saturday...Saturday...SATURDAY!!!

Dear Laney,

If we lived somewhere that mullet hair cuts are all the rage, you would probably be familiar with the commercials that advertise monster truck rallies. They always start with a gravel- voiced announcer shouting, "saturday...Saturday...SATURDAY!!!" before going on to assure you that this Saturday is going to be so awesome/spectacular/frickin' EXPLOSIVE that it will completely blow your mind.

Yesterday was not one of those Saturdays. It was your average, boring, errand-running day... more of a Saturday...saturday...saturrr-zzzzzzzz.

We did stop at Home Depot, so your dad could buy some thingamajiggers and hoozeewhatsits, and so you could restock the Liquid Nails, round up the errant shopping carts, test out the new shower stalls and protest having to wear shoes in public.

We stopped at Outback for some mac n' cheese,

...and then per your request ("Edah's 'ouse! Edah's 'ouse! Edah's 'ouse!"), we stopped at Cedar's house, so you could plant her in a flower box, and she could gently whack you in the head with a badminton racquet.

You know...all the same things I like to do when I get together with my friends. Which reminds me: Karen, when you come to visit in a few weeks, remember to pack a badminton racquet. We're gonna have some good times!

Come on, august...August...AUGUST!!!

Love,

Mom

Because Every Southern Girl Knows...

Dear Laney,

Sometimes the only thing separating a bad day from a good one is finding the right shade of lipstick to slather all over your face and donning a fabulous sun hat.

Love,

Mom

The Little Girl Who Cried Cedar

Dear Laney,

Last night, Cedar brought her parents and grandmother over for taco night, and as always, it was tons of fun.

You played outside, then took a bath together in the new tub and even had ice cream. It was all smiles and giggles 'til it was finally time to tell them goodbye.

But then...

At 3am this morning, I woke up to you screaming. I mean SCREAMING. In the 6 seconds it took me to get from my bed, up the stairs and into your room, I had time to consider the following scenarios and decide they were all plausible:

* A mountain lion had found a way to climb into our second story window, and had you in her jaws.

* Your leg had gotten stuck in the bars of your crib, cutting off all circulation, and you may or may not lose your foot.

* You'd been stung by a wasp and I couldn't remember exactly what crazy thing I'm supposed to chew up and spit on the sting to make it better. Or maybe it's meat tenderizer? Would I be able to find it on google?

This is how a mother's mind works at 3am when her baby is screaming bloody murder.

When I got next to your crib, you were sitting up waiting for me and - I swear - said, "'Ere's Edah? Les' go Edah's 'ouse!" (Wheres's Cedar? Let's go to Cedar's house!)

I think I said something patient and understanding like, "You have completely lost your mind, and you need to hush."

Here's what I know: when the first mountain lion graduates from Cirque Du Soleil Academy and learns to vault into your bedroom window with the help of a trampoline, a French clown and one of those rope swings, you're going to be really sorry you tricked me with this "'Ere's Edah?" business.

Love,

Mom

The One Where Laney Goes 'Round The Bend

Dear Laney,

You'll never guess where we went after school yesterday. I picked you up a little early, because I thought it would be a great, fun surprise to drive into town and ride the carousel.

It was the greatest feeling in the world when you realized where we were, shouted 'ORSE! and took off running. We rode the carousel four times in a row, but then I decided we needed to get home, and instead of carrying you back into the line, I carried you out to the parking lot. That's when things turned ugly.

I've never wrestled an alligator, but I imagine the experience of getting you into your car seat when you by-God don't want to leave the carousel is similar. I don't want to merely suggest that you turned crazy. I want to come right out and confirm that you went abso-dang-lutey nuts. Faye Dunaway in "Mommie Dearest" nuts. Sally Field in "Sybil" nuts. Old Yeller when he had rabies and was foaming at the mouth nuts.

You screamed at me all the way to the interstate. I stopped at the drive-through coffee place on the way out of town to get a smoothie and a muffin, thinking that a snack might calm everyone down. But you took that smoothie from me just long enough to look me in the eye and then spike it on the floor of the car.

I called Peg Peg on the way home for moral support, but above all your screaming from the backseat, all I could hear her say was "Wooo-WEEEEE!"

I think it's going to be a while before we go back to ride the horse. The buzz is great, but the hangover's a killer.

Love,

Mom

...And Your Dad Hated San Diego.

