Leggo My Eggo or I Will Mow You Down

When news of a nationwide Eggo waffle shortage made the front page of Yahoo news, lots of people started in with jokes.

Not me.

This waffle shortage thing is very serious business.

VERY SERIOUS BUSINESS.

For as long as she has had teeth, Alexis has been eating frozen waffles for breakfast. Every. single. day. Not having waffles in our house is like not having oxygen. YOU JUST DON'T DO IT.

Over the years, I have experimented with replacing her preferred Eggo waffles with other brands. It has not gone well. When I tried the organic ones with Elmo's face on the box, Alexis spit them out and declared them, "Yucky."

"But they have Elmo on the box!" I told her. Obviously, if the fuzzy red monster endorses something, children everywhere should clamor to have it.

"Yucky," she replied.

"But . . . Elmo!" I insisted.

Alexis was only one year old at the time, but she responded to my "ELMO!" declarations with a giant eyeroll.

When I found another brand on sale, I tried being sneaky. When Alexis wasn't looking, I shoved the impostor waffles into an empty Eggo box. She knew the difference. Immediately. She refused to eat them.

I've tried homemade. They weren't good enough. I was forced to eat them all myself.

The kid takes the whole "Leggo my Eggo" thing very, very, very seriously.

So, Little Old Lady at Giant Eagle, I am very sorry that I nearly knocked you on your behind grabbing the last box of Eggos. I didn't mean you any harm. Really. I just like to keep my kid happy so that she won't yell at me at 6:00 in the morning. Besides, I did you a favor. Flooding isn't why there are no Eggos to be had, Listeria is.

You're welcome.

It's Unanimous

It seemed like the perfect night to start dragging out the smaller Christmas trees. We have plans for the next six evenings, so really it was my last good chance to make a dent in decorating the inside of our house. Alexis has been hounding me to let her help with absolutely anything, so I called her into the dining room.

"Do you want to help me decorate a tree?" I asked.

"Sure!" she eagerly replied.

I pondered whether I should have her help with the Winnie the Pooh tree or the Boyd's Bear tree, but the pondering only lasted a second. The Winnie the Pooh tree is pretty sparse and it's very hard to find ornaments for it. The Classic Pooh ones I like are fragile and haven't been sold for years. They are available on ebay, but they sell for way more than I'm willing to pay. The Boyd's Bear tree, on the other hand, is virtually indestructible.

I drug the tree across the room and realized that I had screwed up. I should have waited until the tree was shaped before calling the Impatient Decorator. I thought and thought, trying to find something to keep her busy for a few minutes, and then realized that it would be seriously helpful if I could get her to start sorting the ornaments. I don't know why it matters, but I like to get similar ornaments clumped together when I hang them. Alexis is completely capable of finding all the snowman and putting them in a pile.

I grabbed the box of ornaments and told Alexis to start sorting. She retorted with, "No, I want to put them on the tree." When I told her she had to wait for a minute, she pulled on her sassy pants, placed her hands on her hips, and glared at me. If I were to describe the fire that was shooting out of her eyes, I would have to say that it blazed, "YOU SUCK."

I have her The Mom Look. She responded by ordering me to dump the whole box of ornaments out. I don't know where she gets this whole bossy streak from (shoosh, I don't want to hear from the peanut gallery), but it's something we have been battling over a lot lately. After some tears were shed and the Short Person seemed to have remembered that she is not in charge, I helped her tip the box over so she could get all of the ornaments out.

It took her about two seconds to make a giant pile of plush holiday cheer. She promptly stood up and then lunged forward, apparently trying to crowd surf over the bears and penguins and snowmen. Little stuffed things flew all over the room. I rolled my eyes as I continued twisting branches to and fro, figuring that if the kid wanted to entertain herself by making a little bit of a mess, it was no big thing.

And then Cody walked into the room.

His eyes opened wide, a smile spread across his face, and he leaped towards the dozens of Havenese-sized "toys." "Nooooooooo, Cody!" I shouted.

He stopped mid-lunge, gazed up at me, and gave me a look that could best be described as, "YOU SUCK."

Funny how the kid and the dog seem to agree on so many things.

Sidney Crosby is Her Boyfriend, but She Would Probably Settle for Rich

I'm not entirely sure, but I think my first concert was Nelson. Yes, THAT Nelson. Go ahead, mock me. I'll wait.

Are you done yet?

How about now?

Now?

Whatever. Keep laughing, I'm going to move on. So, my first concert was (I think) Nelson. I grew up in North Dakota, so the quality of artists traveling through town wasn't exactly what I would call spectacular. I'm lucky I managed to make it to a concert that is even slightly recognizable, even if it is just because they had better hair than pretty much any woman I've ever known.

