Making the Most of 862

861.

That's how many posts I have written since moving our site to Blogger.

With each and every one of those 861 posts, something incredible has come our way.

I've made some great friends.

I've reminded myself to enjoy each and every day with Alexis.

I've had the opportunity to share our story with The Hawtness. And with you.

I've laughed. A lot.

And with one of those 861 posts, something was started. Something incredible. It has nothing to do with me. If I hadn't been the first to create a team here in Pittsburgh, I have no doubt that someone else would have.

She started it.

We're doing it for her.

(Credit)

All 27 of us.

Many of you have been incredible and done so much to help. Thank you. A huge thank you to each and every one of you.

If you haven't helped yet, now would be a great time to toss in a buck or two. We walk, rain or shine, Saturday morning. Every single penny makes a difference.

You'll Notice I Didn't Fess Up to Lying

I have GOT to stop lying to Alexis. It's always little white lies, sanity saving lies, or funny lies, but it's starting to backfire on me.

Some time ago, I got really, really, really sick of fussing at the kid for feeding the dogs the food off her plate. When I say "feeding the dogs the food off her plate" I mean literally that--she was shoving her plate in a dog face, letting him or her eat for a minute, and then resuming her own food consumption. Yeah, gross. At some point I decided that fussing at her wasn't getting me anywhere, and I told her that people food will make the dogs really sick. At that precise moment she was feeding Cody a chocolate chip cookie, so it wasn't really all that much of a lie, but I didn't bother to restrict my statement to chocolate. Nope. "People food makes dogs really sick."

It was an instant payoff. She stopped feeding them completely, and even started scolding Cody for being a mooch.

I thought I was a winner.

Until last night.

Last night Alexis and I were left all to our lonesome selves. We might have thoroughly enjoyed a girls night out, but when we stopped at the house to let out the dogs, we walked in to a disaster zone. Cody had broken into the bathroom and drug a week's worth of trash all. over. the. place. After he shredded it to a million little pieces, of course.

To say that I wanted to kill him would be an understatement.

Instead, I begrudgingly picked up the disaster zone and started making dinner. At that point it was too late for Alexis and I to head anywhere fun. And then it happened. Alexis tried to kill Cody. Or, at least that's what she thought had happened.

Somehow the poor kid spilled her bowl of pancakes (only gourmet meals around here, yo) and Cody had beaten her to the pile of goodness. As he snarfed down pancakes, Alexis started freaking out. "OH, NO! Cody eat my pancakes and he's going to get sick and he's going to die! WAAAAAAAAH!" The kid was sobbing as she said it.

She was absolutely convinced that her dog was going to die, and that it would be all her fault. I finally managed to calm her down by concocting some "medicine" for him and shooting it down his throat. It was only water, but after the toilet paper party he had thrown, I won't deny that I was wishing it were poison. Served with a kick to the head.

The guilt I felt that my words had caused Alexis so much heartache was enough to keep the little rat dog safe for the evening. He absolutely couldn't sustain any injuries for a few days (not even a little spork to the face) because Alexis would be convinced it was her fault. That kid LURVES that dog. A lot.

So, it was really fantastic when I found what initially appeared to be another piece of trash on the floor. But was actually an ant trap. Filled with ant poison. Chewed to bits.

Um, yeah. During the great Trash Can Caper of May 2009, Cody had found the ant trap I had hidden in the dark corner behind the trash can and chewed it to pieces.

There's nothing better than having to worry that a dog is going to die at the exact moment that your kid is convinced she has done something to kill him.

I'm done lying. For reals.

(No rat dogs were in any way harmed in the making of this story. Promise. He's totally fine, if by "fine" I really mean still in need of a kick to the head.)

The End of the Syrupy World

"What do you want for breakfast?" I asked, just as I do every day.

"Ummm . . . waffles!" Alexis replied.

Together we trudged down the stairs into the kitchen to toss a frozen waffle or two into the microwave. Personally I prefer the things to be toasted, but Alexis likes them mushy.

"I want syrup, too," she said.

The kid has eaten waffles nearly every morning for the past two years. Never before has she requested syrup with them.

"Are you sure?" I asked, completely disbelieving.

Her reply was that of a child who has forgotten that whining will not get you your way. I waited for her to realize her error.

"Can I please have syrup?" she finally choked out from her tear-stained face.

"Thank you for asking nicely," I replied as I grabbed the syrup from the cabinet.

"I want a LOT of syrup!" she cheerily said. Three-year olds are quite possibly the very definition of Wild Mood Swings.

I pondered the fact that Alexis eats her breakfast while snuggled into my side of the bed. I would be right next to her as she ate, but since I needed to blow dry my hair, I figured giving the kid a lot of syrup was destined to end bad. I made a big production out of pouring a tiny little drop.

"I want MORE syrup," Alexis said.

"I already gave you a lot, Alexis," I lied. Sorry, but I prefer my bed sheets to be of the not sticky and wet variety.

Never one to relent easily, Alexis continued hounding me for more syrup. She threw in enough Please Action for me to finally give her another tiny drop, but I made sure to make it appear that I had actually poured half the bottle.

"Is that better?" I asked.

"Yeah," Alexis replied.

We trudged back upstairs and I settled Alexis into her perch on the bed. As I turned to grab the blow dryer, she wailed, "I DON'T WANT SYRUP ON MY WAFFLES!"

"You said you wanted syrup, Alexis," I replied.

"I DON'T WANT SYRUP, WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! I HATE YOU! YOU SUCK! I'M NEVER SPEAKING TO YOU AGAIN! YOU ARE THE WORST MOTHER EVER!" OK, so maybe she didn't say all of those things, but each was most certainly implied.

Mornings and I have never really been friends. In fact, if Mornings were to get a twitter account, I would declare them worse than an O-bot and block them instantly. Yet, the early morning fog that clouds my brain and makes me useless helps me to ignore whining. There was lots of whining to be ignored. In fact, I'm pretty sure Alexis was doing everything in her power to start a fight. Over syrup.

I did not cave. I told her she could choose to have a good day, or she could choose to have a bad day. She said she wanted to have a bad day. Whatever. She can have a Syrup has Ruined My Life Day if she wants to.

After tackling the short person and cramming her into some clothes, I hauled her and her empty belly back downstairs. I tossed the uneaten bowl of syrupy waffles on Alexis' table as I grabbed her shoes.

As I turned around and walked over to start putting her shoes on her feet, Alexis started shoveling her waffles into her mouth. Her syrup-covered, cold as ice, mushy as can be waffles.

I glared at her oblivious face, disbelief pouring off my body.

Who needs an amusement park when I can get that kind of roller coaster ride right in my own home?