Dear Laney,

For most of 2007-2008, your dad and I lived in San Diego, California. We were near the beach, the weather was always sunny and in the 70s, there were thousands of great restaurants (the Mexican food was prepared by actual Mexicans) and the shopping was world-class. All of the locals were always in a good mood, because of all that stuff in the previous sentence.

But you know who didn't like it there? Your dad.

Your dad and I would go to a hiking trail on the weekend, and if there was another car in the parking lot, he would launch into an impassioned tirade about how there were too many people in San Diego, and how everything was better in Montana, because you could actually go out in the wilderness and be alone. There's just something about humanity that gives your dad a rash.

Fast forward four years to this morning - Alberton, 7:30a.m.

After putting you in your car seat for the ride to school, I open the passenger side door and notice that the bag of Laney snacks I usually keep in the car has been gnawed into, with a granola bar partially eaten, and other evidence of a rodent invasion. Safe to say I am freaked out. This is not an ages-old farm truck that's been parked in the yard; this is a new Subaru that I will be making payments on 'til the end of time.

I decide to get in the drivers seat and take you to school (although I'm thinking that if we get out on the interstate and I'm going 75mph, and a mouse comes out from under my seat and tickles my toes, there's a high probability that we'll be sailing into the Clark Fork River). But the car won't start. Click click click click click. The battery's dead.

I leave you to your bagel & schmear and go hunting across the property for both a pair of jumper cables and your dad's old truck. I get everything into position to jump start the car, then I open the car's hood...

I was on the phone with Tex at the time (because your dad was still out in the boonies somewhere, and it's always a good idea to have someone on standby who can alert the authorities in case you electrocute yourself), and I think when I saw this, I shrieked something like, "Holy s#*!, a mouse has built a fortress in my car!"

Tex laughed and said, "I've never heard of such a thing! Take a picture!" After I cleaned off the battery with the plastic tongs from your play kitchen (sorry) and got the car running, Tex asked, "Do you think it had a bunch of babies in there?" but by that time, we were so late for school that I didn't have time to throw up.

I know I took the long way around, but the point of the story is this - San Diego might have had 3 million people, but it never had a mouse that built a dog hair haven under my hood.

I'm going to say we're even.

Love,

Mom

UPDATED TO ADD: Montana natives have since reviewed these photos and informed me that what I have on my hands is actually a pack rat. Consider me 8 times more skeeved out than I was before.

For The Grandparents Re: Laney's Birthday

Dear Grandparents & Other Assorted Loved Ones:

We're less than a month out from Laney's 2nd birthday. This is when I typically make the announcement that there is nothing in the world that Laney needs, and you certainly don't need to send her anything, and I'm more than happy to lie and tell her you got her something nice, because two seconds later she will have forgotten the conversation entirely, and be back on her "WANNA WHITE OARS" kick. She's going through a delightful stage where a fifty cent carousel ride makes her week.

But since this "no gifts necessary" announcement tends to fall on deaf ears, I made a little list of things I think she'd like and doesn't already own - either books she loved from the library, or accessories for her new kitchen - that kind of thing. I'm pretty sure they all qualify for free shipping. Feel free to ignore the list, but I thought it might be helpful for those of you who were looking for gift ideas.

-Brooke

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?

Dear Laney,

Your dad is out of town tonight - he's off saving the galaxy measuring water somewhere - and you didn't have school today, so it's been just you and me all day & night. Once again, I am awed and amazed by successful single mothers everywhere.

I knew there was going to come a time when you would question every decision or request I made, but I didn't think it would start at 23 months. Everything I ask you to do - or not do - is met with "WHY?!?" I don't think you really care about my answer, because you seem perfectly content when I respond with something like, "Why? Because if it were 60 years ago and you kept doing that, my great-grandmother Genie Mae would make you bring her a stick so she could beat you with it."

Examples from today:

Mom: Laney, please don't get up on the coffee table.

Laney: Why?!?

Mom: Because it's my job as your mother to keep you from dancing on tables indefinitely.

Mom: Laney, don't put that dog bowl on your head.

Laney:Why?!?

Mom: Because even Ella thinks it's a bad idea and she eats bugs for fun.

Mom: Laney, do NOT start another episode of Dora.

Laney:WHY?!?

Mom: Because Mama's pregnant and not allowed to relieve herself with prescription medications.

Mom: Laney, as God is my witness, I will put you to bed right now if you get into that dog bucket.

Laney: Why?!?

