This morning, you woke up in a bad mood and the day went downhill from there. Starting at 5am, you set your system to "Ornery" and that was that. Pick me up! Put me down! Scratch my back! Don't touch me! Feed me! Don't you know I hate spaghetti?!? etc. etc. ad nauseum. After ten solid hours of tantrum, I was ready to lock myself in my room and let you take your chances in the rest of the house.
Then I remembered that you are part Southern, and one of the genetic gifts you possess is the ability to turn on the smiles and charm for complete strangers, even when you're mean as hell to your own mama.
What we needed, I figured, was a change of venue. So I threw you placed you gently in your car seat and drove you to town. Sure enough, at the UPS store, you waved and giggled at the man who taped our package. At the bank, you clapped for the teller. At REI, you swiped my library card through the credit card machine and then clapped for yourself. You were a peach, as long as you were in public.
We came home, and it was the same old story: you were back to being a pill. "Hey!," I said to myself, "You know what always works? The dogs!" So these are a few images of you with the dogs this evening:
Spaghetti on your face? Check.
Peanut butter on your shirt? You betcha.
Ella slobber on all your extremities? Most likely.
Dust all over your clothes? Have mercy.
But you're not fussing, and somehow that lone barrette in your hair keeps the whole thing classy.
And your mom has lived to fight another day.
Love,
Me
P.S. Some of our more observant readers will notice that the quality of these photos is lousy. That's because your dad is on an overnight trip to Dillon and thinks that "official government business" is a more important use of our camera than "official Laney business," so he took the camera with him. To make do, I pulled some still frames from the video I shot. Yo mama is crafty.
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