Sometime Mommy Deserves a Drink

The thing is, she stepped on the cat's paw, twice, and giggled about it.

She took her crayons out of their bin and drew on her easel instead of on her paper.

She spit a mouthful of milk down her front with a smile.

Everything I asked her to do, I had to repeat at least seven times.

She threw a tantrum when bubble time was over.

She kicked me in the chest with her plastic Tinkerbell heels.

She tried to feed the cat a veggie chip, and instead of picking it up when I asked her to, she stomped on it.

When it was time for a nap she played and cried and made a general nuisance of herself until I read her three long books to lull her to sleep.

She smeared ketchup all over the back of my pink t-shirt, and then got mad when I wiped her hands off.

When her Dad asked her to behave she all but mocked him.

At dinner she tried to Jimmy Superfly Snuka me in the booth.

On the way home from dinner she cried, screamed and spat.

When I said it was time for bed she yelled NOOOOOoooooo and stomped her feet.

Oh, AND, it was ONLY Tuesday.

And then, on the way upstairs, she nuzzled her dirty, tear streaked face into my neck and said "Baby, mama, PEASEEE. Baby."

And that was it. It was all forgiven.

Not today, but a perfect example of the mixture of Tinkerbell Heels, cat paws and At.ti.tude.

M.I.N.E.

Addison and I were driving to StrollerFit yesterday, just the two of us, when she clutched her Doodle Pro tightly to her chest and said, rather emphatically, to the window:

No. RyRy. NO. MINE

And thus began the soundtrack to the rest of my day.

Rylan came over to play yesterday for about three hours. Throughout that period I heard No. RyRy. NO. MINE about fifteen THOUSAND times.

NO RYRY...don't touch my Easter Eggs. MINE.

NO NONO RYRY...don't play with my grocery cart. MINE.

NONONO RYRY...get your hands off my magnets. MINE.

NO RYRY NO...don't go near my kitty. MINE.

NO RYRY NO...don't pick up your cup. MINE.

NO NO NO RYRY...don't you dare eat your mac-n-cheese in my chair. MINE.

NO RY. NO RYRY...don't you hug my mama. MINE.

NO RYRY NO...don't look out my window or touch my chair or breath. MINE.

Oh, dear lord, has my bossy toddler reared her little head. Shockingly, for the most part, Rylan acquiesced.

Once in a while Ry would start to boss back, but he'd forget why he was bossing as soon a new toy entered his eye line, or a bird squawked outside, or the cat entered the room.

I will gladly welcome the word bubbles back into our daily lives, if MINE would hightail it out of here.