Mom: Because first you brushed Gus with the BBQ grill scrubber, then you used it to stir that water, so Lord only knows what's floating in it. And you've already had two baths today - one to recover from the stickiness of the two popsicles you threw a fit to have, and one to recover from the ensuing poop that created its own load of laundry. If I have to give you a third bath today, I will lose my cool and go hide in my closet with the lights off and the door closed 'til it's time to take you to school tomorrow.

Laney: Why?

We miss you, Thor!

Love,

Mom

The Doctor Will See You Now*

Dear Laney,

Before we started our bathroom renovation, we had to move all of our belongings out of there. Yesterday evening, you and I sorted through all of the boxes of junk and found a bar of soap from a hotel I stayed in twelve years ago, enough hair rollers and hairspray to style an all-girls school in south Georgia, and a box of 50 latex gloves. You pulled on a pair of the gloves and wore them straight through 'til bedtime. No idea where or when we got the gloves, or why we have them; I promise I'm not running a free clinic out of your room.**

Love,

Mom

*I was going to title this post, "Turn Your Head and Cough," but your dad said it might be a little too racy for a baby blog.

**Although for $10, I'd be happy to listen sympathetically to anyone's symptoms and then google 'em.

More Exhausting By 2pm Than Most People Are All Day

Dear Laney,

This has been our day thus far:

6:30am - You stand up in your crib and shout downstairs MOM! WANNA WHITE OARS!

6:40am - Mom gets Machiavellian: "You're not allowed to ride the horse 'til you put on pants, let me do your hair, eat a breakfast taco and get your nails cut." Check. Check. Check. Check.

8:50am - Trip to town is briefly stalled when you get trapped inside a grocery bag in the driveway (Fig 1).

9:05am - From the backseat, demand that MORE SAUCE (a.k.a. Barney Songs) be played on the car stereo. Mom fantasizes a world where it's acceptable to be pregnant, driving, and drinking a Bloody Mary.

9:15am - You get your feet stuck together in a drinking glass. No, really (Fig 2).

9:30am - Mom remembers that half of every Dora episode is Dora repeating the three places she's going to go today. Mom decides to try this tactic: Bank!...Target!...Horse! You repeat back: Oars! Oars! Oars!

10:00am - Target, where Mom buys replacement Play-Doh for the tub she gave you last week, which has since become a disgusting yellowish ball of 1 part Play-Doh, 1 part dirt and 1 part Gus hair (or, as Dad calls it, "Stuff the Native Americans could have used to build adobe houses.")

10:45am - Arrive at carousel. WE RIDE THE HORSE!!!! GLORY HALLELUJAH!!! (Fig 3)

10:47am - Mom! More oars!

10:48am - We ride the horse again.

10:50am - Mom! More oars!

10:52am - Mom considers buying the $40 carousel all-you-can-ride season pass. We ride the horse again.

10:54am - Mom removes you from the carousel building, and this conversation happens for the first of 200+ times today:

Laney: Mom, 'ant more oars.

Mom: We're not going to ride the horse again right now, sweet girl.

Laney: Why?

Mom: Because Mom needs a break.

Laney: OK.

Mom: You understand?

Laney: Sure!

Mom: Great, then let's go do someth-

Laney: WANNA WHITE OARS!!

11:05am - Arrive at Missoula Farmer's Market (Fig 4) to discover more people per capita than anywhere else this side of Calcutta. Accidentally run into at least a dozen people with our stroller. We are Those People.

11:06am - Strawberry lemonade popsicle + toddler in white T-shirt = costume change (Fig 5).

11:30am - Kill off any good locavore karma we accumulated at the farmers' market by having lunch at McDonald's PlayPlace (Fig 6). McDonald's employee tells you you're not allowed to carry your apple slice onto the playground. You collapse in despair on the turtle slide.

1:00pm - Arrive at Cedar's house for a brief visit, where Cedar (Fig 7) learns to take photos with Mom's camera (Fig 8) and you're so sleepy you can barely stay upright.

1:45pm - Home again. Mom gets in the bed with you to read books. You demand MORE SORES.

2:00pm - After multiple incorrect guesses, Mom finally discovers that MORE SORES loosely translates to, "Mother dear, I believe I'd enjoy a 16th reading of that book about dinosaurs."

There are 6 hours left til bedtime.

Send help.

