Snippets

Alexis: "Mom, are you thirsty?"
Me: "I guess. Kinda."
Alexis: "Me, too. I think we deserve Starbucks."

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Alexis: Loud belch "Excuse you, Cody."

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Alexis: "If you put your fingers in my mouth, I will bite you."
Me: "I'm not putting my fingers in your mouth."
Alexis: "Well, then . . . you should."

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Alexis: "It sure has rained a lot."
Me: "Yeah, it has."
Alexis: "It's time for the sun to come out and make a rainbow."

Half an hour later, it did. SHE'S MAGICAL.

At Least She Doesn't Sneak Out to Go Get a Clay Aiken Tattoo

I always joke that Alexis, at 3 years of age, is already smarter than me. Lately, she's been been making the "joke" more of a "fact."

I'm scared.

We continue to battle her over the whole staying in her bed thing. I imagine we'll be fighting that battle for several more years, because the kid just doesn't like to sleep alone. She goes weeks on end when she does really well, but then she goes weeks on end where she SUCKS. We're in a Suck Phase right now. She says it's because she can't sleep unless she's twirling my hair, but I think the truth of the matter is that she is part of a big governmental experiment to see just how far you can push a sleep-deprived and bald woman until she snaps.

She's REAL close to finding out.

Anyway, she's decided that she wants to wander to our bed earlier and earlier in the night, and has even gotten so brazen as to ask to go to sleep in there in the first place. The answer to that question is very complicated. It takes me a very long time to respond ever time she asks. After pondering it for 0.00000000001 seconds, I usually scream, "NOOOOOOOO!" in her face. Subtle, I know.

Battle. War. Battle. Fight. Battle. She's been going to bed in her own bed and staying there less than half the time.

Then last night, the evil genius figured it ALL out. She knew bed time was coming. She had already voiced her disapproval of Our Completely Unreasonable Rules. Just as I was about to drag her upstairs and chain her to her bed (Kidding. Maybe.), I realized I didn't actually know where she was. Now, it's a big house and we have doors she hasn't figured out how to open yet, so it's not like that was a panic-inducing thing. More of a curiosity. She was in the house somewhere.

I checked the basement. Nada. I checked her playroom. Nada. I checked her room. Nada.

The little brat was sleeping soundly in our bed.

Evil genius.

This is How You Jinx It. I Hope.

There are many things in life you just don't talk about. You don't bring up the fact that your parents and grandparents undoubtedly have had sex at some point in time. You don't discuss your brother's criminal record and your epic weight battles on a first date (somebody needs to tell that one to the chick at Coldstone that I overheard last weekend). You don't mention that thing you did in college involving a bicycle, handcuffs, super glue, and a guy named Enrico. You just don't.

If you're smart, you also don't talk about how your kid suddenly went from wearing dresses, dresses, and more dresses to asking to wear pants.

I'm not smart, so I guess I'll talk about it.

From the moment Alexis was old enough to string together words, she has been insisting to wear dresses. Every day. No matter what. For a while we had daily epic battles over the issue, mostly because it was reallyfreakincold degrees outside, and also partly because DUDE! I already bought those cute pants outfits. Just wear them, y'know?

Once I grew tired of being chewed out by a short person daily, I trudged over to the dark side and resorted to buying the kid dresses. Lots of dresses. The kid didn't care that her best friend wears pants all the time. She didn't care that I wear pants every. single. day. She adopted a style of her own, and she wanted to own it.

So, whatever. Bring on the overdressed toddler stage!

It lasted a good two years, probably closer to three. Every once in a while I would decide it was a good day to pick a fight and try to convince the kid to wear pants, and every time I did I was rewarded with an epic battle. It was pretty clear that the kid would rather have her legs amputated after a horrible case of frostbite than be caught with jeans on her little body. She never complained her legs were cold. She never complained that her dresses got in the way of some play. She just embraced dresses and didn't care about the minor inconveniences that went with them.

Then Saturday morning she asked to wear pants. We didn't believe her. It felt WAY too much like a trap, and we fully expected that the second pants were yanked from the waaaay back of her drawer and the dust was shaken off, she would shriek, "I don't like pants!" She's a three year-old girl. Dramatically changing her mind is what she does best.

There was no hissy fit. Instead, there was a kid who pranced around showing everyone how cute her little bum is in jeans.

Sunday rolled around, and the whole scenario played out again.

And then Monday.

And then Tuesday.

By that point in time, we had long ago exhausted every single pair of appropriately-sized pants the kid owns. In fact, the two pairs of jeans she happened to have at the time were looking a little pitiful after their little stint of constant rotation.

When Wednesday rolled around and the kid once again demanded pants, I was up a creek without a paddle. Both pairs of jeans were beyond dirty. Yet, she insisted. Finally, I dug through the pile of clothes I had stashed at the top of her closet. The stash of clothes that had been deemed Too Small.

I pulled out a navy pair of pants and slapped them on her little butt. They looked like the kid was heading towards a flood zone, but they weren't awful. I dug some more and found a shirt that kinda sorta matched the pants.

It didn't fit. As in, Alexis looked like she should bust out her best Chris Farley impersonation and start singing, "Fat girl in a little shirt." I tried to pry the tiny little piece of fabric off of her, but the kid was having none of it. She was going to wear the dang shirt.

In a show of awesome parenting, I let the kid go to school in clothes that are definitely too small. Oh well!

Now I just need to try jinxing whatever needs to be jinxed so I can figure out if this pants thing is staying. I refuse to buy the kid a single article of clothing until I have a signed contract stating that she will wear all new items at least bi-weekly.

Oh, and yes, the kid has worn that exact same pink sweatshirt pretty much daily for the past week. If you don't like it, feel free to try prying it off of her body. Go ahead, try. I'll just stand back and watch.