It's really weird how it completely defies the laws of genetics, but somehow I ended up with a kid who is really very good at arguing, and even better at finagling a conversation so as to get her way and yet avoid an argument. It's shocking that she would be that way. SHOCKING.
Ahem.
For example, it was seventeen years past bedtime, but for some reason Alexis thought she could negotiate her way into sitting up a little longer. I had just flipped on the TV as Mr. Husband started to take her upstairs. Instead of following him like the good little minion she sometimes plays on this blog, she tried to snuggle up on the couch with me.
"What do you think you're doing?" I asked her.
"I want to watch the game," she replied. Our television somehow magically finds its way to ESPN every single time it is turned on, and I had yet to have corrected that epic travesty.
"What game?" I asked.
"The baseball game," she replied as she stared at the screen, absolutely appearing as if she actually cared about the little league playoffs or whatever was on.
I smelled a lie, so I continued my questioning, "Who's playing?" I asked. I assumed she would list the only baseball team she knows (the Pirates--and OMG! How sad is it that the only team she knows sucks that hard? UGH.) and then try to make something up.
"He's playing," she nonchalantly replied as she pointed to a little boy on the TV screen. She continued staring at the TV, as if she knew who the boy was and had a vested interest in his success.
No straight out defiance goes on with her, just a little careful meandering between the side of good and bad. She can contort any sort of conversation and make herself come out smelling like roses, if she sets her mind to it.
And THAT is why it comes in handy to know her kryptonite. For a long time, it was birds. She hated birds. HATE HATE HATE. We once spent several days of a Disney vacation telling her that if she didn't hold hands nicely and walk like a normal human being, the birds would attack her. She believed every word of our lies and fully complied.
Other times we have forced her into submission by telling her that we would go buy a pet bird. For a while we told tales of getting a yellow bird named Petey living to in the room across the hall from her bedroom. It was the perfect place for him to keep an eye on her and make sure she stayed in her room at night. That little trick actually worked for a while, shockingly enough.
As she and I sat on the couch, I started to reach into my pocket and grab a piece of that kryptonite. Conveniently enough, we had spotted a baby bird in the rose bush just outside our front door one day earlier so I began to threaten the little insomniac with the bush-dwelling bird. I started to say that he must have been watching to make sure she was listening to her mother. I almost told her I was going to open the door and see if he had any thoughts about her watching the game.
And then I remembered something.
SON OF A HORNLESS UNICORN, she's not scared of birds anymore. A year ago she would have preferred to pluck out her eyeballs and stick them in a running garbage disposal than sit that close to a bird.
When the hell did that happen? And now what am I going to use as her kryptonite?
