Our youngest, Katherine, is two years old. As the only girl with three older brothers, she's kind of used to getting her way and . . . mean. She has no problem kicking, hitting, or biting to get what she wants. And then she looks at you with her giant blue, blue eyes and all that blonde, blonde hair and those adorable dimples and you'll almost forget.
Until she bites you again.
I am often asked if I am her babysitter. I am neither blonde-headed or blue-eyed and my adorable factor is questionable. (Although I do bite on occasion). She certainly favors her father in the looks department. She unfortunately favors me in the personality department. (My kids tell me all the time how mean I am).
Over the last month, she's learned to say a new word. The word is "help."
Actually what I mean to say is that she's learned to yell the word "help."
Usually in public.
Usually when I'm trying to put her in a grocery cart. Or the carseat.
As loud as she can (and it's surprisingly loud), she'll shout, "Help! Help! Help!"
I'm struggling to get her in the carseat, grappling with the buckle, trying to avoid her teeth, and, okay, I might be swearing under my breath (Putting this kid in a carseat is exhausting. I deserve a cookie or cruise or something afterwards) and she's screaming "Help!" at the top of her lungs.
All this to say, I'm just biding my time until I get arrested. It's gonna happen, people. Someone is going to walk by and think, "Why is that woman forcing that toddler yelling 'help' who doesn't look anything like her into that van?" And the police will get involved.
Can I blog from prison? I'm not sure.
On one hand, I'll be arrested which, admittedly, has quite a few negative aspects.
On the other hand, it is kind of like a paid vacation. A few days in solitary sounds kind of . . . peaceful.
