Think, Think, Think

Sometimes I know that a toy is a terrible, no good, horrible idea just by glancing at it. When that happens, it stays in the store. Alexis can whine, scream, cry, beg, plead, and make all the promises she wants because I value that tiny remaining shred of sanity that I have. The toy does not enter our house. Period.

The singing Darby doll was one of those toys. Alexis first spotted it in a Disney Store months ago, and she wanted it BAAAAD. But, at $40? It was very easy to say no. She saw it again at Meijer (in Indiana) and once again, I shot her down. Then she found it in KMart. I stood my ground.

Then she got a bunch of money for her birthday. And spotted it on clearance at Wal-Mart. For $17.

The portion of my brain that HAS to capitalize on a good deal and the portion of my brain that tries to keep the whole show sane got in a fight. A BIG fight.

Sanity lost.

So, Miss Alexis handed over her very own cash to a grouchy cashier at Wal-Mart. Mr. Husband thought that it would be one of those toys that would be fun for a day or two, but then would be relegated to a back corner of a toybox. I wish he had been right.

Alas, Darby is a daily play toy and has been for a couple of weeks. Darby, whose very existence boggles my mind (Seriously--wth? Wasn't Christopher Robin enough human for Pooh?), is in our house, singing and dancing every. single. day.

She only knows one song. And two phrases. On a constant loop. Over and over and over.

"Slap my cap." What the hell is that supposed to mean anyway?

And "Think, think, think." If Darby doesn't quit with the thinking, she's going to take a swim in the garbage disposal.

Darby was in my car last Friday when it got broken into. The buttface that stole my laptop tossed her out of the way.

I think I hate him more for NOT stealing Darby than I do for breaking into my car in the first place.

Think, think, think.

Cody Capers

Cody still lives here; that is the amazing part. I think I have figured out how he has managed to avoid a one-way ticket to anywhere but here.

Alexis loves him, and he loves her.

If it weren't for that? I can't promise a thing.

Very early in his still-young life (he's six months now), the pooch proved that he is a more masterful escape artist than Houdini. He can get out of any kennel we put him in, can jump over any barriers we create, and can find his way out of a locked room. We don't know how; we just know he cannot be contained. Period.

Thus, he was granted full reign over the house when we are gone. It all started about a month ago, and for a long while, all was well. He and Meg get along fabulously, and they seemed to do a good job of keeping each other company.

Then something happened.

I don't know what, I just know that little dude is seeking out things to do while we are gone.

Make that things to DESTROY while we are gone.

Every day. Every single day he actively seeks out something to rip to shreds. Mr. Husband and I both do a full house sweep in the morning before we leave to try to hide/put up anything we think he might get into, but it doesn't work. He just finds ways to climb up high enough to reach what he wants, or finds something we missed.

Like a chair.

Oh, yes. If he can't find some sort of paper product (he prefers boxes above all else), he starts looking for wood to gnaw on. WOOD. Like our couch.

That's not even the worst of what he has done. It's the worst of what I'm willing to immortalize in photos. If I were to take a photo of the upstairs banister, I'm pretty sure I would end up making Havanese stew the next day.

He has plenty to chew on (there are freakin' bones lying next to every. single. one. of those things he destroyed in the photos above). He has company. He really doesn't care if we are or are not home. HE JUST LIKES TO SHRED THINGS.

I'd like to shred him. Alexis' love for him is the only thing stopping me.

Up and Down and Up and Down and Up and Down and WAY Up

When I parked my car along a well-lit and busy street on Friday afternoon, I was looking forward to a spectacular weekend. Dinner with some of my favorite peeps, followed by some Penguins hockey, a little bit of shopping, and the grand finale on Sunday night--the Steelers playing in the Super Bowl. I wasn't expecting to return to my car to find a smashed window and a missing computer. I also wasn't expecting to spend a solid hour waiting for a police officer so I could file a report, followed by a half hour shivering as I tried to vacuum out the millions of little shards of glass that had exploded all over the inside of Audrey. And I definitely wasn't expecting to cruise along ten miles of highway in 15 degree weather without a window.

A spectacular start all right.

As I tried to find the happy on Saturday, the Penguins decided to smash my hope into more pieces than that broken window. As they choked on a sizable lead, I started to get that sensation of impending doom in the pit of my stomach. With the Super Bowl looming in the future, I began to mentally prepare myself for the worst. The worst weekend in history.

I spent all morning Sunday preparing for the inevitability. I started by convincing Mr. Husband that it was a fine time to run to Ikea to buy a new bookshelf. What better way to distract yourself from an epic football loss than with impossible instructions for assembling for crappy Swedish furniture? On the way back home, I asked him to stop at Wal-Mart--a form of torture in its own. I irrationally decided that Alexis was going to be a monster all through the game and that we had better prepare by purchasing a Super Bowl Survival Kit for her.

We walked out with a new princess movie, Play-Doh, and play food. I had consented to the use of the portable DVD player, knowing that Alexis would turn into a zombie staring at her tiny little screen. Between that and some new toys, I figured she would be fairly well entertained as the grown-ups watched the game.

And she was. She watched the first half of the game pretty intently, but then started to realize that she had opted to skip her nap and was starting to fall into the Bedtime Zone. Of course, Mr. Husband and I were each vying for Parent of the Year, so neither of us was quick to head upstairs to tuck the kid in for the night. It was a silent battle of wills between two people who didn't want to miss a single second of the game. Determined to win the war, I started whipping out the new forms of entertainment.

God bless Play-Doh. It is MAGICAL.

If you watched the Super Bowl, you know what happened in the fourth quarter--STRESS. Suddenly, a game that looked to be a done deal just a few minutes prior was A GAME. A freakin' Bite Your Nails, Hold Your Breath, Fight the Urge to Hide Your Eyes, and Nearly Die of a Heart Attack GAME.

Of course, that's exactly when Alexis decided Play-Doh, her play kitchen, and the princess movie were all SOOOO 2008. An epic fit loomed large in front of us, just as a Steelers loss loomed large on the TV.

We had no choice.

We had to do it.

We whipped out the ol' Dora DVD.

Alexis hadn't watched a single second of Dora in months. I had banned the Latina Whore from our home after realizing just how crazy she makes Alexis. She who is generally cooperative grows an Attitude and Devil Horns after just a few minutes of watching that punk-assed beyotch, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

We paid the price after the game when we tried to get Alexis to go to bed. She didn't want to leave her beloved Latina Whore and threw the fit of the century. Yet, it didn't matter.

Living in the city that is home to the six-time Super Bowl champion Steelers will do that to you.

Thank goodness the roller coaster that was this weekend ended with a giant high.