I literally just walked in the door from eating lunch at Zoës, so what more fitting of a time to announce the Zoës Kitchen Free Meal winners?
Thanks to my random number spreadsheet, the winners are….
Congratulations!! I’ll try to get an email out to all of you very soon, but if you could help me out and email me (rachel@graspingforobjectivity.com) your mailing address, I will put you to the top of my “favorite people” list!!
Enjoy those Steak Roll-Ups – I sure did!!!
First of all – regarding the title. I know that Ali isn’t a toddler anymore, but I don’t like the term preschooler. It’s so weird – instead of describing the kid, it refers to what she WILL be doing – not even what she IS doing!
(Although I guess she IS doing preschool…but still! It annoys me!)
Call me quirky – I know that I am – but PLEASE – does anyone have an alternative term with which I can describe a three-year-old?? Until I find one, she will continue being a toddler.
Okay, I feel better now.
We’ve entered a new stage where Ali will tell me stories about what goes on when I’m not around. It’s quite entertaining, and it most definitely keeps me guessing as to how much of it is true and how much of it is her imagination or her toddler-skewed-perception-of-events.
I get the most stories about Sunday School. But as a disclaimer, this week’s is a bit hard to believe – I know they run a very orderly ship in her class. However…
Names have been changed to protect the questionably innocent.
Me: “What happened in Sunday School today?”
Ali: “Matt cried a LOT. Then Matt started knocking people down – he knocked Christopher and me down. But I didn’t cry – I just said ‘don’t knock me down, Matt.’ …… Well, really I screamed ‘NO!!!’”
(…pause…)
“Then John kicked Matt in the nose.”
Me: “Did anyone get put in time out?”
Ali: “Matt didn’t. He just didn’t obey. John got put in time out, though.”
Me: “So how about you and AJ? Were you wise?”
Ali: “Oh yes. We hid under the tables.”
It’s a comfort to know that she has good emergency preparedness skills in the event of a terrorist takeover.
AJ came over Friday night for a sleepover, which makes me unable to resist pulling out and adding to my Sleepover Anthology:
April 2008: 
November 2008:
March 2009: 
June 2009: 
And finally, January 2010:
Do you think they’ll still let me put them in matching jammies and take their pictures when they’re fifteen?
And OhMyGoodness they are already WAY closer to fifteen than I’m able or willing to adjust to.
I seriously cannot believe how un-babyish they are proving themselves to be, playing Candyland with no adult help,
(with a little Twister spice thrown in to liven it up a bit):
AJ’s crazy-long-and-thick, gorgeous, not-at-all-toddler-like hair,
Sleeping in the same room, in big girl beds, and ACTUALLY SLEEPING,
Listening to them making up stories about fighting bad guys, planning parties and marrying Princes,
singing songs together nearly on pitch,
having tickle fights,
teaching each other how to cuss (Ali: “Hey AJ – say ‘AWWW MAN!!!’” … AJ: “AWWW MAN!!!” … Ali: “Good job!! AWWW MAN!!!!”),
and in general interacting like REAL LIVE LITTLE GIRLS.
If little girls weren’t so stinkin’ fun, this growing up thing would make me all mushy and sentimental.
(sniff)
This post is a guest post, written by my Dad. You can read his last guest post here.
First, let me say that I am, for the most part, a person who appreciates the various functions of the different levels of government.
For instance, I don’t have to worry too much about national security, knowing that our armed forces are the best trained and best equipped in the world.
Our local police and sheriff’s departments do a great job at preventing total anarchy and lawlessness.
I know first hand how our system of roads, highways and interstates allow us to move wherever, whenever we want.
Believe me, this is not the case for most of the rest of the world! As a general rule, up till this point anyway, I haven’t complained a lot about our taxes because I know that they are used to pay for all of the services and infrastructure we all too often take for granted.
However, last week, I had opportunity to witness our federal government at work, (though at a very local level) in a way that made me shake my head and just walk away.
I needed to return an item to California. It was a car fender that had been shipped to me in error, valued at around $75.00. The box in which it was packaged was relatively large but light, about 12 pounds. It measured about four feet by two feet by six inches.
I decided to take it to my small, local post office, reasoning that they would not be too busy to give me their full attention.