Alexis' first concert involved a guy with pretty hair, too.

That's three of the four Imagination Movers. Scott is the one with the pretty hair. Dave is the one behind him thinking, "Dude, is that a bald spot?" Yes, Dave, I think it might be. It happens to all the guys with pretty hair, just ask Andre Agassi.

Now, I only took Alexis to the concert because I got the tickets for free from Disney. There was no way I was going to pay good money to be trapped in a room with a bunch of screaming preschoolers and what I assumed would be over-manufactured Disney ear worms. I planned to not mention the concert at all since I don't do sponsored posts or reviews, but holy majolies, my kid had a blast at that concert. It. was. epic.

I didn't tell Alexis that we were going to see the Imagination Movers until the day before the concert. I think that proves that I'm finally starting to figure out this whole I Have a Kid thing, but then again, I still heard the words, "Is it time to go to Imagination Movers yet?" at least 2346423426 times. In fact, I couldn't get Alexis to eat dinner before the show because she was absolutely positive that if she took so much as one bite of food, she would miss the entire concert. Maybe I need to learn to not mention concerts until we're in our seats. Or something.

Once we were in our seats and the curtain was raised, Alexis was mesmerized.

MESMERIZED. Like, I could have sat there chanting, "Troy Bolton is a poopoo face" and she wouldn't have noticed. She was too busy making sure she didn't miss one single second of the hot Rich action.

I KNOW. My knowledge of names should be embarrassing. It's not my fault they have them embroidered right on their shoulders, yo. Anyway, I had no idea that my kid has a Major Crush on Rich, but I saw it in full effect that night. Alexis watched his every move and very nearly started bawling when he disappeared for a few minutes. She was all, "Where's Rich? Where did Rich go? What happened to Rich?"

I was all, "Dude, take a pill." Then I realized he had gone up to the balcony. A quick explanation resulted in the kid thinking she needed to run up to the balcony and rescue him.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. That's so cute. Blech.

As the concert went on, a mosh pit formed in front of the stage.

I don't know if you can tell from the photo, but there were easily 50 kids fighting to touch an Imagination Mover. It was a wee bit violent in that Short Person mosh pit. I know I saw more than one body go rolling down the aisle.

Alexis wanted to join in on the crazy mosh action, but when I refused to go with her, she decided to stay in her seat. And dance. And sing. Yes, MY KID danced and sang. In public. With other people around. Where she could be seen or heard. MY KID.

*faints*

My kid doesn't do things in public. Like, ever. She imitates a growth on my shoulder, but that's about it. We don't call her Michigan J. Frog for nothing.

Credit for the Crazy Dancing Kid goes to Smitty for busting out this move.

I had no idea that doing the "Walk Like an Egyptian" thing was funny, but I do now. I bust that sucker out and Alexis falls over laughing instantly. Good times!

Overall, the show was not that bad. I don't know why, but I expected the guys to have a Krusty the Clown complex that would show its colors at some point during the show. That's to say that I seem to have the idea that anyone who gets paid to entertain kids is totally faking it on stage and completely miserable behind the scenes. I didn't get that vibe, though. At all. In fact, I dare say that those guys actually enjoy their jobs. A lot. (It might have to do with the fact that they all have kids. I know I'm happier when I get sleep, and being on the road is one way to make that happen.)

I didn't hate the music (my status as a Cool Person demands that I not publicly admit that I maybe kinda sorta like some of the songs). I didn't hate that the guys really do know how to play those instruments pretty well. I didn't hate the storyline. I didn't hate that my kid had the time of her life.

My favorite part, though, was when I got to be all I TOLD YOU SO to Alexis. She spent the entire day before the concert telling me about how if she met The Movers, she was going to ask them 135234646 questions. She swore she was going to pose for a picture or two or ten with them. She was animate that she was going to talk to them for hours.

I told her I was willing to bet she would be too shy to do it.

As we stood in line waiting to meet them, she kept talking her big game. She told me she was going to give Rich a hug. She said she was going to ask Scott if he likes to wear headbands. She bragged about how cute she was going to be in the group photo. As we inched closer and closer, she kept on keeping on.

Then it was our turn.

She froze.

She freaked.

She panicked.

We managed to get one crappy photo before she ran for dear life.

P.S. The guy in red is Mover Kyle. He was there to play the drums. Or something.

P.P.S. Warehouse Mouse was backstage controlling the lights and music through the whole show. I think that means he was having a bad hair day and didn't want to go out on stage.

P.P.P.S. Every one of you who asked about the guy in red and the dang rat are dorks right there with me.