There have been plenty of parenting failures around these parts, as is clearly evidenced by the Christmas video in which Alexis rips the paper off a gift, looks wide-eyed at whatever was in the box, and proclaims, "What the hell?" We accept full responsibility for those failures, and by "we" I mean me and the mouse in my pocket because THAT lovely word choice was all me. And the mouse.
However, if I'm going to accept responsibility for the failures, I also get to take full credit for the successes.
The disco ball in the playroom? TOUCHDOWN! GOAL! HOME RUN! SCOOOOOORE!
Not only is the disco ball like a flame to the screamy, obnoxious moths that Alexis calls her friends, it has given me the most ultimate comeback in pretty much every conversation.
"You never buy me ANYTHING!" the kid will try to say when I refuse to buy her a 37th Barbie doll.
"Disco ball," I'll reply.
I WIN.
"You never let me do anything fun!" she'll whine.
"Oh, really?," I'll ask. "I guess I'll move the disco ball to my room."
I WIN.
She'll complain, "My friends' moms buy (insert random, obnoxious, unnecessary thing here)."
"Do your friends have a disco ball?" I'll ask, followed by, "I didn't think so."
I WIN.
Of course, the disco ball has more use than just those examples. It serves as the reason Alexis needs to finish eating her dinner, the explanation for she can't wear THAT shirt to school, the justification why she can't go shopping at Justice, and my excuse for why she can't marry Justin Beiber. It doesn't matter if "Disco ball!" makes sense in the situation, I still get to use it.
Alexis does not question the power of the Disco Ball. When she hears the words, her head drops and she mutters, "FINE."
Here's to hoping THAT lasts for a few years.
