Please Back Away from Audrey

If there is one thing I have learned in the past few months, it's that I don't ever want to let anything happen to my car again. I mean, it wasn't at all my fault that someone decided to run a stop sign and smash it, but OMG did I pay the price for her error.

Six weeks.


That's how long it took to get my car back.

Apparently Audi parts are made of leprechaun poop, unicorn horns, and zombie sweat. The only way to get all three ingredients together is for a tiny fairy to walk slowly from the United States to Germany and then dispatch her minions to China to conjure up some magic. Along the way, the minions take a tour of Australia, swim to Greenland, and fly to the moon. Then, and only then, will they work with the fairy to contact Santa so he can deliver the part to the body shop.

Oh, and if the body shop thinks they have everything fixed, but then finds more damage? Expect to have to repeat the whole process. At least twice.

Seriously, there wasn't much damage at all, but it took FOR-FREAKIN-EVER for the parts to all come in. I about lost my mind waiting because I loathe driving a rental car. LOATHE. It's not that the Toyota I was driving was all that bad, it was that I constantly felt like there was a target on the thing. I really didn't want to deal with it getting scratched or dented or whatever. I was absolutely certain that it would happen, too.

Fortunately, I was wrong. Unfortunately, it turns out the target is actually on my now completely scratch-and-dent-free Audrey.

Just today, the commute from Alexis' preschool to our house involved a deer running into the road, inches from the passenger side door. Yesterday there were three turkeys hiding in the road at a blind curb. There have been groundhogs, birds, and even a cow, all vying to be the first to punch my car in the face. I haven't even had it back for a full week yet.

And then there are the humans.

Pittsburghers, why do you keep crossing the center line? And why do you insist on turning left in front of me? And is there a reason you keep tailgating me? KNOCK IT OFF.

I hate my car, but I hate it even more when she takes an extended vacation at the body shop.


It's Crazy How Young They Start This Stuff

There are a lot of things I like to blame on my mom. I blame her for my knowledge of the phrase, "If God had wanted holes in your ears, he would have put them there." I blame her for my extreme aversion to frozen dinners (seriously, if I so much as see another TV Dinner in my lifetime, I will stop eating all together for ever and ever) (including funnel cake) (THAT is how serious I am). And I most definitely blame her for the fact that I have always hated my pin-straight hair.

While she had perfect natural waves running through her thick, black hair, I've always had not-quite-blond but not-really-brown-either baby-fine and very straight hair. Which she made me perm regularly, starting when I was in kindergarten.

Yes, indeed, I remember being 5-years old and sitting at my Aunt Susan's house as she wrapped little tiny curlers all through my mousey brown hair and then doused it in stinky chemicals. I remember her doing it again about a month later, too. You see, my hair and curl? They just don't co-exist. I can perm perm perm my hair and it'll go right on back to straight within a few months. That didn't stop my mom from forcing the curly hair issue for my whole life, but whatever. By the time I hit high school, only losers had straight hair anyway. If your bangs weren't so poofy that you could hide a birds nest inside, then you just couldn't show up for life.

And then I went to college and realized that straight hair? Is a good thing. Now I like it. Really.

But that doesn't mean I don't LOOOOOVE Alexis' curls. Because, OMG! I LOVE HER CURLS. Soooo much. I didn't expect her to keep them as she grew from a tiny baby to a crazy toddler and then on to a lively preschooler, but, they're still there. She has the most perfect, bouncy curls that ever found their way onto a kid's head. When it's humid outside? I could sit and sproing her curls for hours, which pretty much makes up for the fact that my hair ends up glued to my head, kind of like a wet dog's fur.

Alexis, on the other hand, HATES her curls. Every morning she fusses at me to make her hair straight. If she catches me scrunching her hair into curls, she rips my head off. Just last week she looked in the bathroom mirror and asked for straight hair. I told her that her curls were beautiful and she responded by bawling and crying that she wanted straight hair just like mine.


So, I concocted a plan. I looked at photos of some of her favorite celebrities and figured out who had curly hair. I planned to point out that those people looked gorgeous, curly hair and all. It was a genius plan.

Except that I blew it.

We went to see a stage production of Annie not long ago. This Annie started the show with straight hair, but when she got all dolled up for Christmas, she slapped on the curly wig. As she walked across the stage, I whispered to Alexis, "Look! She looks so pretty with curly hair!"

"She looks like a clown," Alexis replied. "It's really ugly."

She was right. Unfortunately.

When Alexis grows up and spends a fortune getting those curls straightened, let the record show that it WAS NOT MY FAULT.

She can blame my mom instead.


I'm Thinking We Picked out the EXACT Right Kitten for Us

"Hey, Ali, get your butt off that table."

"Hey, Ali, leave those flowers alone before they kick your butt."

"Really? You're going to just ignore me? Do you know what happens to animals who ignore me?"

"Do I even need to say 'I told you so?'"

"I told you so."

I'm not entirely sure, but I think she's saying, "I meant to do that."

But, you know what? Karma is a bitch. She who chose to ignore me as I nagged her to leave things alone found herself in quite the precarious situation just a few hours later.

I think she's saying, "HELP ME, PLEEEEEEEEEEASE!" and I might have, but I was picking up the flowers.

So there.