I Can See It And I KNOW

Living at the edge of nowhere has its advantages and its disadvantages. On one hand, nobody lives behind us. It is literally miles from our back yard until any signs of civilization. On the other hand, there are deer who wander from that open field into our yard and eat my pretties. It never fails that winter will set in and the deer will decide that the evergreen bushes at each corner of the house are the tastiest snacks in all the land. Except, they only eat the bottom 2/3rds of the evergreen bushes, so basically they trim them to be penis-shaped every winter.

I mean, well, they do. That is the exact shape they leave my bushes.

Ahem.

Thus, spring shows up every year and I find myself wanting to cut down the bushes. And yet I don't. Because this.

Every year. Every single year there are nests with eggs, so I let the giant green penis bushes live. By the time the babies fly away, the bushes have started to recover from the the deer snacking on them, so I leave everything alone. Lather, rinse, repeat.

This year Mila is making things worse. This year Mila is all in on checking on the eggs and babies every day, so there's no way I'll be cutting down the bushes any time soon. It's pretty adorable the was Mila rushes out the door each morning and waits patiently to be lifted up to see the babies, so whatever. It's fine.

Except, weirdness has ensued.

That nest with five eggs? Well, that has turned into a nest with one baby. That's kind of bad news, but one is better than none, so.

But that one.

It's ... uh ... well ... in theory there's no such thing as an ugly baby. Buuuuuut.

Sorry, but brand new baby birds are disgusting. THEY ARE.

And yet, Miss Mila literally "awwwwwwwwwwwwed" when she saw it for the first time. As if it were cute or something. Which, IT'S NOT.

So why exactly are children born thinking ugly babies are cute? Because this phenomenon is so confusing.

Old Lady Can't Spin

I am a glutton for punishment apparently, so I dared return to Kennywood this weekend. With Mila.

When last we checked, she's too short to ride anything in Kiddieland. A little careful thought into her shoe selection did nothing to change that, unfortunately, but you know what's swell? She is tall enough to ride a few things. They just aren't in Kiddieland.

The Whip, for example. She can ride that. She just has to be with "a responsible person."

I couldn't find one of those, so she rode with her sister and a friend a few times and then with me a whole bunch of times. Like, a dozen times, if not more.

She can also ride the Kangaroo, which makes even less sense, but whatever. She rode that about a dozen times.

And the carousel. She can't ride the one in Kiddieland, but she can ride the regular one. I have stopped questioning the logic in these things and instead prefer to focus on the pure joy that kid throws into the world when she's riding crazy stuff.

So, Mila has a few rides that will get her through the summer. Hopefully. There's just one problem - everything she can ride spins. She loves spinning, but me? OMG MAKE IT STOP PLEEEEEEASE.

I can't do spinning.

I used to think spinning was awesome, but somewhere between college and when Alexis was born, spinning started to make me sick. With time, it has only gotten worse. At this point, looking at something that spins is enough to leave me pukey and miserable for days.

For real. I'm not exaggerating. A day of Mila being super happy has me still "off" TWO DAYS LATER.

So if you have a cure for Old Lady Can't Spin, now would be a good time to throw it out there.

A Little Reminder for the Big One

Let there be no doubt - I do things today with the expectation that my children will return the favor tomorrow. By virtue of being the oldest child, Alexis will owe me the most.

She will owe me for years of glitter. I find that crap in all of the oddest places. It's like a wildfire. It spreads uncontrollably, seemingly growing and expanding and exploding to every corner of the earth. It is not uncommon for me to make it most of the way through a day, look in the mirror, and realize that I've had a piece of glitter stuck to my forehead through a bunch of important work meetings.

It's amazing that I rarely get asked habout my time at the strip club. ::sigh::

She's also going to owe me for all of the times that she has talked back to me, and yet I've let her continue to walk this earth. It is "let" by the way, and I think she knows it. She seems to have a healthy fear of pushing things too far, but why does she have to toe the line? WHY?

Perhaps the biggest thing she will owe me for is cheer. All of the cheer. Every week of practice, each time I've parted with money to buy a giant bow, all of it. But especially the part where I was standing in a gym at 8:00 am on a Saturday morning surrounded by cheerleaders. And I drove an hour to get there. ON A SATURDAY MORNING.

When selecting my nursing home, dear Alexis, don't forget that I like really high percale sheets. I deserve really high percale sheets.