I was right – I was the only customer. What I did not know was that the regular postmaster (post-mistress?) was not there that day and a substitute had come in from a different location. She was very pleasant with lots of small talk, but when I asked to mail the box she immediately responded that it was “too big”. I explained to her that it couldn’t be too big because I had received the same box through the mail only a day or two before.
A blank look came over her face.
She went slowly to the back of the small, one room office and retrieved a three ring binder from a safe that looked as if it had been around when Butch and Sundance were alive. After several minutes of thumbing through the procedures manual, she decided that if she could confirm the weight she could use that as a basis of calculating the shipping charge.
She shuffled back across the room and retrieved a large ring of keys from the desk drawer. After trying at least a dozen keys, she was finally able to open the one (and only) door from the office to the lobby.
I offered to carry the bulky box in, but was told with much sternness that ONLY authorized United States Postal Service employees were allowed in the office. She then slid the box in and locked the door between us.
I watched as she attempted to pick up the box and put it on the scale that was on the counter. The problem was the cabinet above the counter and the scale. The box was too tall to sit on the scale without hitting the cabinet. She tried laying the box down, but then the box covered the weight readout.
I suggested moving the scale (about the size of a bathroom scale) to the floor, but was informed that this was a counter scale, not a floor scale. After about five minutes of this, out came the three-ring binder again.
She located a formula that calculated the cost by multiplying the length x width x height, then multiplying by .735. She went back to the desk to try to find a measuring device. She located an old cloth tape measure similar to the one my grandmother used as a seamstress. She walked slowly back to the box, then stopped. She stood there for a minute, then asked: “ which is the length?”
Maybe she saw something in my face that worried her (postal workers need this sixth sense, I hear) and she turned quickly back to making her measurements. After about five minutes of measuring, and another five minutes of calculating, she turned to me and said (with a straight face, mind you),
“That will be nineteen thousand, three hundred and sixty three dollars and 45 cents.”
Stunned, but trying to stifle a laugh, I said: “Lady, there must be some mistake!” She went back to the calculator. “You are right, I got the decimal place wrong – it is nineteen HUNDRED thirty six dollars and thirty five cents. Would you like to write a check or we take VISA.”
As I carried the box back to my truck, I looked at the time. It had been 47 minutes since I first arrived. As I drove off, Glenn Beck was on the radio explaining how the government is trying to take over our health care system.
(You MUST try saying “High Eye” out loud. And really fast. And over and over. It’s quite addictive. I’ve been saying it since I typed it and JUST CAN’T QUIT.)
Remember Ali’s Scary Eye Trick that I banned right after shooting this video?
After she learned how to control her eyes independently and freak the entire world out, her left eye would, very rarely albeit, float inward on it’s own:
Okay, I think that one must have been on purpose, because the accidental ones are typically a bit more subtle, but you get the point.
Chris’ eye also does this every now and then when he’s really sleepy, or looking out of the corner of his eye. Also, I found out from his Aunt Kitty that hers did that as a child, as well as some other family members.
So I asked Ali’s Pediatrician about it at her three year old check-up, and she wanted me to get it checked out, especially with such a strong family history of the odd behavior.
(Ali got all of her Father’s family’s weird genes – she also has a huge dark freckle right above her left butt cheek that apparently can also be found on every butt in the family.)
(Don’t ask me how his family realized this and collected the data on everyone. I don’t know nor do I want to know.)
So I got an appointment with a Pediatric Ophthalmologist, and began dreading the day.
Ali, like most toddlers, is not a fan of strangers getting in her personal space, and isn’t too keen on taking doctor-like orders at all, even from non-strangers (aka her Dentist, whom she loves when she sees at Church), so I just KNEW that strangers getting in her eyes would NOT excite her.
Besides the fact that the referred doctor was a man. Another strike against him.
Of course, I prepared her beforehand, and explained what all they would do. Luckily, she had just gone to the eye doctor with me, so I was really banking on that experience helping her be more comfortable with all of the contraptions herself.
But the man thing, she just couldn’t get past. She kept asking me, “Are you SURE he’s going to be a man? Do you think that she MIGHT be a girl?”
“No baby, it’s a man. But he’s a nice man like Daddy.”
(Fingers crossed that he’s a nice man.)
“Well I think she’s a girl. I like girls.”
