It’s a cruel life when you’re only fifteen months old. When Mommy insists that it’s bedtime, when your eyes won’t stay open more than a minute, and when the sun is setting. So cruel. I predict years of therapy ahead of this child.
Dinner tonight was wonderful. One of the few times in the past year that we’ve gone out to eat, at a nicer restaurant, and Tiff is finally old enough to start grazing off of our plates. She had a great time. She just wanted to crawl around and explore all the other tables. Mean Mommy and Dastardly Daddy thwarted this plan. When Mean Mommy took her on a walk to see the fish tanks and to go to the bathroom, she made her break for it while my pants were down. Luckily no one tried to enter the bathroom at that point, and she couldn’t figure out how to open the big door.
In other news, it’s Payday. (Sound of angel choirs from above in heavenly chorus) Yay. This means that I can fill the gas tank, and buy toilet paper, and lots and lots of feminine hygiene products. Life is good. Laundry has been done this morning by someone other than myself, and that means that right now although my head hurts and I’m cranky I am considerably less cranky than if I had to wrestle the Toddler, the shopping, and five loads of laundry to the Laundromat and back.
She’s still determined not to go to sleep. Really determined. She’s going to give up soon. I know this. And then we’ll all have ice cream sandwiches.
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