There was a point earlier this evening when Alexis was in full-blown meltdown mode because she wants to start blogging. The meltdown was its own special brand of crazy not worth getting into right now, but it started with her staring at a blank scream and WAILING "I don't know what to write!" That was followed by much sobbing and drama and have you ever met a 7-year old girl? Yeah. THAT.

If the short person hadn't been so blinded by exhaustion that she could have thought straight, she would have known she wants to write about how I'm so mean because I make her do silly things like sleep and wear appropriate clothes.

I don't know how it is that someone who loves sleep as much as I do ended up with a kid who hates sleep, but there it is. I'm trying to just accept this injustice.

The appropriate clothes thing, however, is a whole other issue. I figure that if I'm paying for clothes, I have veto power. That means Alexis can pick out whatever she wants when we go shopping, but I can say no. I often say no. She knows the rules and she respects the rules. She knows to shop the clearance racks. She knows clothes need to be reasonably well made. And she knows to stay away from bikinis.

Look, I know. I know there are people who think tiny girls in tiny bikinis are adorable, but I don't. I think tiny girls in swimsuits that cover stuff and stay in place while they run and swim and splash and play are adorable. You can disagree with me. It's cool. I'm not buying your clothes, so you don't have to worry about me vetoing what you like.

But Alexis does. Bikinis are an instant veto.

Apparently that fact annoys the child.

This past weekend we visited Castaway Bay. We spent the day splashing and sliding and swimming and GOOD GRIEF THE KID HAD FUN. I can't even put into words how much she enjoyed herself. "Bliss" is the best word I have to describe the look that was on her face all day long. Except, there were moments where the bliss melted away. It was replaced with OMG MY MOM IS SOOOOO MEAN face.

Alexis was wearing a tankini because of course she was. That's really the only kind of swimsuit that fits her. But, every once in a while, I would notice that the tankini top was running a little higher than normal. I'd give the kid a good glare and watch as she huffed, puffed, and unrolled her swimsuit top.

Yes, that's right. The 7-year old was attempting the Catholic schoolroom bathroom uniform switcheroo with her swimsuit, and she was doing it when I could see her. Up would go the tankini, smaller and smaller, tinier and tinier. Down would go the tankini ... what kind of evil mom would demand such a thing?

This mom, that's who.

After about the seventy eleventeenth kajillion time I had to glare at the kid to put her swimsuit back down, I finally asked her why. WHY MUST THOU TEST MY PATIENCE, CHILD?

"Mooooooooooom, there are a lot of cute boys here!" she replied.

I'll take six heavy duty chains, a case of duct tape, and a glass of water please. Don't ask questions, just send over the stuff, please.