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Christmas Crazy Strikes Again

It's that time of year again. Time for the chaos, insanity, and mayhem that can only mean one thing--The Daycare Christmas Show. Oh, yes. A room full of kids under four years of age, their parents, their grandparents, their neighbor's ex-wife's sister's hairdresser, and everyone else under the sun. A room full of kids who would normally be eating dinner, but instead are shepherded onto a tiny stage and forced to sing songs with lyrics not even I know.

Good times.

Last year? Was awful. AWFUL. The post about it does not even come close to doing it justice as the post traumatic stress disorder was just starting to seep into my veins. This year? One thing had changed. One major thing. The room? Was actually big enough to hold everyone. I must admit, it was very nice not to have my head shoved into somebody's dad's armpit and my leg wrapped around somebody's big sister as I tried to catch a glimpse of my kid.

In fact, this year's show was so lacking in awful that the only "event" of the evening was some grandma getting all huffy because the toddlers were running around in the back of the room towards the end of the hour-long presentation. As in, they were chasing each other back and forth and back and forth and the grandma felt the need to voice that it was exceptionally rude and inconsiderate. Except, she committed a major error in voicing her whining--she did it to the VERY pregnant mom of one of the toddlers.


Pregnant ladies will eat you alive if you bitch about their kids. It's a fact. I saw it with my very own eyes.

Other than that, though, this year's Christmas Show wasn't that bad. Although, having more space did NOTHING for improving the photos.

Oh, and don't forget to link to your photos or stories about Christmas gone crazy on December 20th. I'll be posting Mr. Linky a little bit early since Kellie is an awesome Aussie and is living in tomorrow while I live in today.


Wanted: One Sledgehammer

Remember my car, Audrey? You know, the one that tells me she may eventually need gas by dinging like a doorbell beneath the finger of a 2-year old? DINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDING. The same car that started calling me names within a week of having her?

Yeah, she hates me.

And is trying to kill me.

Now, before you get all "Gah! Quit being so dramatic!" you should know that Audrey is like 99.9% computer. When I turn the key to shut off the engine, she sounds EXACTLY like a bunch of servers after you press and hold the power key for a cold shut down. NOOOOoooooooohateyou.

Artificial intelligence is alive and well, and it's coursing through the angry veins of my ol' Audi.

Some time ago I figured out that Audrey is so totally bluffing when she starts throwing a fit about needing gas. I have mastered the art of driving her until precisely two gallons of gas remains in her tank. She thanks me by acting all stoopid when I try to start her with anything less than a 1/4 tank. I would think she has fuel pump issues (gee, wonder how that would happen), but she doesn't. Nope, she has ATTITUDE problems. If there is less than 1/4 tank of gas, Audrey will use her super-computer brain to keep the car from starting exactly once. Just once. It's like a little jab, "You think you can treat me like this? I want gas, beyotch!" Then she starts. And potentially could drive another 70 miles before getting down to two gallons of gas.

You see that? I said TWO gallons of gas. Every other car I have had I ran down to ONE gallon of gas. Audrey has scared me into doubling my gasoline tolerance.

She hates me.

Not only that, she thinks she knows more than me and is absolutely going to kill me while proving it.

The other day I was cruising back from gymnastics with Alexis. Now, when I have Alexis in the car, I toss my Danica Patrick costume in the trunk and drive like a normal human being who knows how to (sort of) obey the speed limit. Seriously, I drive nice when she's in the car. Really. In part because I like her and want to keep her around for a few more years, and in part because she'll yell, "MOMMA! YOU'RE DRIVING REALLY FAST!" if I don't.

So I was nicely driving down a windy road on a blustery cold evening. There wasn't a hint of ice or snow anywhere to be found, although Audrey's dash reported that it was certainly cold enough for snow. Not only did she have the cute little snowflake all lit up, she reported that the temperature was 27 degrees.

Suddenly, Audrey jerked. And again. It was like some invisible force had lifted my foot off the gas and pumped the breaks REALLY HARD. I was all WTH? but when it didn't happen again, I forgot about it.

Until it happened again later last week. Once again it was a chilly winter day, and once again the roads were totally dry. Once again I was driving nicely down the road when suddenly JERRRRK JERRRRRK. This time I realized that at the precise moment that Audrey was all STOPGO STOPGO a little orange light had flashed on the dash.

So I decided to get to the bottom of the madness and consulted Audrey's owners manual. I turned to page 27 and was told that the little orange light was Audrey's ESP light.

Yes, ESP light.

Page 27 also told me that if I wanted to know more about Audrey's ESP, I needed to turn to page 114. Page 114 told me (totally paraphrasing here, but not exaggerating), "That's Audrey's ESP light. It comes on sometimes. For more information, go to page 27."

Ummmmm . . . thanks?

So, I dug deeper. I looked up "ESP" in the back and was directed to pages 27, 114, and 146. Fortunately, page 146 actually told me something other than, "Yes, that light exists." It told me that ESP, in this case, stands for Electronic Stabilization Program.

(At this point, any guys reading this are all "GAH! Women should not be allowed to drive!" Shooosh. Men shouldn't be allowed to talk.)

Electronic Stabilization Program, according to Audi, "help make the vehicle easier to control in handling situations close to the limit. . . ESP detects the car's intended direction and responses. It applies the brakes on individual wheels . . ." blah, blah, blah.

In other words, Audrey is under the impression that 35 mph is "close to the limit" and she doesn't think I'm smart enough to know when to pump the breaks, so she does it for me while PREDICTING where she thinks I need to go.

If Audrey ever rolls off a bridge after I take a sledgehammer to her DINGDINGDINGDINGY dash, it won't be my fault. The goober car has ESP and should know how to run and duck for cover.


Shady Things Going on in that Building

Friday night we met some friends for dinner. Since Mr. Husband works near the restaurant that was selected, Alexis and I drove down together and met him there. As us girls were leaving, Alexis gazed at the fluffy white snowflakes as they gently fell to the ground, and suddenly noticed the very large stone building at the end of the road. "What's that?" she asked.

"A church," I told her.

"I wanna go in," she replied.

It wasn't exactly the right moment for us to go charging into a random church, so I told her we could drive by it and look at it more closely, but that we didn't have time to go in.

So we drove past it, Alexis wide-eyed as she stared at the nearly 200-year old castle-like structure. "I wanna go in," she repeated.

"Hon, we can't go in now. Do you want to go look at a different church, though?" I asked.

"Yeah," the Toddler replied.

So we wandered the few miles from the Strip District towards downtown and drove past a few more old churches.

"I wanna go in," Alexis reiterated each time we drove past a new one.

Intrigued, I finally asked, "Why do you want to go in?"

Alexis, in her infinite Toddler wisdom, explained, "I wanna see Sleeping Cutey and her dad."

(She calls Sleeping Beauty "Sleeping Cutey" and is convinced that the Prince is Sleeping Cutey's dad. I haven't quite decided if that is a good thing or a really bad thing.)

So, let's review: I spent a good portion of my Friday night touring churches in search of a Disney Princess and her "Dad." If that isn't the most twisted way I've ever kicked off a weekend, I don't know what is.