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A Little Monkey Business

I don't know if OCD is genetic or contagious, but I do know that both the Toddler and I suffer from the affliction. For me, it means hours of digging around in the Saltwater Tank of Horrors. For the Toddler, it means fixating on a character and spending every possible moment relishing in the glory that is that character.

Since Elmo is SO two months ago, lately we've been on a Curious George kick. We read the same book over and over and over each and every night. Except that we don't actually read the book because it is one of those allegedly vocabulary building annoyances that just has lots of pictures with the appropriate label next to each one. I've never quite managed to entertain myself by reciting every kind of toy under the sun, so mostly we just look at the pictures and play a little hide and seek. I ask Alexis where various items are and she continuously changes the subject and asks, "Where's George?" and then finds him for me. We can't turn the page until she has shown me George at least eleventy bazillion times.

The kid is obsessed with spotting George.

A few days ago, we made a run to Coldstone for a little Rocky Road Trip goodness and were sitting outside, inhaling the world's best ice cream as fast as we all could. Alexis, for once in her life, was actually eating her ice cream at a pace that somewhat resembled normalcy. She might have even managed to get five whole bites down before it all melted if it hadn't been for a minor interruption. A Dad and his three kids came plowing through the place. Except, one of the boys was channeling his inner rebel and decided to stop a few stores down and stare at the piles and piles of empty boxes. His Dad called his name over and over and over, and each and every time he did, the Toddler freaked out.

"George! Come here, George. Now, George."

Every time the Dad said, "George," the Toddler's head spun round and round and she looked high and low for her most recent book crush. And then George suddenly came running to his Dad and in that moment, reality smacked the Toddler upside the head and she realized there would not be a cute little monkey joining her for a little ice cream.

I can only hope the sight of little boys continues to be such an utter and complete disappointment for the Toddler.



Mr. Husband and I are quickly approaching our 8th wedding anniversary on June 3rd. Since we are ever-so patient and ever-so romantic, we already exchanged gifts as we passed each other in the dining room last night. I've been holding his gift for a while because a stroke of genius came over me (in the form of a forwarded link from Mr. Husband--if he doesn't like what he got, then he shouldn't have asked if he should buy it). It was the PERFECT anniversary gift--a GPS. After all, nothing says "I lurve you and always will" like a GPS system. Especially when the GPS system is super-marked down and cheaper than you've ever seen one. That's romance right there.

Today was the debut of the fancy little GPS system, specifically the TomTom. Except, Mr. Husband set TomTom to use an Austin Powers voice, so I think we should call it AusTom. Anyway, AusTom was assigned to leading us to a fish store that we had never been to before (we are in the midst of restocking the Fishtank of Horrors--the worms need company). AusTom comes complete with a few little issues:

1. AusTom seemed to be under the impression that we needed to drive over the bridge, through the woods, around the block, down the street, and then back again to get to our destination. Once I saw where the joint was located, I was all WTH? We could have gotten there 20 minutes faster if we had taken a different route. You know, the DIRECT route.

2. Probably 5 minutes of that wasted time was due to AusTom's very significant design flaw--men don't listen to directions. Whether those directions come via a wife, a neighbor, a stranger, or a GPS, men quite simply are not programmed to listen to directions. It's a fact.

3. Even though she had no idea who or what was talking, the Toddler thought everything AusTom said warranted a, "Goodbye!" Every.single.time.

So, two minutes in the car went a little like this:

AusTom: Turn left in 100 yards.
Mr. Husband immediately turns left.
Toddler: Goodbye!
AusTom: Turn around at the next opportunity.
Toddler: Goodbye!
Mr. Husband: What did it say?
Me: It said to turn around.
AusTom: Turn right in 500 yards.
Mr. Husband immediately turns left.
Toddler: Goodbye!
AusTom: Turn right in 200 yards.
Toddler: Goodbye!
Mr. Husband drives past turn.
Me (cause I'm an IDIOT): You missed your turn.
Mr. Husband: Where?
AusTom: Turn left in 50 feet.
Toddler: Goodbye!
Mr. Husband: I didn't miss my turn.
AusTom: Turn left in 10 feet.
Toddler: Goodbye!
Me: Yes, you did.
AusTom: Turn around at next opportunity.
Toddler: Goodbye!
Me: See, you missed your turn.
AusTom: Turn right in 300 yards.
Toddler: Goodbye!

If you follow AusTom's directions, you'll find the remnants from when my head exploded all over Pittsburgh.



No Whine for Me

I was all set to whine and whine and whine about the middle of the night Attack of the Toddler Mouth episodes that have been going on as of late when I realized something.

It's Spring.

Almost Summer.

The temperature has been hovering mostly between the 40s and 70s, give or take a few days when Mother Nature forget to take her happy pills.

Guess who likes to keep the house windows open all through Spring and early Summer? The same people who live in a townhouse where we are ever so lucky as to have a fully attached neighbor. Who also likes to keep his windows open. Ten feet from our windows.


I bet our neighbor is hating the middle of the night Attack of the Toddler Mouth episodes even more than I am. Last night he was ultra lucky and probably got to hear one side of a conversation that most likely sounded like this:

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. I want Mommy."
"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. I want milk."
"No. I want water."
"I want Baby Shell."
"No Baby Shell!" *throws poor doll across room with enough velocity to take out an eye or two*
"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. I want Mommy."
"I want candy."
"I waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaant . . . "
"I waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaant . . . "

If the neighbor could have heard my side of the conversation, I'm sure it all would have made even less sense. However, I'm sure he only heard one side because between the Toddler and me, there is only one of us that hasn't learned to respect the laws of inside voices and the regulations regarding very minimal speaking at 11 o'too late in the night.

Maybe I ought to close the windows tonight. I'm sure there will be another hour-long Toddler Screamapalooza.

Of course, this is the same neighbor that decided he should hang some pictures on the wall (the wall that we share, mind you) at 11 o'too late in the night a few weeks ago. The hammering was in the smaller bedroom. Less than four feet from our sleeping Toddler. Who was awakened at 11 o'too late by the sounds of a hammer pounding on the wall right next to her.

Screw it. If I ain't sleeping, ain't nobody sleeping.