Last night Alexis and I were flying solo as Mr. Husband had to attend an alleged work event until way late in the evening. Of course, we did what any intelligent women would do--we went out to dinner and then did some shopping. It was the first time we've done that in quite a while, so it was startling to realize it's actually, dare I say, enjoyable to have a girls' night out with the kid.
I figured I would make it all about the Toddler, so I asked her what she wanted for dinner. Always one to dream big, she said peanut butter and jelly. So, off we headed to the nearest Panera for a pair of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. But when I got there, I realized that there was a new Mexican joint in the same little complex. I have never met a burrito I didn't want to inhale, so I overrode the Toddler's choice, knowing that she has never met rice and beans that she didn't want to shovel at top speed.
I was very right on that account. The Toddler shoveled that rice and those beans so fast and so furiously that it looked like a herd of wedding guests throwing Mexican rice at a bride and groom. I was actually feeling bad about the disaster zone until the server made a face when she saw it, then I started helping Alexis throw more food to the invisible dogs on the floor. I seriously would have cleaned up what I could if she hadn't gone all sourpuss on me. Now I figure that's what they get for only having forks bigger than my head. It would take a brain surgeon's precision and a crane to lift one of those forks full of beans neatly to a little pie hole.
Midway through the floor re-texturizing project, the REALLY drunk lady at the next table over suddenly took an interest in my little interior decorator. She came stumbling over, slathered herself across the table, and LOUDLY asked the Toddler about the Minnie Mouse on her shirt. I don't know what scared the Toddler worse--the giant uncovered boobs that were right smack in the middle of our table, the smell of half a box of wine radiating from the lady's pores, or the WICKED LOUD VOLUME OF HER RANTS. The Toddler leaped from her chair, landing right smack in my lap. She buried her face in my neck and didn't come out for a good ten minutes after the drunken whore finally stumbled back to her dinner with clients (no lie, she was trying to sell them something or other).
The Toddler has always had a Michigan J. Frog sort of quality about her. She loves to make people laugh and lives to entertain, just so long as nobody makes eye contact with her. Seriously, she will be laughing and jabbering and generally being a little clown, but if somebody so much as says "BOO" to her, she goes running to her mommy or daddy and hides for ten minutes. I've noticed that her shy streak is getting worse as she now won't say "please" or "thank you" or "bye bye" to strangers (she consistently did just two months ago). I'm thinking drunken whores have scared her shy.
Once we escaped the drunken whore, we managed to hit quite a few stores. I must have missed the memo, but apparently kids actually outgrow that whole "I'm going to run around like an idiot, bouncing like a ping pong ball off the walls, and I really don't care what you do. BYE!" phase. Six months ago I would have been lucky to make it through one store with the Toddler in tow. Now that she SUDDENLY is willing to hold my hand? We hit like ten. It was weird, and yet, delightful.
As we wrapped up the shopping spree, the Toddler turned to me and said, "This is fun." I think that means we need Daddy to have more alleged work things so we can enjoy more girls' nights out.
Make it happen, Mr. Husband.
(Just in case you thought I was the only cruel one in the house, here's proof that the Toddler enjoys inflicting pain on Baby Shell.)