Ali was right in one sense – the eye technician did most of the work, and she indeed was of the female persuasion.
She had Ali read a picture eye chart similar to this one that my friend Marie sent me:
Except with no Christmas tree. I guess that’s been deleted for political correctness.
But that ridiculously ancient (80’s) telephone – it threw her off on every line. As IF she’s ever seen a telephone that looked like that. If it had been a flip cell phone or a smart phone? She would have recognized it right away.
Somebody needs to update the child reading charts to show an iPhone, a Leapster 2, a Flip Video Camera, a Garmin, and a laptop.
Although I think she would have done BETTER with the letters chart, she managed to convince her eye tech that she could clearly see all of the lines.
Then – the dilation.
THREE DROPS IN EACH EYE.
AND OH – THEY STING LIKE A SCORPION BITE TO THE EYE.
I have never minded going to the doctor (although I pretended to hate it when I was little because I thought I was supposed to hate it but really I loved the attention but wanted my Mom to think I really needed to go and wasn’t just going for the attention) until I became a mother and had to hold my screaming child down.
(shiver).
However, I think that a couple of those drops had to have had marijuana in them. After a minute of recovery, she got so calllllm…and zoned…and giggly…and started eating her PEZ with two hands as if she had some mega munchies…
In toddler druggy slurred speech, she told me, “Hey Mommy, I thought I was sleeping in my big girl bed, but big girl beds don’t fit in chairs!! Silly chair.”
I REALLY knew she was high when the MALE doctor finally came in, and she just sat there, as if she were an adult, and let him poke, prod, move, and in general invade her eyes in every way.
They know what they’re doing with those eye drops. I just know it.
The diagnosis was that her vision was excellent and she just has freakish extraordinary control over her eye muscles, but to keep a watch out to make sure the occasional involuntary movement doesn’t get worse, and come back in six months for a recheck of her freakish extraordinary eyes.
And, of course, she’s still not allowed to perform her Scary Eye Trick.
She was still eyedrop-high on the way home…
but found her “eyes to be too bright” to be outside. So she improvised:
And THAT’S why Michael Jackson’s kid always had a blanket on, ladies and gentlemen – he was totally hooked on the Pediatric Dilation Drugs.
I don’t chew gum, nor does Chris.
Yet Ali is completely fascinated by it.
Not with the someone-blowing-a-bubble part, or even with the chewing-it-endlessly-until-your-jaw-falls-off part. She’s never tasted it. Her obsession with bubblegum is with the stuck-under-the-table type.
Her favorite hobby at any eating establishment is to get under the table and inspect the bubblegum that’s mysteriously taken up residence.
When she first discovered this amazing phenomenon, she took great pleasure in touching it. I’m no germophobe, but I get chills up my spine every time I read that sentence.
However, I have spent much time explaining the perils of touching bubblegum – how it is yucky, nasty, disgusting, germy, gross, and generally detrimental to all aspects of her mother’s life.
Fortunately, she’s impressionable. She has modified her hobby to simply getting under tables, inspecting the chewy tenants, and then giving a full report: “There’s a BIG HUGE bright green piece of yucky bubblegum under the table!!!”
** ** **
The other day, I had to get her a new tube of toothpaste. It was her lucky day – I found Princess Toothpaste! And Sparkly! And Pink!
Obviously, this made me a millionaire in Mommy Points.
And then I spent every last one of them, quite accidentally.
I unwittingly mentioned the flavor. “Yumm!! It’s BUBBLEGUM flavored!!”
“WHAT?!?! That’s so Yucky!!!”
Brushing teeth has never been a fight. But it sure is now. “This tastes YUCKY!!! (spit spit) It’s SOOO gross!!! (hock hock) It tastes like bubblegum!! (gag gag) Bubblegum is SOOO yucky!!!”
Obviously, this was a rookie mistake.
Mommy Rule # 571: ALWAYS consider your toddler’s frame of reference before introducing ANYTHING new into their lives.
If I visualized my toothpaste as tasting like dirty, nasty, germy left-behind-by-strangers bubblegum, I’d probably be gagging too.
Actually, now I am.
Disclaimer: As with “Things Found on my Husband’s iPhone“, my husband is aware of, and okay with, me exposing the depths of his life in this post...or he just knows how to make me happy.