Love,

Mom

Parental Report Card

Dear Laney,

Chances are, every once in a while in your school career, you will run across a hippie dippy teacher who will review your work and then ask you, "What grade would you give yourself?" If you're anything like me, you won't be much for self-reflection, and you'll sputter out some kind of non-committal answer while on the inside you're thinking, "An 'A'...duh."

Yesterday, though, I got to thinking about my performance as a parent, and what grade I would give to your dad and me on the job we've done thus far. I thought, "We're pretty great parents! Sure, we make little mistakes now and again, but who out there is doing a better job than we are? Nobody, that's who! I give us a solid 'A'!"

And then I realize that you're hanging out in the back of a truck wearing my new flip flops that are still rubber banded together, chocolate on your dress, yogurt on your face, and an oil funnel for a hat.

And then I think, "Eh... C+."

But that's still passing, people!

Love,

Mom

WHITE OARS!!

Dear Laney,

Yes, I'm still getting material for this blog from stuff we did last weekend. I know! I can't believe it, either. Your mother is exceptionally good at toeing the line between genius and all-out laziness, with only the pinkie toe in "genius" and the rest of my size nines completely in "lazy."

Last Sunday, we drove into Missoula, where we met up with Cedar and her family at the carousel. First, you and your dad rode a horse together, then I went around with you a second time and let you sit on your own horse. While on the outside, I was trying to foster your independence, on the inside I was complete mess with a shrieking voice inside my head that kept repeating - SHE MIGHT FALL! SHE MIGHT FALL! SHE'S GOING TO HIT THE GROUND AND THE CENTRIFUGAL FORCE IS GOING TO ROCKET HER INTO THE RIVER, AND EVERYONE'S GOING TO READ ABOUT WHAT A BAD MOM YOU ARE ON THE FRONT PAGE OF TOMORROW'S MISSOULIAN. (The shrieking in my head had to be pretty loud to be heard over the organ version of "Pop Goes The Weasel").

Through the whole ride, you mostly looked perplexed...you would giggle, then turn anxious, then you would go into silent concentration mode. To the outside eye, it looked like you might not be having a good time. But when the ride ended, you started insisting MORE MORE! What an enigma you are.

After the carousel, we played at the park for a while, then we all went out for pizza.

...and then the saleslady said she didn't have it in my size,

and I was like, "Girl, please, you know you have another

one in the back."

The day after our carousel outing, you started walking up to your dad and me insisting, "White oars." We guessed and guessed and guessed, but never could figure out what the heck you wanted. Over the course of five days, you were becoming increasingly frustrated. Last night, you balled up your fists and screamed "WHITE OARS!!" and I hollered back, "WHAT IS IT?? DO YOU WANT TO RIDE A HORSE?!?" And the clouds parted, and there was harp music, and the angels began to sing, because after 308 tries, your parents finally figured out what you were saying.

Just to be sure, I brought you downstairs and showed you this little clip of the carousel, with you and Dad in slow-mo. On your face was this amazing mix of joy and relief at finally being understood. Like you'd been held in a Tijuana prison and were finally able to communicate to your Mexican captors that those pills in your suitcase really are just blood pressure medicine.

So, as a consolation prize for having parents who are so obtuse, we're planning on taking you into town tonight to WHITE OARS!

Thank you for your patience.

Love,

Mom

Or Else.

Hand over all your fudgesicles, or I'll add, "Have You Vaporized By My Army of Cybernauts" to my post-nap To Do list.

Hey, Good Lookin', Whatcha Got Cookin?

Dear Laney,

You know what you love more than Barney's songs, swinging on your swingset, and poking Gus in the nose put together?

Cooking.

Here's a little one-minute highlight reel of some of your recent gourmet adventures, including your previously-secret recipe for 6 cups of soy milk mixed with 2 Tbs of polenta and 1/4 c of cinnamon. I call it "A Pot Of Mess." For those following along at home - don't forget you must first fry* the cinnamon on the griddle.

'Ats good, baby.

Love,

Mom

* No heat was used in the production of this video, or in the production of this spicy vanilla polenta soup.

Bath Monster

Dear Laney,

Your dad worked as hard as he could, but it still took about three days to demo our old shower, frame in the new walls, and change all of the plumbing to accomodate our new tub. That means we all spent three days together in a relatively small house in 90+ degree heat without bathing. Actually, now that I think of it, your grandmother slept out in our guest house. That light bulb is just now coming on for me.

Since we put in our new tub, you've been averaging about three baths a day. The bathtub IS pretty terrific, I must say, measuring 66" long at its longest point. After spending the past few years of your life bathing in a file box, this is like a whole new spa experience for you.

