One More Down. Too Many More To Go.

She came running across the playground, her loopy curls bouncing as her skirt blew in the wind. "Mommy!" she yelled as she tackle-hugged me.

"Hi! How was your day?" I asked. It's the same question I ask every day when I first see Alexis after school.

She stepped back a half step, grinned from ear to ear, and said, "LOOOOOOOOOK!"

"I think you forgot something on the swings," I said as I worked to hide my TOTAL AND COMPLETE PHLURRRPPGAG from seeing that gaping hole in her face.

"MOM," she chided just before giggling. Some day she's going to letimately hate it when I tease her like that, so I try to take advantage of these days of tolerance while I can. "I lost my tooth!" she bragged.

"Oh," I said before throwing a few shiny things in the air and screaming "SQUIRREL! PLEASE! ANY TOPIC BUT THAT TOPIC!"

Alexis completely ignored my attempts to throw a distraction party and instead went on to tell me The Tale of Losing Her Tooth At School. She told me all about how she and a friend had the exact same loose tooth, so they spent recess trying to decide who had the looser tooth. It was a contest of epic proportions, with the winner sure to rule the land of first grade forever and ever.

"Mom, I bent mine all the way up to my gums!" she gleefully reported as she twisted her hands around in an attempt to demonstrate the 180 degree turn her tooth had completed.

I wretched, gagged, and otherwise lost my cool.

"But then it fell out, so I lost," she continued, clearly disappointed because apparently the kid who no longer has a tooth in her head can't win the battle for loosest tooth.

First graders are weird.

You Can Have Your Crankypants. We Have a Kite.

There are days when it seems everyone is in a fantastic mood, and then there is this past week. There must have been quite the sale on crankypants because everywhere I go, the crank is there. CRANK GRUMBLE. CRANK. WHINE. CRANK.

Fortunately for me, the sun has been shining, the temperatures have been moderate, the flowers have been blooming, and a certain short person has been wearing dresses on a daily basis. Y'all can keep your crankypants. We're floating with the clouds.

Or with a kite. Whatever.

There's a story as to how it came to be that Alexis hadn't ever really flown a kite until this past weekend, but it's long and boring and full of pointlessness (just like everything else on this blog! KA-POW!). But, this past weekend when I should have been doing yard work, I looked over at a rather cheerful Alexis as she happily played on her swingset and said SCREW IT. I grabbed the kite out of the depths of the garage, told her to ready herself for an explosion of awesomeness, and we flew that kite.

And flew that kite.

And flew that kite.

Eventually I had to put an end to the kite flying because hockey. Playoffs. Stuff like that.

Alexis was OK with the stopping because hockey. She understands the importance of her sitting in her lucky chair and chanting "Marc Andre Fleury" in a singsong voice that I really must capture on video one of these days because it's amazing.

After the very important hockey things were done, Alexis looked over at me, considered making puppy dog eyes, realized that was a terrible idea, and then politely asked if we could go to a park to fly the kite. I one-upped her and found us a wide open field at the top of a hill.

I think maybe she liked it.

A lot.

I hope Alexis remembers these sorts of random moments when she's older. With any luck, they'll bring her as much joy as they bring me.

Blowtorches and Beetles, Oh My!

The very second I told the internet about Taylor and Megan, they started to mock me. For the first time since Alexis brought them home, I saw them both. At the same time. Both of them were at the corner of the terrarium flittering their little legs as they tried to figure out a way to climb up the walls.

::shudder::

I guess I can't pretend that the whole "two of them" thing is a myth. I was trying.

ANYWAY.

I have found it infinitely interesting to watch the internet critique my decision to be all -meh- about signing that permission slip. It's as if there is a pocket of people who have not heard the words "pick your battles." That's what I do. Pick my battles. When my battles are things like "Can I have a beetle that's totally free and never needs fed or anything" and "Can I have a sleepover with 20 of my best friends" I CHOOSE THE BEETLES.

Beetles with teeth > Screaming girls. It's a fact.

Besides, if ever there is a need to make the beetles go away, I'm pretty sure I can figure out a way to make that happen. I probably won't even need a blowtorch. Much.

It wasn't just a "pick your battles" sort of decision, though. Not entirely. It was also a little bit of "damn, if my kid can handle holding a beetle, what else can she do?" sort of decision.

You guys, I can't get the husband to get rid of spiders or stinkbugs that wander into the house, but I bet I can get the 7-year old girl to do it now. Having an in-house bug picker-upper-and-getter-ridder is a HUGE win.

That's just the start of all of the things is going to do in her life. She's not just willing to face her fears, she invites them to live in her bedroom.