I have a rule that says that all rules are null and void if the weather is nice. Forget the cooking and cleaning, we're going to the playground, people.
Obviously, I've been enforcing that rule A LOT the past few months. I feel like we're going to end up with the most miserable of springs here eventually. When it happens? I'm going to need to basically demo the kitchen because I'm not keeping up on the cleaning at all.
No. Really. Just look at the vast amount of cat hair that has collected between the glass on the oven door. It's downright amazing.
In my quest to continue letting enough fur to create a whole other cat collect, we did the quickest of runs to Target this weekend before running outside to play. The goal was to grab enough groceries to survive for a few days as well as the makeup and hair stuff that Alexis needed for dance a week ago. It's possible that the makeup and hair stuff is making me crazy, so I had been putting it off waaaaaay longer than was even remotely reasonable. I'm sure I will write all about that eventually.
ANYWAY.
We ran into Target, dashed through the hair aisle looking for a certain type of pointy stabby thing, and then dashed through the cheese aisle because cheese. Mila and I can live off of cheese for a few days. Screw the rest of them. They can fend for themselves if they don't like the cheese diet. As we darted through the store, Mila kept chanting, "Want pretty."
"Want pretty."
Over and over again, Mila kept saying that she wanted "pretty."
WTF.
Last time I checked, Target sells pretty, oh ... THE WHOLE DAMN STORE IS PRETTY. ALL OF IT.
I had no idea what she wanted. I ended up walking around all over the store with her saying, "Do you want that? Is that pretty? What's pretty? I get it, you want pretty. Do you have another word? Is it this? WHAT DO YOU WANT, CHILD?"
I'm not good at dealing with the broken record stage of communication. Obviously. The girl wanted "pretty" and I couldn't buy her an entire Target store, so I kept trying and trying to figure out what she was saying. She was becoming increasingly impatient with my stupidity until I decided to retrace our steps and see if she was referring to something she had seen when we first got into the store.
Cheese isn't "pretty," by the way. I learned that very quickly when I Mila ripped my head off, chewed it up, and spit it into the personal care section of the store. The good news about her spitting it in that direction is that when I went to retrieve it, a very excited shriek fell out of Mila's face. "PRETTY!" she squealed.
The ridiculous flower in her hair. She wanted a ponytail on top of her head and she wanted a pretty little flower to finish off the look.
She's been wearing "pretty" for three days now.
So that's a thing. A very confusing, I definitely blame Alexis and her giant bows, thing.