Since it's nearly June, and my nerves have kicked into full gear, I suppose it's time to write something. The stewpot has been simmering, and what were once ashes have rekindled into a roaring fire.
The little one is bigger, the big one is bigger, I've lost more hair. An almost two year old is hanging off her chair, with her sunglasses on and no pants, and she's saying over and over again, "Need flower, need flower, need flower," which I suppose is code for happiness in toddlerspeak.
I yell at her as she draws on the chair. She looks like she's about to cry, and as I turn my head, she draws on the chair again. I yell again, "Don't. Draw. On. The. Chair." She's got a pouting lower lip, and I'm the bad guy. I laugh at her. She points at me and says, "No!"
"You can't draw on the chair." I notice her paper is full of scribbles. "Do you need more paper?"
"Yes, please." I give her another sheet of paper, and everything is happy again. All it takes is a sheet of paper.
