.

It wasn't the funky-colored tongue.

It wasn't the tonsils that were swollen so huge that they looked like they were trying to hug one another.

It was when I bit into a Snickers egg and it tasted like ass-flavored cardboard that I went, "OMG! Batten down the hatches! Call the National Guard! Declare a National Emergency! I AM SICK!"

Just for a little reference, the last time I had stepped foot inside our Primary Care Provider's office, our street name reminded me of "redrum," meaning that it was two addresses ago, or at least nine years. I very rarely do the sick thing, and I especially don't do the sick enough to go get drugs thing. But, there I sat, suffering from what Dr. Google had declared strep throat. You know that anytime Dr. Google says something other than "You're dying," you had better take it serious.

As luck would have it, the only appointment I could get was at 4:15, which put me right smack in the middle of an Alexis-sized dilemma. In theory, that should have been plenty of time to finish the appointment and get back to daycare to pick up the kid before they closed at 6:00. The idea of a doctor's office being efficient is funny, though, so I went ahead and picked her up on my way over. There is nothing quite so fun as trying to entertain a 4-year old while contemplating which eating utensil would be best to gouge out your tonsils. (Answer = spork. Of course.)

Alexis and I piled into Audrey and made our way towards the doctor's office, her chatting her head off and me wishing I could put a sound-proof box over my head. Just when I thought the day couldn't possibly get any better, well, it did.

AWESOME.

That, my friends, is what happens when someone decides that stop signs are optional and turns left into oncoming traffic. I'm thinking that the fact that I didn't have a stop sign or light or anything and that she hit the side of my car should make it pretty clear-cut that I am not at fault. Right? Right, or at least that's what the police officer said as he cited her for failure to obey traffic signals or whatever.

The entertaining part of that little fiasco was that the woman tried to argue that she had stopped. Since the car in front of me had turned right, she must have had the right-of-way. And! And! I must have been driving really fast for her to misjudge it like that. The confused and irritated expression on the police officer's face made that little attempt at shirking the blame totally worth it, as did his ten-minute lecture on how she must be a moron. OK, so maybe he didn't call her a moron, but he did say that the evidence made it clear that I was travelling at a low rate of speed and had obviously done everything I could to avoid the collision. And then he made her repeat after him as he said, "I am at fault. I did not yield to oncoming traffic."

Big love to that police officer. Your sense of humor was the highlight of my crap-tacular day.

Actually, I take that back. A totally-fine-and-not-even-slightly-traumatized Alexis giving Audrey (my car) a hug on "her bump" was the highlight of my day. That kid has a heart of gold and then some.

Oh! Oh! Oh! AND there was another highlight to the day. A certain little post about Girl Scout cookies may have been syndicated over at BlogHer. Yup, that's a highlight, even if the first time that post ran here it led to me getting all sorts of angry emails from Girl Scout leaders declaring that I just don't understand how dangerous this world is and it's not safe for girls to go door-to-door and there is NOTHING lazy about sitting at a table at a mall and waiting for people to buy your cookies. Because, you know, there are no crazies at the mall. Ever.

Anyway, Alexis is fine. I'm considering decapitating myself until the antibiotics have a chance to kick this thing in the teeth. You should head over to BlogHer and leave a comment on the syndicated post so that I look even more special than y'all make me feel every single day.

Here's to hoping absolutely NOTHING notable happens tomorrow . . . Seriously.

Yup. She Gets It From Me.

With the sunroof wide open and Boom Boom Pow blasting out of the speakers, Alexis and I made our way through a little town, on our way home. I was thinking about the look on Alexis' dance teacher face the day that they had gone around and asked for everyone's favorite music. Alexis had declared, "Black-Eyed Peas," but she may as well have said, "Ornery Paint-Huffing Aliens" because the teacher had stared at her like she had sprung three heads.

As the stoplight turned from red to green, Alexis looked around, probably in search of a yellow car. She still plays the silly little game she invented years ago. These days, she's a bit more ruthless about it. Fortunately, she hasn't figured out that I don't actually play along, but rather just say, "UGH! You got me!" every time the kid yells, "YELLOW CAR!"

Alexis didn't spot a yellow car, but instead spotted a bicyclist coming from the opposite direction. He was a few dozen pounds overweight, a fact that was made very obvious because of his bright green skin-tight spandex pants and tank top. His sunglasses seemed better suited for someone closer to Alexis' age than for someone definitely older than me. His hair was the billboard proclaiming his age to be somewhere in his forties, not just because he was sporting a mullet, but also because he had resorted to a bad comb-over to create the business in the front.

Let's just say he was quite the sight as he pedaled furiously down the street.

Alexis looked at him and then said, "Momma, he can be your boyfriend if you want him to be." It was in that moment that I knew, without doubt, that sarcasm is genetic. Alexis and I are going to have sooooo much fun mocking the silliness of life in a few years.