Famous Baby C is two.
This fact is not news. She has been two since May, but has had the scorching, mercurial temper of a two year old...well, if I am completely honest...since before she was born.
This girl is trouble. She always has been. But over the last several days, it seems as if she has been kicking up her buttheadedness many many notches.
Last night, we were all tired. I was getting Famous Baby C ready for bed and Grand Master H was giving me trouble. He kept popping into the bathroom during her bath, making her even more irritable than normal. Then, he jumped off the stool that allows the little ingrates to reach the faucet, directly onto my foot.
After all that, he kept popping in and out of her bedroom while I was trying to settle her down and we were reading bedtime stories. When I finally yelled at him to stop, he tells Mr. Smith the following:
"You see? This is what I am talking about! She is constantly bossing me around!"
Okay, so maybe Baby C is not the only butthead in this house.
Famous Baby C has turned Silent Bob and goes around the house, quietly wreaking havoc everywhere she goes.
Wednesday: here is a photo of her handiwork.
She apparently decided we need random scribbles of orange and brown throughout the downstairs. On the walls, moulding, and light switches.
Thank you Mr. Clean Magic Eraser thing. You saved me on Wednesday, but I don't want to know what you are made of, not ever. I can't imagine what you contain that makes it possible to get things that clean. Please, please, please, keep it to yourself. I want to be able to sleep at night.
I will be buying these in bulk in the future. I have a feeling there are many crime scene clean ups in my immediate future.
Yesterday, she emptied a new box of Kleenex, one at a time, onto the family room floor. When her father discovered her crime, her brother attempted to hide the evidence under a towel. Nothing like having one that is a criminal enterprise in the making and another one that is willing to help cover up her crimes.
Her main activity though is torturing the dog. I swear she is going to love him into an early grave. She covers him with a blanket (his head only). She tries to hug him while he is walking. She sits on him. She almost combed his eyes, but Mr. Smith stopped her. She brings him food from his bowl, while he is sleeping and then tries to force it into his mouth.
I can't quite figure out why he hasn't torn her limb from limb.
He is constantly looking for new hiding places and she is constantly looking for him so that she can torture him.
Yeah, I know. Not much of a hiding place. Obviously, Archie still has some learning to do in the evasive action department.