Yes, I'm Mean. It's True.

Mr. Husband turned to a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Alexis and asked, "What do you want to do today?" Their day together was wide open and the Little Miss had her choice of Disney parks to visit.

"I want to make a new friend!" she replied, showing that maybe, just maybe, she really does get what life is all about.

Little things like that make me think that we might just be doing something right. They also make me think it's OK if we do something very, very wrong. Maybe.

Later that evening, the three of us sat watching the cheese-tastic Country Bear Jamboree in the Magic Kingdom. Alexis sat perched in my lap so that she could see over the tall people in front of us, completely engrossed in the awful music and archaic animatronics. Because she hates me, her chubby fingers were entangled in my hair and she was doing that torturous lip-sucking thing that she does RIGHT next to my ear.

I blame the proximity of her face to my ear for what happened next. Well, that, and this guy:

Without even thinking about it, I whispered to Alexis, "If you don't stop sucking your lip, your teeth are going to end up looking like that bear's."

My statement initially was met with silence and then, "My teeth will look like that?" Sadness dripped from her words as she continued, "But my friends will make fun of me."

Ignoring the fact that I'm not ready for my kid to worry about what her friends think, I had a feeling I had FINALLY struck gold. For months and months I had tried to find a reason, bribe, excuse, threat, promise . . . anything . . . that would get Alexis to stop sucking on her lip. With a little bit of guilt in my heart but a whole lot of annoyance in my head, I repeated that sucking on her lip would make Alexis' teeth stick out like the bear's.

The kid started weeping openly, clearly distraught at the very idea. The little bit of guilt in my heart grew bigger, but it still didn't reach my brain. I kept pouring it on. And poured it on. And poured it on.

Off and on ever since that fateful moment, Alexis has caught herself sucking her lip, started to cry, and said that she doesn't want to look like that bear. I should probably feel bad for giving the poor kid a complex, but at least I taught her how to make friends, right? Friends who will make fun of her buck teeth, perhaps, but still. Just so long as she quits sucking her lip, it'll all work out. Or something.

 

Bittersweet Symphony

Growing up is bittersweet for everyone involved. For Alexis, there is a bit of emphasis on the bitter, at least in her head. She is far more likely to ponder the joys of being a baby again than she is to think of the freedoms that come with getting older. I've tried to explain that the whole baby thing was a one time shot and her time to eat, sleep, and poop all day are done, but she doesn't care about my reasoning. She wants to wear baby clothes and be wrapped tightly in a blanket and do all the things that babies do. Really, who doesn't?

Her biggest heartache attached to getting older is the realization that she just won't get carried around all the time anymore. It drives her CRAZY. She wants to be carried so, so, so badly. She tries begging, crying, asking nicely, manipulating, pleading . . . everything. Alas, she is just plain too heavy to get hauled around, at least by me.

As we made our way through the various Disney parks, the whole thing where the kid no longer gets to board a human chariot started to eat at her soul. With sadness in her eyes, she would plead, occasionally gaining a little sympathy from her dad. It got so bad that she actually started to ask for one of those wheeled things she saw other kids riding in. You know, a stroller.

People, the kid can tell you she's "frust-er-rated" and can accurately recite the Pledge of Allegiance, but she didn't know the word "stroller." That might say something about how long it has been since she last rode in one, mostly because she has always hated them with the fire of 15632140912384 suns. One day a few years ago I forgot the handcuffs and cement shoes at home and decided it was just plain time to give up on those fancy wheeled contraptions. We haven't looked back since.

Anyway, while trying to explain that getting bigger was a good thing, we discovered BAM! The kid is big enough for the BIG RIDES! BAM! BAM! BAM! We weren't entirely sure how she would feel about the likes of Splash Mountain and Big Thunder Mountain and Tower of Terror, but I think it is now safe to say she liked them. A lot.

Before you make fun of how much of a dork I am in the photo, please note that I was trying VERY hard to sell the ride to Alexis. If ever I have wanted her to enjoy something, that was it. It was a make-or-break moment in our little Disney getaway. If she liked it, that meant we would get to ride the big rides the rest of the week. If not, I was going to start plotting violence while listening to an endless loop of "It's a Small World."

I needn't have worried. We rode Splash Mountain so many times that I lost count.

Bittersweet, indeed.

Adventurer > Princess

It's just what they do. If you are of the female variety of human, you will very likely be referred to as "Princess" at least once while you are meandering through the fun that is Disney World. If you're under four-feet tall, you'll probably hear, "Hello, Princess!" out of the mouth of every single Disney Cast Member you encounter. Toss a costume into the mix, and you might as well acknowledge that the soundtrack of your day will be, "Hello, Princess. Hello, Princess. Hello, Princess. Hello, Princess. Hello, Princess . . . "

All day. Over and over and over again.

Even if you're not dressed as a Princess.

Alexis went to EPCOT dressed as her current favorite Disney character, Alice. To each person who greeted her with the standard Princess line, she grumpily muttered, "I'm NOT a Princess. I'm an adventurer."

Alice got it right, though. Of course.