It Really Sucks that the Weekend is Over

I started my day with a harsh return to reality. Anytime we have guests staying at our house, Daddy turns into Super Stud Spic-n-Span Man. Dust on the floor? Never fear, Super Stud Spic-n-Span Man is here! He'll clean it up! Trash full? No problem! Dishes need washed? They're no match for my husband! The best part is that I don't have to ask, it all just happens. I've learned that it's best if I just sit back and enjoy his Super Skills. I'm sure people think that I'm super-lazy and never do anything around the house, but that's simply not true. I just don't do anything when we have company.

Once the company leaves, he goes back to his mortal self. A mortal self who is pretty helpful when it comes to housework, but not quite at the same level. You know how he took the trash out at least fifteen times this weekend? He won't do it again for at least a week. And even then, it'll probably require a certain level of nagging for it to happen. (Yes, I could take the trash out myself. However, we like to play this game with the trash. I say that whoever "fills" it should take it out. Daddy somehow can manage to fit another item in that can over and over and over again for days. He'll even start stacking things beside the trash can so that it's not "full". I refuse to empty the trash when pulling the can out of the corner means an avalanche is coming and I'm going to have to spend fifteen minutes picking up crap all over the floor. And that is how neither one of us will empty the trash. (Note to self: Alexis will be assigned trash duty as soon as it's a feasible task for her.))

My other reality check came in the form of a reminder of what happens when you neglect the garden for a month. I spent hours cleaning up the dead Zinnias around the Oak tree. They were dead because not even a cactus could have survived the dry conditions around that little circle. I figured out that they were dying due to a lack of water a few weeks ago, but still didn't go to the trouble of starting to water them. So I ripped them all out, planted a few tulips (a few is defined as about 100 around here), and planted some mums. I'm not happy about those mums. They are a sign of fall, and I hate to admit that fall may be around the corner. Or here already. Whichever.

I also spent forever ripping out hundreds of Obedient Plants under our weeping peach tree. Whoever named them that had one heck of a sense of humor. They should be called Toddler Plants. They isn't anything obedient about them. In fact, the only way to keep them under control is to treat them terribly. I wonder if that would work with a certain toddler? Hmm . . .

Speaking of the toddler, she had a spectacular day. No, seriously. She has been remarkably well-behaved all day. It has a little bit to do with the finger paints, markers, and Dora coloring books I bought her the other day.

One more thing -- Happy Birthday, Uncle Eric!

Yeah, So, Ummmm . . . Oops?

I should have known that it would happen; it was only a matter of time. The Opinionated One has expressed her displeasure with our radio station selections many times. She does not permit talk radio. She does not permit rock. She demands really, really bad pop music. For example, I caught her jamming to Britney Spears' new single earlier today. Later, it was Fergie's My Humps that had her bobbing her head to the beat. Her perennial favorite is still SexyBack by Justin Timberlake. It really can't get much worse than that.

Yesterday Alexis decided life would be simpler if she started to request her favorite jam by name. Now, I have made it a habit to refer to it as "Justin." As in, "Do you want to listen to Justin?" It still seems like a good idea. She apparently disagrees. We were driving down the road listening to what the adults thought was OK music when Alexis got all sorts of cranky with us. Then, with Grandma as a witness, she asked us to put on her CD. First, imagine her high-pitched sugary sweet little voice. Now, imagine it saying "Sexy, please!" Oh, yes she did. Not once, but multiple times. I maintained my position swimming in the river called De Nile, but I knew that's what she said. She repeated it about a dozen times today, just for good measure. "Sexy, please!" "Sexy, please!" I have got to find the kid a more appropriate song to listen to endlessly.

Put a Fork in Me--I'm Done

There's a very good reason we don't do all day shopping sprees. I remembered it about three stores into our day, right around the time that I was running through the aisles trying to catch-up with a certain independent one-year old. Not only is Miss Independent a constant flight risk, she seriously could care less if there are any parental figures anywhere within sight. She won't talk to strangers, but she will fly by them as she tries to touch every single object on planet Earth. Go ahead, chase her. She'll just run faster.

Our strategy for dealing with this constant battle is to play parent tag. We take turns being the parent assigned to making sure Alexis neither kills herself nor disappears into thin air. When one parent can't take it anymore, he or she calls "you're it" and it's the other one's turn. It's a great strategy for a one or two hour walk around the mall, but stretch it to more than four hours and suddenly no one is willing to be "it". Thank goodness Grandma was willing to take a turn or two. Otherwise, I would have slid Alexis in the basket underneath some unsuspecting stranger's stroller and ran for dear life.