We are pulling up to the house and A is supposed to run in to grab something and come back to the car. B decides he needs a snack, so he runs out also. Guess who else decides she needs to get out of the car? R. I tell her no. She throws a tantrum. I try explaining that the reason we are all not getting out is because then we’d all have to reload in the car and get R back in her car seat. B then says, “Yeah, and we all know how that goes…” Spot on son.
I am in the process of making lunch.
R yells down from upstairs: “Don’t come up here Mommy!”
Me: “What happened R?”
R: “Don’t come up. I no want you to come up!”
Me (heading upstairs, duh): “R do you want to tell Mommy what happened?”
I get upstairs to find R naked and standing in the middle of her bathroom. She missed the potty, completely soaked her clothes, the bath rug and the floor. Then, being the neat freak she is, she attempted to clean up the mess with all of the toilet paper and towels hanging in the bathroom. Proceed with deep breathing techniques…
A is enamored with Taylor Swift’s Love Story song. She has known the song for a while, but just saw the video over Christmas break with her older cousins. It must have left a big impression on her. She has walked around singing it for days and is now getting down on her knee and proposing marriage to anyone who will stand still for a minute. And I thought the fairy tale bug missed this girl!
We are getting ready to leave the house the other day. R comes in my room dressed in a purple, blue and pink stripped shirt. She has a Chicago Bears jersey over that. Fuchsia fleece pants with cupcakes on them. Roxy pink and white patterned moon boots. All topped off with a Chicago Cubs hard batting helmet on her head. I swore the dressing thing was going to be one of my concessions. It isn’t worth the fight. I had to swallow a bucketful of pride to just walk out the door with her. And remind myself repeatedly that anyone who saw her would know there is no way that any adult could have possibly come up with this combo.