Plotting My Revenge. Suggestions Welcomed.

It's no secret that I love me some AFF (pssst . . . she's giving stuff away this month). She's funny, she's sweet, she sends my kid stuff. OK, so I don't like her BECAUSE she sends Alexis stuff, I like her IN SPITE of it.

The latest in a lengthy list of things I would like to burn on the grill then use for batting practice off a very high cliff is Big Water. Big Water is a sippy cup that says "Alexis" on the side and is, well, big. Alexis LURVES Big Water. She takes it with her in the car. She drags it all over the house. She asks for it first thing in the morning. She even sleeps with Big Water. No joke, she has fallen asleep hugging Big Water on more than one occasion.

All that is fine and dandy. Whatever, the kid has a favorite cup. I deal.

Except.

You know how Alexis doesn't seem to think that her bed is where she should sleep the entire night? It's more like a temporary sleeping quarters and she MUST move her hiney to my bed at some point in the night. When she does, she seldom remembers to bring Big Water with her. Which, of course, means that she later realizes that she is thirsty and has a heart attack because she NEEDS Big Water in the middle of the night.

You know what's fun? When a two-year old starts screeching for Big Water at 4:00 in the morning, and really isn't willing to stop screeching long enough for you to explain that the bottle of water that is on your nightstand is the same as the water that is in Big Water, which is far, far away.

You're lucky you're cute, AFF.

(No toddlers, stuffed Bulldogs, or dolls were harmed in the taking of these photos. However, a certain parent did greatly enjoy that she had JUST told the Toddler not to sit there because she could fall over. A Mother is ALWAYS right about this sort of thing.)

Who Knew All That Work Would Actually Pay Off?

I am a trainer. I train people. OK, well these days I don't actual stand in front of a room full of 30 annoying people and talk, I tell other people how to stand in front of a room full of 30 annoying people and talk. But, I used to have to do it. Mostly I used to train people on how to use various software applications, but before I fell into that world of joy, I was one of those people that stood in front of a room and taught you all about how to communicate more effectively, provide better customer service, work as part of a team, and various other topics that were FREAKIN' ANNOYING.

Yeah. I was that irritating woman who talked about concepts that didn't make any sense and could never actually be used in the real world. I might have even made you *gasp* role play *gasp*.

(*ducks to avoid all the shoes being thrown*)

Except.

An amazing thing has occurred to me.

At least one of the craptacular concepts I used to train ACTUALLY WORKS ON THE TODDLER!

There's this thing that I used to cover in conflict resolution training that basically says that if someone is doing or saying something and they won't stop, you should practice XYZ. XYZ is when you say, "I feel (fill in the blank) when you (fill in the blank). I wish you would (fill in the blank)."

So.

When I heard Alexis was scratching kids' faces at daycare, I told her, "I feel sad when you scratch other kids. I wish you would please play nice without hurting them." When Alexis thought it would be Great! Fun! to throw a bunch of puzzle pieces all over the nice clean living room, I said, "I feel sad when you throw things. I wish you would please pick up your mess." When she got the fantabular idea in her head to smear her beans all over the cat, I told her, "I feel sad when you get the kitty dirty. I wish you would stop."

Hell if the kid didn't obey my wish in every.single.instance. It's like magical and stuff. For whatever reason, "sad" is the only emotion that gets her attention, but that's OK. I can be sad. No problem! Sad it is. I mean, she even apologizes when I use XYZ on her. Awesome.

Go forth and XYZ. Report back your results.

In the meantime, I think I'll be using XYZ to tell Alexis that I feel sad and icky when she tries to eat lilies and that I wish she would quit making me throw up in my mouth.

Blech.

"Ook, Mommy! Pretty flowers!"

"Mommy! Flowers smell pretty!"

"Ook, Mommy! This pretty flower would fit ever so perfectly in my cute little mouth. You know, the mouth that I use to kiss you. I wonder what pollen tastes like? Mmmm . . . tastes like chicken. Want some?"

The Apple is RIGHT, I Tell You

Whenever we venture into the big bad world as a family, Mr. Husband drives. That is not because I don't like to drive, it is because I don't like to drive when he is in the car. Once upon a time he trained people to get their Class B CDL licenses. Essentially, he was paid to sit in the passenger seat and critique every move somebody made while driving a very large bus. Guess who was really good at critiquing every move somebody made while driving? Why, yes, my husband is a back-seat driving overachiever. Yes, he is.

Since I can't handle being asked when I last checked my blind spot and having somebody count the seconds between my glances in the rear-view mirror, I just force let him drive everywhere. It's FAR less stress for me, and probably for him as well since I would probably bite off his head, chew it until it was super mushy, then spit it into out the window right after he asked me if I was maintaining the proper following distance on the freeway for the eleventy seventh fourteenth time.

The only thing is that I am also a bit of a back-seat driver. I'm nowhere near as bad as him, but I do have a major paranoia about rear-ending a car (been there, done that, it wasn't my fault but my brand new Civic looked an awful lot like a Smart car when it was all over). So, if he maybe waits a millisecond longer than I would before braking, I'm not above, I don't know, shrieking like a teenage girl at a Jonas Brothers concert. I might yell, "LOOK OUT! THAT CAR IS STOPPING!" Or maybe it's, "WE'RE GOING TO DIE. STOOOOOOOOOP!"

Anyway.

The littlest apple in our family fell very near both trees. No doubt about it. Alexis has become quite the little back seat driver. She is always telling me that I've missed my turn if I happen to drive past the playground, she likes to tell me to go faster, and she sometimes gets a little crabby about my inability to park next to yellow cars. It's all good.

This morning, Mr. Husband experienced his own moment of enduring the littlest back-seat driver. Alexis and he were running to the store to get a new propane tank for our grill when Alexis suddenly shrieked and yelled, "WOOK OUT! THERE'S CAR!" She very nearly scared Mr. Husband to death.

That's my girl.