We Did It

She did it! She did it! She did it! I didn't think she would, but she did it!

Today was Alexis' little end of semester show at dance class. It's not the kind of thing where all the kids stand on stage and participate in a big production, but instead a lot more low key. It's just like a regular class, except that the parents and guests get to sit in chairs inside the room. No matter, the kid is not a fan of being watched by strangers, so I fully expected her to be all, "Oh, you're funny if you think I'm going in there with all those people." I predicted tears, clinginess, and general fear, but it was not delivered. She did it! Even all her solo dances!

Wooohooooo!

Even more impressive, I DID IT! I survived! I didn't stab anyone with a spork!

I've tried to just keep my general annoyance with some of the moms at dance class to myself, but OMG. I deserve a cookie for not punching a couple of them. Really. Let's just say that if any of the following things are true about you, you MAKE ME INSANE:

* If your kid is running around smashing toys against walls and you deal with it by yelling, "Stop it or we're leaving," but then immediately turn back to the very deep conversation you were having about manicures, without regard for the fact that the kid is now throwing the toys at people, I'm annoyed. I'm especially annoyed that it happens EVERY DAMN WEEK.

* If your kid gets evicted from dance class every week for hitting, punching, shoving, or otherwise causing bodily harm to the other kids in the class (who are significantly smaller than your punk-ass hooligan), please don't ignore the whole thing. More so, don't say that it's the teacher's fault. "He's good for me. She just doesn't know how to control wild kids." Your kid is well on his way to becoming a serial killer. Need I remind you that he broke his little brother's arm earlier in the year? Escalation, people. Escalation. You might want to lock up your family pets now.

* If your kid goes running out the door and into the street, I may feel inclined to (honestly) nicely ask him to please wait for you. If he turns to me and yells, "NO. YOU SHUT UP," before running out in front of a car? Your kid sucks. And so do you.

* If you spend every single minute of every single class not paying any attention whatsoever to the kid that you have in that class, instead choosing to gossip on and on and on and on with other parents while your non-dancing spawn run wild, but then shove people out of your way to be front and center for the show? I want to punch you in the mommy buttons, especially since your damn head is in nearly every one of my photos and your yammering is a voice over for my video. I always wanted video of you talking about how you dropped a deuce in the delivery room when you had your 4th kid, by the way. THANKS. The very graphic details you described while my kid was walking on stage to get her award are . . . touching. Or something.

Years from now, I'll look back at our home videos, filled with pride that a tiny little 3-year old Alexis fought through her shyness and rocked her dance class performance. I might even feel a little jab of pride for myself. I hung in there for 20+ weeks, stuck in a room with The Cheetos Pooper and her best buddy.

Game 7

Game 7 will be the death of me.

That is all.

LET'S GO PENS!!!!!!!

(Video is from last year, back when Alexis still said "Pen-ins" and when "Gary" wasn't a bad word around here.)

The Trouble with Arnie

As you near the front door to our townhouse, your attention will very likely be diverted a little to the right. If the obvious void in the flower garden doesn't get your attention, the soft sounds of water falling gently into the pond will. The pond, at first glance, appears to be an afterthought, a very small little puddle of water.

Appearances are (intentionally) deceiving. It's actually a fairly large body of water, over three feet deep in parts, and a easily six feet wide. It's all guess work, but I'm pretty sure it's over 800 gallons of water all said and done.

If you happen to step into the grass and give the pond a closer look, you'll notice two fish. Their names are Arnie and Sidney, and they've been living in that pond for probably five years. Arnie is the gold Koi, and Sidney is the red and white Sarassa Comet. Initially, they seem big, but not huge. Look closer, or get Arnie to come up next to you, and you'll realize that they are HUUUGE. Sidney is easily eight inches long, and fat like a stuffed sausage. Arnie, however, is the real beast. Koi get bigger than Comets to begin with, and he's taken this whole Growing Up thing very seriously.

(The black thing in front of Arnie is a 1 1/2 inch hose. Just figure out how many you'd have to lay side-by-side and you get an idea of just how long he is. He's definitely longer than my arm.)

It's really hard to portray Arnie's true size in pictures. In fact, it's hard to see just how big he is when he's swimming around the pond. Two years ago we had to make a repair to the pond liner and had to kick the fish out while we did it. Mr. Husband couldn't find a net big enough to hold Arnie, so he used his bare hands to grab him and toss him into a big rubber tub. He was easily 30 to 35-pounds back then, and couldn't even come close to turning around in that tub. He was basically stuck, head at one end, tail at the other, in the biggest storage tub that we had.

He's grown since then. A LOT.

So, when it came time to put the house on the market, we of course had a discussion about the fish. We wanted to keep them, but there is zero landscaping at The (New) House, and building a pond is no small task. Add to that the challenge of transporting two very large fish, and it seemed crazy to even consider moving them. After much debate, we decided that we would leave the fish, but only if whoever was buying the place promised to take good care of them. The offer came in and the buyer said he wanted the fish.

Fine. TONS of time saved.

But.

The very second our Realtor reported that the buyer would happily care for the fish, I got that whole weird feeling in my stomach. Despite my declarations that I had no emotional attachment to the fish (I still swear I don't), I suddenly got all, "But they're OUR fish. Waaaaah!" I was all sorts of pissy that we had said the fish could stay, despite the fact that moving them would definitely S-U-C-K.

Then came the home inspection, and the Arnie and Sid roller coaster kicked into high gear. The inspector recommended to the buyer that the pond be closed (totally stupid reasoning, but whatever). I was relieved. We are off the hook and now free to take the fish (and frog, actually, if I can find it).

I have no freakin' idea how we are going to manage to transport a 40-pound Koi and his over-sized sidekick. Given my track record with fish, this should be very interesting. And cuss filled.