On the first morning it was installed, I took a bath, and you got in with me. When I was done, I asked you if you wanted to get out, and you told me, "No." "But it's Grandma Sue's turn for a bath," I reminded you. You shrugged your shoulders, suggesting that Grandma Sue's needs were not your problem. I drained out my water, and refilled the tub for Grandma Sue while you hung out and waited for Round 2.

Later that night, your dad took a bath and you went running into the bathroom, pulling your shirt over your head as you went. Apparently, the new rule in our house is: No One Bathes Alone. Future household guests, please plan accordingly.

As Dad's water drained away, you called out to me, "C'on, Mom!" "No thanks, I'm not interested in taking a bath right now." You narrowed your little eyes and asked, "'Ere's Ah Sue?" "She went home." You stuck out your bottom lip, defeated. You'd officially run out of bathtub buddies.

And before you ask, there's no way in hell I'm putting Gus and Ella in that tub.

Love,

Mom

Railroad Days

Dear Laney,

The shining spot on the Alberton social calendar is a annual festival called "Railroad Days," held just last weekend in downtown Alberton (not to be confused with uptown Alberton). While your dad stayed home and ran rampant with the nail gun, we went down to check out the petting zoo, the horse rides, the honey lemonade, and the other 597 people who live in our town.

Sure, you liked petting the sheep, and you drank most of my lemonade, but if anyone asked you what your favorite part of the day was, it would be no contest. I know, because I asked you, and it went like this:

Mom: Laney, what was your favorite part of Railroad Days?

Laney: Ummmm..... 'WING!

Oh yes, the swings at the park, which are exactly like the ones we have at home that you're on several hours a day. Sorry, Mr. Sheep. You didn't even get an honorable mention.

Love,

Mom

AhSoo! (Bless You)

Dear Laney,

Your Grandma Sue spent some time with us last week to help out with our renovation projects. Mostly, she was on Laney Duty, since you seem to lose your ever-lovin' mind every time your dad turns on his compressor.

It was one of those weekends - typical around here - when you wake up in the morning the proud owner of a walk-in shower, and you end the day as the aching, tired owner of a truckload of debris. Progress!

Your dad and I have been working on an clawfoot tub that we're going to install in the bathroom, but I'm not supposed to lift anything over 30 pounds these days. You're currently tipping the scales at 31 pounds, but I let you round down because I don't want to give up holding you. I have no such emotional attachment to this cast iron tub. So, cue the grandma to do the heavy lifting. I know, it's a sad day when we call in the older generation to haul our heavy crap.

We've been working on getting you to say "Grandma Sue," but it always comes out "Ah Sue." I really thought you were sneezing the first few times you said it. The "grandm-" part of her name just isn't making the cut. Could be worse; when you say "Peg Peg," it sounds a lot like "Backpack."

This morning on the ride to school, I thought you were demanding over and over: "More SAUCE!" I couldn't think for the life of me what sauce you were talking about, or if you'd ever even had anything with sauce on it. It took me all the way to the Huson exit to figure out you were saying "Barney SONGS!" because that's what you wanted to hear on the radio. I invite anyone who enjoys party games like Charades, Telephone, etc to spend the afternoon with you, because it's the same kind of mind-bending fun.

Love,

Mom

Sentences.

Dear Laney,

It's hard to believe, since you got in trouble today for trying to dart into traffic so you could say hello to a horse, but there was once a time when I thought you would never learn to walk. I was so impatient for you to take your first steps, but once you started, you were running by the end of the very same week. Your developmental pattern seems to include the following steps: Gathering intel, formulating the plan, selecting appropriate personnel and equipment, running all applicable scenarios, and finally, execution.* Then, you're off to the races.

Talking has been no different. Two weeks ago, you had a ten word spoken vocabulary. Sure, you could understand hundreds of words and phrases - heck, I could give you a list of five things I needed from the other room and you'd go collect them - but there wasn't much you'd say on your own. I didn't stress this milestone as much, because your behavior reminded me a lot of myself in high school French. The teacher would speak in long monologues, and I'd nod and say, "Ah, oui."

But just last week, you were once again off and running, this time verbally. For the past few days, you've been all about stringing words together. Today at the park, when you spotted Cedar: "Mom! 'Ere Cedah Is!" In the bathtub: "Mom! More 'oap, 'lease." Regarding Ella: "'At's MY 'og."**

There are times when I swear we're having a conversation and it's so exciting. I can't wait to hear what else you have to say.

