A Little TOO Smart

The three of us sat gathered in a booth, each focused intently on the meals before us. Alexis was worshiping at the church of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich (which was made wrong, I'll have you know), breaking only occasionally to suck down a little yogurt from a tube. It was a meal that she had selected only after careful consideration of the entire menu.

As she happily chewed on her food, Alexis began to scope out the food choices Mr. Husband and I had made. She eyed my tomato soup, determined that it was not a security risk, and continued on. She examined Mr. Husband's sandwich, found it to be lacking, and continued on.

Then she spotted it.

Mr. Husband's bag of potato chips.

Alexis had been given her choice of sides, and potato chips were certainly a part of the menu presentation. She chose yogurt instead, and yet, she found herself wanting a chip or two. Or ten.

She looked at Mr. Husband.

She looked at the chips.

She looked at Mr. Husband.

She looked at the chips.

She looked at me.

She looked at the chips.

At last, she decided on a strategy. I knew she was thinking long and hard about those potato chips, so I was just waiting for her to shove her grubby little hands straight into the bag. Instead, she pasted on her best smile, gazed up at her Daddy, and mustered every ounce of sweet she could find as she said, "Daddy, I like to share with you."

Now that is how you steal food off of a man's plate.

I fear for the kid's future spouse-type person.


A Perfect Plan Backfires

I have learned my lesson.

For reals.

I will never, ever again gloat about winning at life. I did, and then Karma rose from the ashes and kicked my ass all over the place.

Mr. Husband's mom is in town visiting this week. Mr. Husband and Alexis are officially on vacation hanging out with her, but I won't be joining the party until Wednesday. That means I left the Master alone with her Daddy and her Nana.


There are now Hannah Montana Band-Aids in my house. And . . . well, I thought the cheerleader dress was frightening. Then I met the Hannah dress.

I've been pwnd.


I Can Play that Game. Better.

They don't play fair. The conspire and manipulate and work together to make me into the bad guy. All. the. time. The Miley Cyrus CD was just a drop in the ocean that is my life.

We were dashing through Wal-Mart on a quest to grab the kinds of odds and ends that can only be acquired while passing entirely too close to the hellmouth that is that store. (And shoosh with your "why go there?" hullaballoo. Until Target opens its ears and hears my desperate pleas for a SuperTarget in Pittsburgh, I'm going to be stuck with Wal-Mart for those late night random stuff shopping trips.) While I was trying to find the right color of taper candles, Mr. Husband and Alexis wandered back to electronics. Of course. They ALWAYS wander back to electronics.

Just as I started to make some progress, Mr. Husband tried to get my attention so he could show me a cheap laptop. Mine is currently playing Taps really loud, threatening to suck all my data and photos into a giant black hole, and my options for detouring around that black hole are to spend several hundred dollars for repairs or to buy a new laptop. I'm thinking a new laptop sounds fun, but the old budget is sucking all the joy out of both options. Anyway, as I rounded the corner towards the laptops, he pointed down to the giant display of Miley Cyrus CDs. I rolled my eyes, called him a name, and walked back to the candle area.

Apparently, in some languages, "Whatever, dork," closely resembles a permission slip.

Next thing I knew, there was a short person running down the aisle towards me, her eyes glittering with joy, her little behind shooting out rainbows and unicorns and just absolute glee. In her hands Alexis held The Miley Cyrus CD. As she drew closer, she practically tripped over her happiness and quickly said, "Daddy said I have to ask you if I can have Hannah Montana CD. PLEEEEEEASE?"

How do you say no when your kid has unicorns shooting out of her butt? YOU DON'T.

So, yeah, I kinda sorta gave permission for the CD to be purchased, but it was a setup. A sting. A covert operation. THEY DON'T PLAY FAIR.

I hate that I'm always the bad guy. HATE.

So, as payback, I slipped out to Wal-Mart late last night and purchased another CD. Jonas Brothers. Oh, yes I did. Then I spent 30 minutes telling Alexis that Jonas Brothers CD only works in Daddy's car. OH, YES I DID. The best part is that she believed me, so I can guarantee that there will be a whole lot of Jonas Brothers and their so-called singing going on in that Honda, but never in my car.