Yeah, That Makes Sense

There's plenty of evidence to indicate that I'm not an idiot. I got good grades in school, I went to college on an academic scholarship, and I work with pretty complicated technical concepts at work. The only thing is, I am an idiot. A BIG idiot.

This morning when I went into Alexis' room to feed the fish in the saltwater tank, I noticed a crab sitting at an odd angle behind the rocks. I studied it for a minute or two and when it didn't budge, I cleverly deduced that it was not a living crab. So I moved the rocks, scooped the corpse up with a net, and gave him a proper clockwise funeral. Flusherooooo!

I didn't say anything to Mr. Husband because I have found a shrimp corpse and another crab corpse in the past few weeks, and I didn't really need to hear him tell me that I need to figure out what is wrong with the tank. I ran every water quality test under the sun this morning and couldn't find anything wrong, so him asking me if I checked the pH, ammonia, nitrates, nitrites, calcium, iodine, buffering capacity, blah, blah, blah would have just annoyed me to no end.

We spent our day out running various errands, including important tasks like buying Strawberry Shredded Wheat so that Alexis doesn't fall victim to SSW deprivation tomorrow. When we got back home, I went straight upstairs to feed the fish and turn off the light for the night. The instant I dropped a couple of chunks of frozen fish food into the tank, I noticed a little claw come swiping out from under a rock. I stared at that damn crab for a solid five minutes trying to figure out how it not only returned from the dead, but found it's way all the way through the sewer system, across the hall, and back into the aquarium. I finally decided that it was either a ghost, or we must have had a crab in the tank that we didn't know about.

So, Mr. Husband came upstairs and I told him we have a ghost in the tank. He looked at the little crab and then said, "He probably just shed his exoskeleton."

Oh, yeah, that would be slightly more logical than a ghost crab returning to a crappy little tank in the afterlife, now wouldn't it?

Now I'm trying to figure out if anything ever died, or if I've been pulling out shed exoskeletons, obsessing for hours every day over water quality, and cursing the death of a bunch of over-priced critters for no reason.

I am an idiot.

I Know How I Rank

Last night, as I was turning off the lights in preparation for tucking Alexis into her miniature bed, she stumbled upon my sticker stash. The sticker stash that I have been using to reward her for staying in her bed all night, and that I aspire to one day use as a reward her for a successful potty breaks should pigs fly, Mars go into retrograde, and the miracle of pottying in the toilet ever actually happen. She clutched the edges of that sheet of stickers, staring hard with squinted blue eyes, trying to determine exactly which Dora sticker she should ask to have.

I told her, "You can have one in the morning if you stay in your bed all night."

She continued to stare and then excitedly spewed, "Dis one! Dora! Boots! Puuuuuweeze?"

I was tired, and I was weak, so I decided to let her have a sticker right then and there.

I carefully peeled it from the backing and she hurriedly adhered it to the back of her hand. With a grin, a "Dank you!" and a kiss, she snuggled into her sandpaper-like Mickey Mouse sheets. She softly stroked the precious Dora sticker, whispering excitedly to herself, until she finally fell sound asleep.

A few hours later, I heard the familiar sounds of tiny toddler feet shuffling quietly into our room. "Water, please," she whispered. It seemed a long way to walk for a drink of the exact same water that was in her cup right next to her bed, but there's really no point in arguing at 2:00 in the morning. As she handed the bottle back to me, I said, "Go back to bed, Alexis." She shuffled her bare little feet a few inches toward the door then paused. As she peered down at her tiny hands, softly illuminated by the glow of the alarm clock, her brow furrowed deep with thought.

Slowly, carefully, she peeled the Dora sticker from the back of her left hand and handed it to me. "Cuddle, please?" she hesitantly whispered.

My little Dora minion was willing to sacrifice a favorite sticker if it meant she could cuddle with me in my bed. Who could say no to that?

All the Kids in the Pool, Please

Dear Alexis,

I was all set to write you a heartfelt letter about how much I have enjoyed that hour after I pick you up from school all this week. The change in the weather has paved the way for sidewalk chalk, peek-a-boo behind the flowers, and endless rides down the slide. It's been amazing spending that time with you. But, then you went and did it again. Or rather, you didn't do it again. So, instead, let's talk about the kids, mmkay?

The kids.

The kids want to swim in the pool.

What kid doesn't want to swim in the pool? Really. The fact that you hang a billboard all over your face when you're about to drop the kids off in that Dora diaper should make it real easy for us to scoop you up and plop you down over the pool, but you refuse.

You vehemently refuse.

Alexis honey, you are denying the kids their right -as kids- to go for a swim. Today's kids could be halfway to the ocean by now, practicing the butterfly and backstroke while bonding with other kids their age. Instead, they are stuck down in the dark, stinky garage with the dogs' kids. Do you know how cruel that is? No one should have to be around the dogs' kids. That's like locking you in a room with the stinky snot-nosed toddler who likes to bite and hit everybody. While your kids are far from sweet bundles of joy dropped from the heavens, they do not deserve to spend their days surrounded by those smelly brats.

While I get a bit of a kick out of you dropping the kids off on Dora's face, it's time to make some dreams come true. All the kids. In the pool. Now.

Thank you.

Love always,
Mommy (who is totally ready to never change another stinky diaper again)