Posey has decided that we've put all the construction materials in the house so she can play with them, so this weekend was not relaxing. Her brother didn't help - he was too busy setting a bad example (I'm completely aware that this concept is only part of my philosophy and he has no clue) by making ramps of bits of two-by-fours and zooming little cars all over the place. He was, at least, having fun.
Rosey was not.
Rosey was frustrated. Mean Old Dad wouldn't let her climb the back of the ladder to be near him and (the worst indignity!) wouldn't share the power tools. Mean Old Mama just laughed. Her brother was no help. What's a baby to do?
We had a lot of wailing last weekend.
Damn, I wish she'd talk.
'The injustice of it all! Don't these people know I'm a princess? Now I have to make the pouty face.....'
1 comment:
I'm getting to that point with Isobel, too. She has this incessant smoke alarm thing she does that Drives. Me. Nuts. Just tell me what you want, for the love of god. I don't care if you use the same word for everything, just use a WORD, not eyaheyaheyaheyah over and over and over again until my ears want to bleed and my brain wants to vacate my skull.
*pant pant*
I'm fine, really. Just fine.
My WVW was xlrrpig. Extra Large Pig? Me? Hmph.
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