I don't want to use your middle name as a punishment, but you only seem to respond to Addison Evelyn, DO NOT take one more step toward the street. Or Addison Evelyn stop it! If you keep picking your nose it WILL bleed. Or Addison Evelyn, DO NOT put that in your mouth! Where did you even find a blue Froot Loop? We don't have Froot Loops!
I don't want to make you sit on your play stool in the middle of kitchen, but that is the only way I can insure you won't trek through the shards of glass in the entry way. The shards of glass that are there because a) Mommy left the darn Orange & Fennel candle on the stairs one day too long and b) You picked it up by the lid, 100 percent knowing you shouldn't touch it. You knew this because I had said, three minutes earlier, Addison leave that candle be. Addison Evelyn, let it be.
I don't want to put you to bed screaming and crying with snot flowing freely, repeatedly calling my name and breaking my heart, but I have stick to my guns on occasion. When you hit mommy I warned you that if you kept acting not nice there would be no bedtime stories tonight. When you kicked mommy I stayed true to my word.
I know you are just two. I know that you are figuring all out slowly. I know that I am cranky when I haven't slept well and the house is a mess and your dad is drowning in work. I know that you can't always be bluebirds and rainbows and giggles. But I also know that you are starting to figure out right from wrong.
You know to hold my hand in a parking lot and to not go near the street. You know to keep your food on your plate and not throw it on the floor. You know to use both hands when drinking juice from a big girl cup and not go running through the family room with your full cup. You know when I say One more time down the slide and then we head in for dinner that I don't mean one more time down the slide, a quick ride on the swing and a romp through the sandbox.
Starting today, it's time to start thinking. And here is your Thinking Stool*...
*I spent a day and half staining this Ikea creation white. I had visions of two hand prints, in orange and pink, flanking the word THINK (which would have been bright green). But no. You were not interested in hand prints. As I pressed your paint covered hand on to the white stained stool you turned it into a finger painting project - smearing and smacking and having oh-so much fun. So this is what I improvised after smoothing out your smears. Is it what I imagined? No. Can we still pretty pretty up? Yes. Will your butt fit on as well as it would have fit on the white stool? Yep...Welcome to the Thinking Stool, my dear.