And Blink

ALERT! ALERT! ALERT!

THERE IS A FIFTH GRADER IN MY HOUSE. AND SHE'S MINE. I HAVE A FIFTH GRADER.

::dead::

I'm not entirely sure how it is that I blinked and the entire school year passed me by. It was mere moments ago that I was standing on the sidewalk clicking the button on the camera for this.

It was mere moments since I wrote this post, musing aloud at how amazing it was to have a fourth grader so willing to be helpful.

She kept it up. Alexis dressed Mila and asked if there was anything else she could do to help on the first day of school and on the last, and on nearly every day in between. She's like all responsible and stuff.

There are a million examples of just how responsible and stuff Alexis is these days, but she is firmly across the line that is sharing her every move online. Her story is her story at this point, not mine, and while she would give permission for me to tell all of those stories, I won't. She can tell them when she wants to.

I will say, however, that I firmly believe that parenting is about handing a bunch of bricks to your kids. You can help them use some of those bricks to build a foundation, but at some point it becomes their house to build.

I'm really very glad my fifth grader is using her bricks to build something great.

As For the Other One

Two years into this thing called life, Mila's personality hasn't changed much. She is who she has always been and she has always been a cute little Mowgli who turns into a Gremlin at night.

Don't feed her after midnight. I'm telling you, ugly things happen.

Unfortunately, the transformation from cute and cuddly to beast happens before midnight. In fact, it happens at about 8:00 pm every night. Mila goes from sweet and easy-going to RAAAWRRR in a flash. Once she has turned into a Gremlin, the only human who can calm the beast within is me.

Still.

Always.

When she's in college and I have to go visit every night so that she doesn't haul off and deck somebody, we'll consider it a problem. For now, it's mostly manageable. It just means I'm the one who puts her to bed every night.

It's unusual for us to be away from home when the witching hour starts, so I don't have a lot of data about what happens when 8:00 strikes and bedtime isn't close behind. I was really very sure that I was going to find out the hard way that the answer was DISASTER this past weekend. Not only did a wedding mean she would be out past 8:00 pm, there was a time zone difference that made everything even later than the clocks claimed.

The meltdown should have happened at 7:00 Tennessee time. The kid should have turned into a beast who would only allow me to make eye contact with her. That happened to be right when the Pens game was set to start, so I figured she could join me at watching the game from a TV outside of the wedding reception.

Except, when I went to go catch some of the game, Mila seemed to be content with a relative. So I left her behind with instructions to hunt me down if her ears started to seem pointier than normal.

An entire period of the game went by and I didn't see the beast. In fact, I didn't see her cranky little face until it was a good hour past bedtime. Even odder, when the Gremlin came to visit, the Gremlin was all, "Wait, what? You're watching the game? Do you realize that there is a party happening inside? I WANT TO BE AT THE PARTY."

She took one look at me, decided she was content with knowing where I was, and then insisted she get to go back inside with whoever was willing to take her.

She repeated her "I want my mommy" then "Never mind. Party time!" routine every 15 minutes or so through the duration of the game. The kid wanted visual contact from time-to-time, but PARTY. She couldn't miss the party. There was dancing and lights and PARTY, PEOPLE.

She who has stayed very consistent with her personality set the precedent that she is willing to put partying as her #1 priority no matter the situation. That sure is going to make college a lot of fun ...

We Can Solve Any Problem with Chucks

Have I ever mentioned that Alexis likes to dance? Maybe? Well, she does. A lot. Thus, Alexis super likes going to weddings because DANCING! DANCING! DANCING MACHINE!

If you need someone to spend the entire reception on the dance floor, welcoming others to join in her tomfoolery, Alexis is your girl. She'll do the sprinkler, the worm, and a whole bunch of other hilarious things because she just plains loves to dance.

She knew before The Month of Weddings started that she would be having lots of chances to dance her butt off. She also knew that I would lock her in the trunk of the car before I'd let her go to any of those chances to dance wearing her usual uniform -- black leggings and a tank top.

The girl needed some clothes. Dressy clothes.

The truth of the matter is I don't care what the kid wears 99.9% of the time. That .1% is the space between peace and war, though. I drug that kid to every store in the tri-state area and said, "Pick a dress" and she said "Noooooooooooooooooooooooo."

She swore she didn't like anything. Every single dress I picked up was either ugly, itchy, stupid, or elicited a face I personally reserve for when I find a bug with too many legs creeping in my house. She rolled her eyes, I rolled my eyes, together we were a shopping mess.

I might have dropped the, "Pick something right now or I'm picking for you" line after several hours of trying to buy something for the kid. It's possible. It's also possible that after dropping that line, I picked up the ruffliest, ugliest, most hideous dress possible and pointed to it while counting down. "3 ... 2 ... "

Suddenly Alexis was willing to chat. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, it came out that Alexis didn't want a dress because she wanted to be able to dance without the restrictions that come from flashing people while doing the worm. She was also worried about shoes because she wanted to wear shoes that were comfortable and dance-friendly.

It was then that I reminded Alexis that shorts are a thing and that they are a thing that can be worn under a dress. I mean, COME ON, KID.

As for the shoes, well, all she had to do was ask. I am firmly of the belief that Chucks absolutely qualify as dressy enough for a wedding.