The One Where Mom Runs Out Of Ideas

Dear Laney,

Yesterday was rough. Dad had to take the car to work, so we couldn't leave the house. We still have a few feet of snow on the ground out here, so we can't really play outside. So yesterday was all about me and you being trapped inside.

Have I mentioned that you're getting some molars in?

The big challenge of yesterday was trying to keep you entertained, occupied and medicated. We read books. We colored. We made mini-pizzas. We danced to The Backyardigans. But 13 hours is a lot of time to fill.

At one point, I put your tub in the shower and turned the water on low and let you "wash dishes" in your bathtub. That killed about 15 minutes. Just 12 hours and 45 minutes to go 'til bedtime!

I worry sometimes that this blog is a cautionary tale for anyone out there considering having children. I mean, I want it to be a true-to-life account of our days together, but I don't necessarily want it to be a contraceptive, if you know what I'm saying. And I hope you don't.

Here are some phrases that actually came from my mouth yesterday:

"Go give Ella this chicken finger and tell her you're sorry for hitting her with a ski pole."*

"OH! So THAT'S why our washing machine has been broken for three days - because the drain hose was filled with old pickle chips and Q-Tips and fruit leather!"**

Today, you're back at daycare, and I'm hoping a trained professional and a group of other children will have more success entertaining you today than I did yesterday.

Love,

Mom

* No dogs were actually harmed in the making of this blog. In fact, Ella's internal monologue goes something like this: "You mean I can lie by the fire all day and eat chicken fingers and the only thing I have to do in return is take an occasional beating from a toddler? Score!

** I wanted to take a picture of this for the blog, but your dad implied that no one would want to see something like that. He forgets that a large part of our readership is made up of nurses who thrive on disgusting visual aids.