Love,

Mom

* This was actually your dad's response when I asked him to list (for purposes of this joke) the steps to preparing for a special op.

** Nice job, choosing the smart one.

Sending Tracy To Atlanta

Dear Laney,

Every year in Atlanta, there's a hair styling competition called "The Bonner Brothers International Hair Show." Stylists compete to create the most amazing hairstyles while performing equally amazing floor shows. I learned about it by watching this pretty funny documentary once.

It's no secret that your teacher Tracy is the only person you'll allow to play with your hair. You won't let me touch it unless I hypnotize you with a Dora/popsicle combo. Even then, I'm working within a 28-second time limit before the NO NO NO NO NOs set in.

So when you came home from school on Friday with this hair-do, these were my first two thoughts:

1) I can't believe you let Tracy do that to your hair.

2) We need to pay Tracy's enrollment fee to next year's Bonner Brothers show, because if she can do this to a two year-old, imagine what she could do with a willing participant.

Love,

Mom

A Big Afternoon For Mermaids and Fudgesicles.

Get Your Motor Runnin'. Head Out On The Highway.

Dear Laney,

Looks like you have a new friend at school. Tracy e-mailed me this photo yesterday of you and Sadie on matching scooters. Why does your school have scooters? I don't know. I like to imagine it's because every night at 6p, the Big Red Barn becomes a toddler biker bar. But probably not.

I also like to imagine that Tracy dressed up whatever boy happened to be at school yesterday as Erik Estrada, so he could demand your license and registration and ask you to keep your hands where he can see 'em. But that probably didn't happen, either.

I think your time at day care is a lot more exciting in my head.

Love,

Mom

A Jump Start On The Week

Dear Laney,

Yesterday was bathroom demo day. We started the morning with a full sink and vanity, and by the afternoon, all that remained was a suspicious looking pipe in the middle of the floor, and a piece of drywall you had pre-finger painted. It's always darkest before the dawn blah blah blah.

For parts of the day, you were completely patient with the renovation process, like here, when you didn't let your dad's spackling or your newly-opened Fudgesicle interfere with your potty break.

At other times - say, any time a power tool was turned on - you became a screeching banshee who needed to be removed from the house, post haste. Our need to be outside for most of the day is how we came to invent Mom's Dolly Rides.

We also spent a lot of time in the Subaru, where you love to sit in the driver's seat and pretend to drive. While the driving part is imaginary, you're actually able to put the keys in the ignition and put your Barney CD into the player. We sat out there and sang the ABC song til I started to wonder if Barney's voice + repetitive children's song was more or less evil than the sound you make when you hear a power tool. I put my hands out to weigh the options: Singing dinosaur. Screeching baby. Singing dinosaur. Screeching baby.

This morning, we went out to the car so I could drive you to school, and discovered that the keys were still in the ignition and the battery was dead. I had to call your dad at work and have him talk me through the battery-jumping process. It's a wonder I didn't get electrocuted, because this is an excerpt from our telephone tutorial:

Dad: Okay, now you're going to want to put the yellow cable on the positive terminal.

Mom: Uh huh (I say, meaning "mission accomplished.")

Dad: But before you do that...

Mom: Wait - WHAT? WHY ARE YOU NOT GIVING ME THE DIRECTIONS IN ORDER??

The biggest crisis of our morning wasn't the dead battery, though. It was accidentally leaving the Barney CD that started all this trouble at home. I was forced to sing We're On The Way To Grandpa's Farm all the way to Frenchtown.

Down on Grandpa's farm, there is one tired mama.

Love,

Mom

Freaky Friday

Dear Laney,

You woke up from your nap on Friday afternoon to discover Cedar playing in your room. I can tell you were disoriented, which is totally understandable, since you obviously had intended to spend Friday night as the opening act at a circa-1989 Poison concert. Every rose has its thorn, yeah it does.

While the adults were eating pork tacos, you guys toddled off into the bedroom, and came back to present your very excellent impression of frat boys. You forgot the large plastic cups of dubious content, but nice hat, bro. Save us some seats at the game.

After dinner, you introduced Cedar to two wonderful new things. 1) The tire swing...

...and 2) M&Ms.

I didn't hear you say "No! 'At's mine!" even once all night. M&Ms for everyone!

Love,

Mom