As I mentioned briefly at Christmas, Chris’ parents brought him all of his childhood Legos.
And believe me, it was QUITE the collection – I’m pretty sure we could buy a new house with the investment if they were e-Bayed (have you priced Legos lately?!).
(Don’t tell Chris I even mentioned such a thing – I’ll be stoned to death with Legos.)
He has been in memory-lane-blissful-heaven going through them all and playing with Ali*.
(*- Ali watching fascinatedly as her Daddy gets all excitedly gleeful remembering all of his individual Lego men and how he used them in battles, adventures, and imaginations in general.)
He has also undertaken quite a monumental Lego Reorganization Project. Because, as he pointed out, “Lego boxes are very inconvenient to see all of your pieces – there’s only a little lid and you can’t see the rest”. So he bought himself a rolling cart and has been spending some time relocating his play-purties from this:
To this:
I started helping him with his sorting process, but after he was re-doing everything I did, I told him that I would need to know his Top Secret Sorting Code to be able to be most effective as his Reoganization Assistant.
And so he told me. No, of course I can’t tell you or I’d have to kill you, one plastic bullet at a time, with the help of a Lego Soldier and his plastic machine gun.
Along with this sorting process, he’s realized that he kept all of his favorite Non-Lego treasures in with his Legos, so we’ve reserved one of the old Lego containers to keep all of these special, and very valuable, collector’s items:
They include especially rare and esteemed items TOTALLY worth saving for twenty-five years, such as these dismembered-roller-skating legs:
And, although this face doesn’t exactly look like a perfect match for the legs, maybe He-Man would like to try out a new mode of transportation?
…at least now I know that Ali gets her decapitation skills from her Father.
Speaking of Decapitated Friends, I had no idea that Ross existed in the 80’s:
I wonder if we’ll come across a decapitated Rachel, Phoebe, Monica, Joey, and Chandler to keep him company?
Other treasures include a collection of tokens worthy of a Pirate’s Chest from all sorts of childhood dreamlands, including Showbiz, Diamond Jim’s, Riverchase Golf and Games….
And a Casino?!?!?!
Or was that some archaic form of Pokemon?
But back to Showbiz for a minute…whoever decided to trade in that awesomely dream-filled name for Chuck E. Cheese??? Must have been on drugs.
At one point, Chris said, “Here’s a piece of wood wrapped in hair!! Ew…who’s hair IS that?!?”
Not EVERY childhood find can be a pleasant one.
And finally, if you know of any cowboys missing a boot out there, let me know:
The question of the day: Did that boot belong to He-Man or Ross?
Our youth group is going to Costa Rica on a short term missions trip, and they have come up with some awesome fundraising ideas. The latest and greatest: A Church-Wide Dodge Ball tournament.
That’s right – not just the kids, but all ages. And you KNOW that the men couldn’t resist a temptation like that.
There was much pomp and circumstance, including the Church staff dressed as referees:
The National Anthem sung in the pitch black with just spotlights:
And then the teams introduced, running through the smoke, one by one (still in the dark, so forgive the picture quality)…
(Oh – and there was an incentive for the best dressed team – a key fact in understanding the next photos.)
There were “The Navi” (from Avatar)…
“The Lumberjacks”…
“The Geezers”…
All in all, I was stunned by the number of teams competing:
They had the gym set up in two courts, and one important fact that we were not aware of was that the bleachers were directly in aim of the game at all times.
We must have been the only ones that had not received the memo, though – Ali was the youngest spectator:
She never realized the grave danger she was in the entire time – she thought the whole hitting each other with balls thing was QUITE exhilarating, and tried to get down and join them several times.
I wasn’t really concerned for her safety the first match, because the team across from us was my LifeGroup of High School girls:
Sorry, ladies, I love you to death and I’m quite proud of your performance, but your threat persona just wasn’t convincing.
Luckily, when the more frightening opponents were seeded to our court, the teams that were not playing each heat helped us keep Ali safe:
Also helpful in keeping our daughter safe were a few stop-the-airbag-Michael-Oher moves that Chris picked up from watching The Blind Side.
We did manage to keep her from ever getting hit, or really ever realizing that she COULD get hit at any moment – hopefully that keeps us out of trouble with Child Protective Services.
