We Are Soooooooo Screwed


Hypothetically Speaking

So, let's say that there is this company that you like who happens to be based in Pittsburgh. Let's say that company also happens to be starting a new venture that you really like. And let's say that company decides to do a little blogger thing to celebrate the opening of that new venture. Instead of being all corny and cheesy and stupid about that blogger thing, though, they go for AWESOME.

Hypothetically speaking, of course. I would never mention something that hasn't quite happened yet. Ahem.

So, let's say that company offers a group of local bloggers the opportunity to go out and pay it forward. Yes, pay it forward. Let's say they give that group a little bit of money to do something good for strangers . . . anything they want.  Just for the sake of argument, let's say it's a couple hundred dollars and the bloggers will be at/near the Carnegie Science Center on a weekday sometime in July.

Hypothetically speaking. Ahem.

If you had a couple hundred bucks, six fantastic accomplices, and a couple of hours to commit some random acts of kindness, what would you do? Ideally, it would be something that benefited kids and would impact a lot of them for not a ton of money.

And go! Hypothetically!

(Dear People Who Care about Disclosures and Such--Does that look like a sponsored post? Of course it's not. If it were, I would have name-dropped the company at least four dozen times *cough*77kids*cough* because they kick ass.)


The Princess and the Frog

You may not have received the memo, but kettle corn is absolutely essential to the survival of a 4-year old during Farmers Market season. If we run out, Alexis puts on her emo face and starts listening to Fall Out Boy at top volume. It's quite the travesty.

Since Pete Wentz makes me want to consider all the ways an apostrophe could be used as a deadly weapon, Alexis and I stopped at the Farmers Market on our way home. In the time it took for me to turn off the car, get out, and then unbuckle her seatbelt, she managed to ask if we could buy kettle corn no less than 1235327435243 times, so I handed her $5 and told her to hurry before they ran out. With a panicked look in her eye, she fled and then stood guard over the dozens of bags of kettle corn until I could get there. Kettle corn is vital, but it still hasn't reached the level of importance she requires before talking to a stranger.

At last, she stood clutching her precious bag of kettle corn, a giant smile decorating her face. I had $15 left in my pocket, so we started to look around and see if there was anything else we should buy. As we perused the fresh lettuce, bright-red strawberries, and fuzzy peaches, Alexis suggested that we look for something special. Something very special.

"We need to find my boyfriend," she said.

I asked for clarification and was told that we needed to find her a boy, a boy who was handsome enough to be her boyfriend forever and ever.


Since there are no vendors at the farmers market who sell chains and locks appropriate for locking one's daughter in the basement for 20 years, we started walking around, looking at the boys right along with the produce.

"What about him?" I asked as I pointed to a tiny terrorist with spiked brown hair.

"He's not handsome," Alexis matter-of-factly replied.

"What about that little boy?" I asked, gesturing towards a blond little guy.

"Nooooo way!" she answered, her tone implying that I was an idiot to even consider him.

Back and forth we went right up until we ran out of money to shop and little boys to talk about.

During the drive home, Alexis commented that we'd have to keep looking for a handsome boyfriend for her. I agreed, but suggested that first we eat dinner and work in the yard a little bit.

You may have heard a jubilant "Woooohoooo!" a day or two ago. That was me. We finally finished the work on the patio, so now I'm back to being focused completely on the hole in the ground that wants to grow up to be a pond and waterfall. We finished dinner in time for me to get out there and empty all of the water out of the hole in preparation for the next step. As the water slowly found its way to new parts of the yard, I ran into this little guy again:

I called Alexis over to see the little frog. She came running at top speed as she hadn't yet actually caught a glimpse of it. As I scooped the little frog and some mud up with the shovel, Alexis said, "You have to kiss him so he can turn into my handsome boyfriend!"

I will wipe that kid's butt, but I'm not kissing a frog for her. Sorry. I told her as much and then made the suggestion that she kiss the frog.

"No way!" she said before turning to Mr. Husband and trying to convince him to kiss it. He was even less cooperative than I was.

During all the attempts at passing the kissing buck, the frog had jumped back into the water. I scooped it up again just as Alexis turned to face me. I quickly pushed the shovel/frog towards her, to which she responded by screaming like a wussy girl and running away.

If that kid ever whines to me that she can't find her handsome prince anywhere, I'm handing her a printout of this post. She had her chance, but she wouldn't suck it up and give the little froggy a smooch.