Thing 2 is in a Mood. I blame my Momster entirely.
I let them outside to play when the sprinklers came on, despite the heat warning and the code red air quality alert. Sprinklers, man. Gotta do it.
They didn't want to come in of course.
Thing 2 is now "dressed" (with her still-wet swimsuit under the dress), insisting on riding the hot pink Barbie scooter around the living room. 'No' is some foreign language right now.
Red ropers. Denim dress. Dripping swimsuit. The Wet Look hair. Crocheted jewelry.
And she hasn't stopped jabbering since she woke up.
"Mama, when we woke in the hotel, they had my favorite cereal. CORNFLAKES. For real! Really! And milk, and cereal, and we got a bowl, and we came home and you painted our room so we can go outside and play sprinklers after eating cereal."
I think she's hungry.
Now she has cereal. And she's still talking. Spraying a fountain of Froot Loops everywhere. Duct tape wouldn't even stop it.
Last night she went and went and went till she literally passed out in the middle of the floor.
Today ... God help me.
---
Thing 1: "Wow, those trees are really dark. I bet there are wolves out there that would get me."
Me: "Nah, no wolves, but I'm sure there's a man-eating tree or two."
Thing 1: ::yowls, whines, whimpers -- giggling::
Thing 2: "Ooo, yeah. I wicked. I'll cast a spell and make the trees go eat Kailey. See, here's me casting a spell so they'll GET HER! Eat Kailey, trees!"
Thing 1: ::more yowling, no longer giggling::
Thing 2: "Oh chill OUT. I just teasing you!"
---
"Mamamamamamama, watch Dracuwa!!!"
"WHAT?"
"Mama, I wanna watch Dracuwa 2000."
I cave.
She's rooting for the vampires. She squealed and sniggered when the first robber dies.
"Mama, is Dracuwa gonna show up?"
"Yeah, eventually, hon."
"Good, cause he's COOL!"
She has a stuffed black cat she's named Salem.
She's wearing this burgundy and black choker. With her 'spell book.' And watching Dracuwa 2000. And singing.
Wednesday Addams ain't got nuthin on this kid.
Veni, Vidi, Ventus --
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.
Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.
Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.
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