There were some awesome costumes…
That lended themselves to great announcer fodder – for instance, when this Lumberjack was the last one standing against The Formidable B’s from our class, they gave a hearty announcement that “It’s now down to two B’s and a lady with a beard!!!!”
Ultimately, the Navi were chosen for the best costumes. 
Which I can see why they deserved it – they’re all going to have blue snot for at least a week.
However, our Sunday School’s team beat up on some little kids and came out victorious, taking the title of biggest bullies Dodge ball Champions!!
Sorry, Geezers…if only y’all had ALL worn your compression socks so that you didn’t pull muscles in the first heat, I’m sure you could have pulled a victory instead.
We left a little early to get Ali home for bed, and on the way home, she asked, “Is Church still throwing balls at each other?”
Yes, dear, because that’s what missions is all about.
We took Ali to the Alabama/Arkansas Gymnastics Meet Friday night. It was fun for me to actually go to a sporting event in Tuscaloosa that I really could get into – after all, 10 seasons of football games should buy me a few events of my choice, right?
But Chris got rewarded to taking us too. He spotted this in the window of the Athletic Building:
(Photo Courtesy of Chris’ iPhone)
That’s right: He didn’t have to go on the ever-classy Wal-Mart Tour to see the National Championship Trophy.
Once we got inside, Ali, of course, was mesmerized by the gymnasts…
and her ticket.
We brought Gramamma and Pop along, which also thrilled Ali’s soul to the very center.
She was also super excited to catch a few glimpses of her Gymnastics Idol, our friend Rachel, who is currently on the Gymnastics team.
I have only been to one Gymnastics meet in my life, and I was really young at the time, so I learned a few things.
Despite staying up later than she ever had before, Ali had a dreamy time and is insistent that she is going to do ALL of those tricks on Monday at Gymnastics class.
…and WE had a dreamy time sleeping in until 10am (at which time we WOKE HER UP) on Saturday morning. Late nights have their benefits.
We always take Ali to get her portraits made around her birthday (you know, because I don’t take enough pictures of her throughout the year). This year, my sister-in-law Lindsay and I were talking about it, and I had this Wonderfully! Bright! Idea! To combine photos!!
We thought…
Then, as the time grew closer, I started to get nervous… can you successfully photograph three kids three and under together? It’s hard enough with one.
Is this going to be more chaotic than we’d hoped, trying to get their pictures and our pictures and combined pictures and individual pictures and picking out pictures together….oh my!
It turned out to be not bad at all – with the exception of actually achieving an “all three cousins together” picture as a reward for all of Gramamma (AND Pop’s) hard work in forcing getting the kids to smile.
The process started with rounding them up, which in itself was a challenge (darn Lego tables!!!)….
Take one: Ali’s doubting this whole idea too, Tessa’s wondering why she’s been abandoned and left between such unsafe creatures, and Eli is plotting his escape: 
Take Two: Ali realizes she’s supposed to smile so she can be set free, Tessa’s still asking where her Mommy is, and Eli’s starting to move out of the picture.
Take Three: And He’s off!!! Tessa’s making sure to lean far away from him so that she doesn’t get implicated in his crimes. Smart girl – I could have used that tactic as a kid. 
Take Four: Eli’s unceremoniously returned, but he’s got a grudge to settle now. Ali’s feeling all “Ha Ha you’re in trouble now” smug.
Take Five: The “This is as good as it’s gonna get, crazy idealistic people” shot.
We DID try again later, after their outfit changes and after they’d “gotten used to the idea”. However, Eli really just was done with all that, so he fled the scene:
When we DID get him back, he refused to sit up. So we thought, let’s just capitalize on that and get them all to lay down.
Of course, when they laid down WITH him, he wanted to get up.
And Tessa wanted to cry.
Ah well, we showed our endurance, at any rate.
Ali’s pictures went fairly well (as did Eli and Tessa’s individual shots, but I’ll let Lindsay show you those). But Ali seemed to have a strange propensity for looking like a bunny in nearly every picture:
And if she wasn’t doing her Bugs Bunny impression, she appeared to be concocting up some evil scheme of which she took GREAT pleasure in:
But somehow amidst the chaos, we managed to get a few keepers:
By the time it was all over, though, I think Ali just wanted some time to be alone and gather her melodramatic thoughts. 
As did I.
