Crime Scene Photo

Dear Laney,

Woo-wee, were you a pill on Monday.

I don't wanna put on clothes! I don't like those pants! I can do it my-sef! I want hot chocolate! That's too hot! Put some ice in it! I don't like this show - I want to watch the udder show! I don't NEEDA potty! Push me on the swing! I don't NEED shoes - I just won't step on rocks (duh). Hagen took my toy! Is NOT time for night-night! etc etc etc, until I wanted to shake you by the shoulders and yell "What is wrong with you?!?" I didn't do it, of course, but that I even for a moment asked myself, "Can three year-olds suffer from shaken baby syndrome?" should tell you the kind of day we were having.

So after hours of dealing with your brand of crazy and reminding you to say "please" and "thank you" and not to sit on your brother, I finally told you to go upstairs. "I don't care what you do up there, but go. Go now."

You marched upstairs, and from my bedroom, I heard... nothing. Normally, silence is the most suspicious sound of all, but I was so beat down I didn't even investigate. Until an hour later, I crept upstairs and saw this:

Now with orange modesty rectangles!

You were so exhausted, you had collapsed at the top of the stairs and fallen asleep stark naked on the landing. I had to decide, "Do I let her sleep? Or, do I move her so she won't pee on the carpet?" In the end, I decided to roll the dice. The carpet only cost $300, but my sanity is priceless.

Love,
Mom