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I present to you photographic evidence that eating too many Kit Kats does indeed cause bodily harm:
THAT is Kit Kat Belly. It's a condition that is likely to result in your shirt riding up and your jeans coming unsnapped. Repeatedly.
Hitting the dog on the head with a maraca will not cure your Kit Kat Belly. It will, however, get you in big trouble with your Mother and she WILL make you feel bad for being mean.
I decided to join in the madness that is NaBloPoMo, although it won't be much of a challenge. For those not in the know, November is National Blog Posting Month. So lots and lots of bloggers commit to posting every single day during the month. I always post every day and have for over 21 months (give or take a handful of days when Verizon was trying to suck my brains out of my head). It won't be that hard to go the whole month. It wouldn't even be a challenge if I decided I would only blog about parents that annoy me. Cuz' really, those are everywhere. Or at least they have been this week.
Exhibit A crossed my path at Gymboree the other day. Apparently kids feet grow or something because while Alexis was busy wearing way cute sandals all summer, she went and outgrew all but like three pairs socks. Since you can only flip them inside out a few times before it becomes a little too obvious, I thought a sock shopping expedition was warranted. Off to Gymboree we went to dig through clearance bins. Alexis, of course, bee-lined straight for the television. The child that will not just stare at Sesame Street while I'm in the shower, despite my fervent pleas, cannot wait to watch Elmo on the TV in Gymboree. She ran over as fast as her little legs would carry her and prepared to flop down in a chair.
Just as Alexis' little butt was about to meet bright blue plastic, the little girl seated nearby in the bright orange chair gave her a shove. A shove hard enough to send her flying under the clearance rack, four feet away. I dashed over to check for blood and nurse the Category 4 Meltdown while ignoring the urge to go all Jeff Reed on the demon spawn's head. As tears poured down Alexis' chubby little cheeks, a woman previously perusing over-priced sweaters broke from her Very Important Cell Phone Conversation regarding ugly water heater repairmen to toss a nugget of wisdom over her shoulder, "Oh, she's not good at sharing." She then turned back around and resumed her discussions of Ted as her demon spawn unleashed on a second victim.
Anyone who does not see anything wrong with the woman's response, please leave now. I can't be your friend.
Yesterday Alexis and I had another lovely run-in. The mother of the little boy who ripped a book from Alexis' hand as she was holding it and asking me to read to her? Definitely not my friend. That woman was perhaps five feet away, certainly within hearing range, and sitting right next to a whole bookshelf of lovely books not currently in use. I was so proud of Alexis when she politely asked for the book back with a soft "Book, please?" I was even prouder of her that she didn't have a meltdown when the little boy didn't give it back. The whole time I was thinking that if Alexis pulled that, I would be over there making her return the book and apologize. But whatever. What REALLY got my blood boiling was when Alexis and I walked over to the bookshelf to pick out a different book only to have the first one launched directly at my head. Oh yes, it made contact. The mother, on the other hand, didn't. She just kept sitting there watching her little boy. Not one word to us or the little boy.
Is it just me, or are people letting their kids get away with way too much these days? (So asks the woman who let her Toddler eat Kit Kats for breakfast this morning.)
Happy Halloween! I bet some of you are here thinking you would get to see cute pictures of one little Toddler wearing the Halloween costume that she picked out all by herself. You would be wrong. I took her to the mall to have professional photos taken while wearing the costume (which I'm almost afraid to admit went really well) but they haven't emailed them to me yet. Since we returned, we have asked her about 15 bazillion times if she wants to dress up again and she says "NO!" We are talking about a kid that has worn that costume every day since she got it, sometimes for hours on end. But, hey, why wear it when it's time to Trick or Treat? Just because Daddy offered to take her around the neighborhood doesn't mean that she should cooperate, after all. And for those of you who haven't had the pleasure of meeting the man, he could have sincerely offered to house monkeys in his butt and would have gotten less of a shocked reaction from me. The man does not do holidays, especially ones that involve knocking on strangers doors and begging for candy. I fear Alexis may have missed the one and only time he will make that offer.
While I do not presently have photos of Alexis in her costume, I do have other photos worth sharing. First, here's the lovely decor in the front yard, including my Uncle Larry:
You know you think Uncle Larry is a sexy beast. Don't try to hide it.
The Toddler who would not go Trick or Treating did assist with the candy distribution. It was probably only so she could make sure nobody stole her Kit Kats. By the way, you don't need someone to unwrap a Kit Kat before you eat it. It tastes just dandy with the paper left on it.
After the candy distribution came the pumpkin carving. Apparently, if you are suffering from a wicked sugar high, you need to climb way up high, on top of the table, in order to assist with the carving activities.
To be honest, though, the scariest part of this Halloween was at lunch when I made the critical error of feeding the Toddler a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Who knew she would try to lick the jelly off the bread?
Friday, November 2, 2007