This Is The Kind Of Day We're Having

Dear Laney,

Lately, you seem to be going through a phase (Dear God, Please let it be a phase. Amen.) where your mantra is, "I don't want no help from nobody."

For example, coming down the stairs. Your method is to sit down on one stair, then stand up on the next. Then sit down, then stand up, one stair at a time. It's probably the safest way to do it, but it takes foreeeeeevvvvvveeeeeeerrrrrr. This morning, your dad could only wait so long to leave for work before he eventually gave up and kissed you goodbye on the landing because you'd only made it halfway. I'm sure it goes without saying that if I try to pick you up and carry you down to speed things along, you screech like a possessed teenager in a low-grade horror movie. The waiting is the lesser of two evils.

This afternoon, we went to the Post Office, and you got to hold the car key. You became convinced that the key MUST open one of the post office boxes, so you walked down the row, tapping your key on each of the 8 jillion boxes. I told the lady at the counter that I would be back to pick you up for dinner. You can add the postal employee to the list of people who do not think I'm funny.*

When we got home from our errands, you didn't want to come inside. "But I'M going inside," I insisted, in my best "all the cool kids are doing it," tone of voice. You still gave me The Laney Shake-Off® and insisted on staying outside. "Fine!" I said. "I'll be inside and you'll be out here by yourself." And to call your bluff, I went inside and shut the door and then flew to the window to see if you were racked with guilt/regret/remorse. Nope. You were happily doing laps on our front walkway. I eventually lured you into the house with the promise of fruit punch and a pickle.

You and I took a shower after dinner - by that I mean I rinsed shampoo out of my hair then looked down to realize, Hey! There's a toddler in here! Then, as I was putting on my pajamas in the bedroom, you somehow communicated to your dad that what you really wanted - oh please, oh please, more than anything in the world - was to run around the house naked, wearing nothing but a pair of moon boots. Normally, as a blog rule, I try to keep any nude photos of you within the realm of good taste. But I think when you decided to put on those puffy pink boots and dance around with a bottle of hairspray, good taste went right out the window.

Love,

Mom

* At a recent party in Vienna, GA, beloved blog reader Clay Mercer asked me if your dad follows me around at home to write down all the funny things I say. When we got back from our trip, I mentioned the conversation to your dad. While Thor doesn't think that I'M particularly funny, he thought the question was hysterical.