I Just Hope It Isn't Too Painful When It Happens

I love flirting with disaster, so I'm going to just go ahead and admit that Alexis has been in a really good place lately. She's been polite and kind and listening well and . . . she's in bed sound asleep right now, but I probably just gave her reason to dream about burning the house down. Better lock up the matches, just in case.

I'll just sleep with one eye open tonight. No big deal.

So, she's been really pretty amazing lately. Except. EXCEPT. I don't know why it all started, but recently she has made trying to scare the crap out of people her job. As in, be careful what doors you open in our house because there's probably a 5-year old waiting behind that door just waiting to jump out and scream "BOO!" in your face.

Don't worry, though, you'll hear her Giggly Warning System go off before you actually open the door. Before that, you'll hear her elephant feet tromp across the room. Before that, you'll hear her laugh maniacally and yell, "DON'T LOOK AT ME!" It's not like you don't have adequate time to figure out that you're being set up.

Obviously, I don't react AT ALL when she jumps out in my face. I usually say, "Hi, Alexis" a half second before she screams like a deranged ghost. Making it obvious that there was no surprise does nothing to suck the wind out of her sails. She still thinks she's the funniest thing since somebody referred to Paris Hilton as a "writer." Whatever. She's happy.

But HOLY SON OF A HORNLESS UNICORN, don't you dare even think about turning her little game on her.

Earlier in the week I had to run to the grocery store for like the 15th time that day because apparently it's really hard to remember to buy spinach the first 14 times you go to a store, even when it's the only thing on your list. Anyway, Alexis was in her playroom when I returned, so I made the little turn from the basement into her playroom to ask her if she wanted to help me make dinner. Her back was turned as she ripped clothes off of dolls (Please tell me that phase is almost over. PLEASE.), so I jokingly yelled, "BOO!"

People, I could not have possibly made more noise as I walked into that room. I had loud shoes clomping on the floor, plastic bags rustling in my hand, I had talked to the husband when I walked through the basement, AND the dogs had barked at me. I was pretty much a walking ball of obnoxious sounds.

She didn't hear me coming.

At all.

When I yelled, "BOO!" she screamed like the hot girl at the beginning of a horror flick. Then she fell to the floor sobbing and bawling and genuinely freaked out because I had scared the pants off of her. It took half an hour to calm her down because she was JUST SO UPSET OMGWTFBBQ.

I apologized about seventeen eleventy bajillion times, but it didn't matter. She was PISSED.

And now she's seeking revenge.

So while she's being super cooperative and helpful and polite, she's also scheming how she's going to scare the crap out of me. I fully expect to wake up one of these days to find that she has glued a second head onto one of the cats.

Or worse.



Finding Fear

I am not afraid of heights.

I like to think I have a healthy respect for heights, but the shenanigans involved with taking the chalk photos would probably lead you to believe that I am lacking any sort of common sense when it comes to ladders. Somewhere in my head I know that falling would hurt, I just don't normally consider falling to be an option.

I know. I KNOW. I'm not real bright sometimes.

Regardless, I do not suffer from acrophobia. At all.

Friday night we went to Kennywood. We arrived late in the evening, meaning all the good parking lots were full. We had to park way at the very top of the hill.

So, we rode the ski lift down to the park.

To say that Alexis was thrilled would be an understatement. She loves to ride high up in the sky. She looks over the bar, leans back and forth and to and fro, whips her head around all over the place, and kicks her feet to make the entire contraption swing.

She has absolutely no fear of heights. She loves to look down over the world and take in its every detail.

Just like I do.

We are not afraid of heights.



When Alexis toys with gravity in many of the same ways that I often do, it leaves me panic-stricken. DON'T ROCK! SIT BACK! QUIT LEANING FORWARD! I want to yell.

I hate the karma boomerang.


The Toothbrush Elimination Project

Like pretty much every 5-year old on the planet, Alexis is a hoarder. What's that? You're 5-year old isn't a hoarder? Well, just shut up. I like to think that all kids cling to every picture they've ever drawn as if they are as valuable as a Picasso. I also prefer to think that it's a phase because I cannot possibly survive the next 13 years with two hoarders in my house. I will wind up dead under a pile of notebooks and childhood toys.

Anyway, Little Miss Can't Part With Anything is REALLY partial to her toothbrush. Er, toothbrushes. Er, every toothbrush she has ever gotten because OMG! SHE STILL HAD THEM ALL! Every last one. All of them. Each and every one. I don't really know how it happened, but somehow the kid had managed to hide the fact that she was clinging to toothbrushes like they were made of diamonds and sapphires.

Early last week, Alexis thought it would be a grand idea to stare lovingly at her toothbrush collection and laid them all out in a row on the bathroom counter. I did a double-take or three, absolutely mesmerized by the fact that she had somehow accumulated 17 toothbrushes. I have no clue where she has been hiding them, but there they were. Some were so old that they should be paying rent at this point.

I, of course, wound up doing what anyone who lives in constant fear of showing up on a TLC show about hoarders would do, I waited until Alexis was busy telling a cat, "It's OK! It won't hurt if I put this little bow on your tail!" and snuck a couple of the oldest, most ragged toothbrushes and quickly stashed them in the trash can in my closet. While it's a walk-in closet and Alexis walks past it every day, she never actually goes in the closet. No way would she catch my secret Toothbrush Elimination Project in action.

You already know what's next. OF COURSE she smelled that a toothbrush was missing and found where I had put it immediately. She then proceeded to tell me that the two I had selected for disposal were her most precious toothbrushes ever and the Queen of England had blessed them and Hannah Montana had spit on them and they were made of unicorn tears and will turn into keys to the Emerald Castle in a few years and GAH! I have never heard someone gush about a couple of toothbrushes like she did.

Oh, by the way, the two I threw away? Yeah, they were freebies she got from the dentist. One was a plain orange toothbrush and the other was plain red. But! But! They are precious! And valuable! And loved!

And were staying in the trash.

Somehow I wound up going into negotiations with the Tiny Terrorist. She agreed to part with FIVE whole toothbrushes in exchange for getting one new one the next time we go to Target.

So, uh, could somebody do a Target run for me? It seems that I have screwed myself into not going there for a few years. I have to at least wait until I talk the kid into giving up another ten toothbrushes.