lemons. and teeth, maybe.

Edited to add: the title was originally about lemons magically transforming into lemonade. But as Amanda pointed out, there isn't a lot of lemonade floating through this post. So there you go: lemons.

What?

I have a confession, and it's not one of those confessions about how I killed my goldfish, or how I've been watching horrible television with Chip. It's about Alice. And it goes like this:

Alice is making a NOISE. A fairly new NOISE. A fairly new NOISE on a now-regular basis. And the NOISE? Is making me crazy.

The NOISE is like a thousand gnat-sized dentists equipped with corresponding gnat-sized teeth drills and they are busily DRILLING DIRECTLY INTO THE SQUISHY PART OF MY FRONTAL LOBE, all the while singing My Name is Luka (what Chip deems to be The Most Annoying Song Ever Written).

Or, it's like a hundred teeny tiny itty bitty babies with their teeny tiny itty bitty RAZOR SHARP TALONS scrape scrape scraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaping a chalkboard.

Or, if you prefer, it's like biting into a wonderfully gooey melty chocolate chip cookie-- and as your teeth come together on the delicious chocolate concoction you feel the horrific CRUNCH of a giant egg shell.

It's like the most annoying and irritating thing that you can imagine - the thing that sends you screaming from the room to burrow your head under a pillow all the while screaming MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! until your ears bleed and your head explodes.

You know, like that.

This noise is the noise of WHINE. And I can't take it. I thought that we were too early for WHINE. Apparently, I was wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Heaven-help-me-my-eyeballs-are-rolling-into-the-center-of-my-head-I-can-actually-SEE-the-tiny-little-dentist-HOLES-in-my-squishy-lobe-and-I hear-the-WHINE-in-my-sleep WRONG.

There aren't enough italics to get this across to you guys: the NOISE has taken my will to live. And oh dear, it's taken my will to even use ITALICS, we are in TROUBLE.

The problem with the WHINE at Alice's tender age? There is no explaining to her that we simply don't communicate in WHINE. We don't understand WHINE. There is no WHINE at the Last Homely House - and for that matter, WHINE doesn't go well with anything, so we're doing you a service.

There isn't any of that. There is only me and Chip, looking at each other and begging PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MAKE IT STOP.

MAKE.
IT.
STOP.



And hey, if you have any helpful suggestions, let me know.


Edited (some more) to add: as I was putting Alice to bed earlier, I realized (duh) that Alice is teething with a vengeance, so I feel a leeeetle bad about posting this. She's generally a very easy-going and sweet kid. And we've learned that she (again: generally) doesn't make a fuss unless it's warranted. Really, I mean it. So the WHINE caught us by surprise. I'm going to blame the WHINE on the stealthy teething (totally snuck up on me, stupid stupid) and start fresh tomorrow. Yes, that's my plan. Though I am still curious about your suggestions for Curbing the Whine.