An Explanation for My Daughter

Growing up, I never once saw my father drink a single sip of alcohol. In fact, neither did my mother. I never really thought about it at the time, but now that I'm older and wiser (Hahahahaha!), I realize that they both made that choice after battling demons from their past.

My father's tale was the more dramatic of the two. He grew up as one of eight kids, a middle-ish child in the midst of a clan. The family owned a bar in West Virginia, and each of the kids took a turn or two or ten at defying the laws of child labor and helping out. Despite the free labor, the bar wasn't exactly what you would call successful. Rampant alcoholism would certainly explain a great deal of what was wrong. It's hard to make a profit when you're drinking all the goods, or so they say. If you talk to any one of the siblings, you'll hear talk of Christmases without gifts or even a big dinner. More than one of the brothers and sisters will wistfully tell you about the Christmas when the only thing in the fridge was a six-pack of beer. Some will tell you, "At least we had each other," while others will quickly change the subject without a syllable of niceties.

Alcohol tore the family apart.

I respect my father's decision to not follow the same path. Not all of his siblings chose the same one, and it's easy to see the impact alcoholism continues to have on the generations. The ones who have a problem have never realized it, but if you look in the eyes of their kids, you can see it. Even the cousins who are barely old enough for kindergarten have The Look. The Look that says, "One of my parents is not the best they can be." While my father is REALLY far from perfect, he did get that one thing right. No doubt about it.

Long ago, I chose the same path. I'm not unwilling to drink a little alcohol, but I simultaneously figure it's not worth it. It's not worth the potential for addiction, which is obviously meandering it's way through the bloodline. It's not worth the risk of hurting others. It's just not worth it.

So, if you ever see me out and you think it's a little lame that I'm not real big on the alcohol consumption, cut me a break. I'm lame because I learned from other people's mistakes that it's not for me.

Up and Away

In an attempt to repay Alexis for her phenomenal display of patience and understanding while we prepared the house for sale, I took her to see Up this past weekend. She's officially at the age where movies at the theater are fun, and I'm always game for a Pixar flick. Or two. Or all of them.

It was a phenomenal movie. Seriously, phenomenal. I'd even go so far as to say that the first five minutes or so are probably the best five minutes of any movie ever made in the history of movies, even if I was totally bawling like a baby all through them.

Alexis, for her part, was also a big fan of the movie. Fortunately, some of the heavier overtones of the movie were lost on her little brain. All she saw was the fantasy and majesty of a whole lot of balloons carrying a man and his house along to the destination of his dreams.

She loved it.

When we returned back home, Alexis ran to find Cody so she could tell him about the movie. Seriously, she's telling him about the balloons and the house and the talking dogs in this photo.

As I melted from cuteness, she morphed the conversation into being about The (New) House. She told Cody, "We're going to tie lots of balloons and fly the new house to Disney World!"

I can't say that I hate that idea.

We are Raising the Next Picasso, Yo

One of Alexis' most favoritest things to do has always been to color, draw, and color some more. She loves crayons, she loves markers, she loves paint, and she loves what they can do to a piece of paper. When I stripped the house of all of her things in preparation for putting it up for sale, the one thing that was sacred was her art table. Hell hath no fury like a kid who can't find her favorite place to sit and play artist.

Recently Alexis has taken to drawing us pictures, folding the paper up into a tiny little rectangle, and then making a big production out of taking it to the popular parental unit of the moment. "Momma, look what I made for you!" she will gush. Both Mr. Husband and I gush back. It's our duty to be all, "Wow! That's really beautiful!" even though we have no idea what the hell we're looking at.

(Yes, Alexis, we fake enthusiasm for you. I'm thinking that by the time you are old enough to read this, you'll be old enough to understand that we are big fat liars who really do live to make you happy, so we're willing to act like that bunch of squiggles is fantabulous. But it's not. It's a bunch of squiggles. Still, you go girl!)

Most of the time we'll ask Alexis what exactly is depicted in the picture. 99 out of 100 times, we'll then think something along the lines of, "Yeah? I don't see it. At all." That's just to say that her artwork is a bit . . . abstract. Definitely abstract. She's three, so I would expect nothing else.

(BTW, Alexis, this thing where you got it in your head that you are supposed to color inside the lines freaks me out. You do NOT need to color inside the lines. Ever. Unless you want to. I mean that--only stay in those lines if it is what makes you happy, chica.)

Today Alexis sat with a determined little look on her face as she put markers to paper and created several masterpieces. She delivered dozens to me, and each time I feigned enthusiasm before tucking the artwork carefully into the trash can. (I know, I know. I'm horrible, but if I kept every single thing she draws, I would need a house the size of Texas. It's too much to even think about photographing it all and storing them electronically. The kid draws A LOT.)

There was one little picture she didn't deliver to me, though. I spotted it as I sat her dinner down on the table and instantly, I gasped. It actually looked like something. See?

I asked Alexis what it was, just in case it wasn't a fish with a mohawk. She said it was a robot. OMG! It actually does look like a robot! (Sort of. C'mon, people, she's THREE. Artistic interpretation can be a bit loosey goosey.) Right away I sought out Mr. Husband and showed it to him.

His reaction was a mirror-image of mine. He too nearly passed out from shock that it looked like the thing Alexis said it was. He instantly led Alexis to the kitchen to pick a place on the fridge for the artwork to hang. All together we reveled in celebration of a little sketch that was more than just squiggles. If anyone had walked in during the party, they would have thought the kid had found the cure for Cancer.

It wasn't until later that I realized we had screwed ourselves over. The parade, fireworks, and overall party atmosphere for the robot sketch might have been a wee bit overboard. What are we going to do when she creates some artwork that uses realistic colors? And perspective? We might have to figure out how to get Walt Disney World to declare it the Year of Alexis.

Anybody got Walt's phone number? I better start preparing now.