What Kind of Super Power is a Stare Anyway? LAME.

Within hours of closing on the new house, I stood with Alexis in the paint aisle, holding a shower curtain in one hand and some paint chips in the other. We had just acquired a sugary sweet Hello Kitty set for her bathroom and the mission was to match it all together.

I knew the kid was going to choose pink, but I still showed her a plethora of options. There was pale blue, white, gray, dark blue, light pink, dark pink, all sorts of choices. She studied the paint chips, studied the shower curtain, and then looked up at me and declared that she wanted the walls to be pink like Hello Kitty's hat.

And so it was. A pink bathroom. A bright pink bathroom.

For some reason, all of which probably have to do with the fact that I hate pink, it took until this past week for me to pop open that can of paint and get to work. The second I pulled the lid off, I gagged a little. As I stirred and stirred, I reminded myself that it would dry darker on the walls than it was in the can. That was certainly a good thing. I scooped a little onto a paint brush and slapped it onto the wall.

It looked like Care Bear blood.

I kept going, working my way around the room, drop of Care Bear blood after drop of Care Bear blood. When it was done, it truly was so pink that even Strawberry Shortcake, the Queen of Gross Pink Things, would vomit immediately upon entering the room.

It dried darker all right. Now it looks like there was some sort of Care Bear massacre. Instead of the Bears successfully using their magical Care Bear Stare to ward off evil, they got their asses kicked and now their blood has dried all over the walls.

A Care Bear (or two) died so Alexis could have this bathroom.

(Pictures do not do the horror justice. Trust me.)

That bathroom is always going to be Alexis' bathroom. No one else will ever use it. I know for a fact that some day she is going to come to me, stick out her bottom lip, open her eyes wide, and whiiiiiine that it's ugly and I'm so horrible and OMIGAH can we please paint it any other color but that pleasepleasepleaseplease?

I'll be ready with a response.

Alexis, it's perfect just the way it is.

She had very important Alvin and the Chipmunks viewing to finish so she had to rush off. Truly, she loooooves it, and I'm never going to let her forget it.

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If you haven't been keeping up with the BRESMA orphanage story, please go over to That's Church and see if there is any way you can help. Every email, tweet, and blog post does help. We need to get supplies to the kids and get them to the families who are waiting for them. You never know if the person reading your words will be the one who can make things happen. I'll be looking at you again when the kids are safe and it's time to start rebuilding that orphanage. :-)

I Want to Fix the World with You

It has been one of those days, one of those days when I wish I could wrap my arms around the world, give it a hug, and then reach into my toolbox and pull out just the right thing to fix all of the heartbreak.

I wish I had a tool that could give two kids back their father, their father who was murdered senselessly while protecting all of us.

I wish I had something . . . anything . . . that could fix the pain for a mother who buried her child today.

I wish there was a way to undo all of the damage and destruction that has been done in Haiti, a way to make it all OK.

I wish I had a plane in my toolbox so I could fly to Haiti and help these Pittsburghers make sure that the families who are waiting to adopt these beautiful babies will get to do so.

I wish I could fix it all.

Instead, I'm left to fix the problems that overwhelm a 3 (almost 4)-year old. I reach into that toolbox and find the right thing to make it OK that there are no Chad Danforth fruit snacks in the High School Musical fruit snack box. I use my arms to comfort her when she gets frustrated trying to write the word, "Dad." I cover her with another blanket when she cries that she is cold.

I'm grateful for the tools that I do have, the tools that allow me to remember that after a long, chatter-filled bedtime delay, that 3-year old turned to me and said one last thing before falling asleep:

"Momma, I have one more thing to say. I love you."

I Thought the Tank of Horrors Had Gone Away. Not So Much.

I hate cleaning the fish tank. Hate, hate, hate, hate, hate.

I used to not mind it. I might have even enjoyed it. Sucking out the mucky water is oddly satisfying. Scraping algae off the glass is awarding. Arranging the rocks is sort of like a puzzle. A puzzle in which failure to get the pieces to fit just right will result in a dead fish or two, but still. Kind of fun.

But then I ripped the arms of the big shrimp a few months, and all the fun got sucked out of the project.

It was an accident. Seriously. I moved a rock over a tiny bit because it had started to fall and just like that, there was an avalanche. I knew the shrimp had been in the corner, behind the rock pile, so I tried to move things around and away from it. But, it moved. I ended up dropping a big rock right on top of it. As I tried to un-smoosh it, it suddenly backed up but kinda forgot to take its big pincher arms with it because they were still stuck under the rock.

Whoops.

The arms grew back. Eventually. In the meantime, I swear that shrimp would spend its every waking moment trying to kill me. It would chase me from side to side, waving its stumpy arms at me and making mean faces.

Along the way, it apparently had a conversation with the Maroon Clownfish, Belly. Belly is now out to get me as well. Tonight as I stood carefully peeling hair algae off of some rocks, paying super careful attention to the eight million starfish that suddenly appeared in the tank (and are now also trying to kill me), Belly kept attacking. ATTACKING. She lunged at my gloved hand over and over, trying to rip the yellow protective layer off my hand so she could nibble at my skin.

I am not fish food. I don't take well to nibbling.

Just as I jerked my hand back and swatted at Belly for the eight millionth time, the shrimp suddenly appeared behind my hand. I WAS SURROUNDED.

I pulled my hand out of the water, the only place the killer creatures can't go, and glared at them. Slowly, one at a time, I gave them each the stink eye.

Belly responded by jumping out of the water.

I quit. Somebody else is going to have to clean the fish tank.