Thanks to Everyone Who Took the Time to Stop By

(Photo by Jayesel)

More about PodCamp Pittsburgh is coming soon (tomorrow?), but I wanted to be sure to say thanks to the people who squeezed and crammed into the room for my presentation. I didn't even have to pay them to sit there!

(Psst . . . voting is still very much so appreciated. Thanks!)

Conspiracy Theories

The mission is to freeze her face off. Every day, no matter the weather, the kid rolls down her window in the car. E-V-E-R-Y day. Today it was 40 degrees and rainy, which can only mean that somehow she managed to convince Mother Nature to go in cahoots with her. It's a conspiracy.

I asked her to close her window. I was met with what I assume was an eyeroll and some sass. I'm not sure because I was too busy shivering as the 40 degree wind and freezing rain blew all through my car. It was then that I remembered I had let Alexis eat dry cereal in the car earlier in the day. I distinctly recalled that she had picked through it, hunting for and consuming marshmallows while tossing the actual cereal over her shoulder. For some reason, I don't have "Scrape Frankenberry goop out of the car" on my Bucket List, so it was definitely time to close the window before water met cereal.

I reached down and closed the window using my Master of the Universe buttons.

She rolled it back down.

I rolled it back up.

She rolled it back down.

I rolled it back up and locked that sucker so she couldn't keep on keeping on.

The short person in the back seat got angry. She kicked my seat, sassed off, and then promptly shut her face when I threatened her with a trip to time out.

I'm full of win.

The CD changer flipped over to Jonas Brothers and everything went back to quiet. (Side note: SHOOOSH! with the Jonas Brothers grief. Once I had heard the High School Musical 2 soundtrack for the eleventy seventeenth bazillionth time, I switched our listening time over to regular radio. That lasted about fifteen minutes until words the kid isn't allowed to say came wafting over the airwaves, so I tried tossing in a little Black Eyed Peas. That lasted about three minutes until I had to shout, "THANKS FOR THE PARENTAL WARNING, ITUNES" because apparently their list of Not-Cool-Coming-from-a-Three-Year-Old words is different than mine. Jonas Brothers it is. I can't handle my kid hearing and saying words that would make my grandma cringe.) As we cruised on down the road, the song "Paranoid" came on.

Alexis loves to sing along with music. A lot. The only problem is that she doesn't know all of the words to that particular song. In fact, she knows exactly one word. Paranoid. She managed to scream that one word approximately all. the. way. through. the song.

PARANOID!

PARANOID!

PARANOID!

Never before has a child managed to spread so much fear and paranoia in such a short amount of time. Between the expectation of revenge for the Window Thing and her shouting PARANOID!, I figured I was screwed. For reals.

My fears were realized when I suddenly noticed that silence had fallen over the person in the backseat. I glanced in the mirror and saw the ultimate threat a kid can make: she was sound asleep.

I'm pretty sure she took a nap just so she can exact revenge in the middle of the night.

I'll be sleeping with one eye open tonight.

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Psst . . . If you have a minute, I would love you forever if you ran over to The Bump and tossed a vote or two or ten in for me. There's a real prize in this one and it turns out I snap to attention when somebody says "Pottery Barn Gift Card." Thanks! And HUGE thanks to Firemom for the nomination!

Vote!

That Suggestion Sure is Mean

Suggestion holds an iron grip over the minds of preschoolers. At no time is it more evident than while watching dance class.

Each week the room full of parents sit with clenched fists and furrowed brows silently willing their kid to not be The One--The One who starts the Potty Train. It never fails, if one kid utters the syllables, "I need to go potty," the rest of the class will be soon to follow. All it takes is for that one short person to break the seal, so to speak, and the power of suggestion will take care of the rest of them. Nobody wants their kid to be The One.

Last week the Potty Train rolled through the class, just like always, but there was a new twist in the events. As the caboose rolled back to class, she turned to her mom and said, "My belly hurts." Every parent in the room suddenly snapped to attention, quickly surveying the premises to be sure that their own kid hadn't heard the evil words.

It appeared we were safe; only the adults had heard the proclamation.

The mom sent the little girl into class with an eyeroll and a shrug, turning to explain that the kid would chop off a finger if she thought it would get her some attention. (I won't even delve into how epically awful that statement is, or the fact that it's probably true.) We all sat staring through the window, willing the girl with the maybe bellyache to keep her mouth shut.

Then we saw it. Time stood still as a room full of parents suddenly were granted the power to read lips, "I don't feel good," the girl said in a super slow motion voice. The teacher suggested she sit in the back of the room and watch the rest of the class.

We all knew what was to come next. One after another, high-pitched voices joined in the Bellyache Chorus. Normally it would be the kind of tune that we would all ignore. We would just shove our fingers in our years and shout, "LA LA LA I CAN'T HEAR YOU LA LA LA," knowing full well that it would get real boring to complain about fake illnesses if there was no audience.

But this year is different.

Nobody would admit it out loud, but how could we NOT all start wondering if maybe, just maybe, this time it wasn't a fake? What if they really were sick? What if they were complaining of early flu symptoms? WHAT IF IT WAS THE SWINE FLU?

You'll never catch me wandering around wearing a medical mask unless I'm actually standing inside an operating room or something similar. I mock people who stress out over every little germ. I don't *do* sick. And yet, even I started to question if we should take the proclamations of stomach discomfort seriously. Even then, I kind of wanted to punch myself in the face for even pondering whether or not the complaints were valid.

And then I felt it--the possibility of nausea. Just hearing everybody talk about bellyaches and the flu and pigs was enough. If I would have thought about it for five minutes longer than I did, I absolutely could have convinced myself that I was sick, even though I wasn't.

Apparently Suggestion holds an iron grip over grown-ups, too.