There once was a little girl...
Mar. 30th, 2006 11:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
conuly
Who had a little cu-
Oh, never mind, you know the rest.
Today, in the morning, Ana was the sweetest little angel. I was lying down on the floor, and she wanted me to get up because "You make the fyoor dirty, Connie!" (Which is why I told her she had to pick up the cloth she'd tossed on the floor, because we don't want a messy floor.)
So I told her my back hurts, which it did only a little.
Cue the air of concern: Oh, Connie! If your back hurts, you hafta tell me. And you go poo-poo on the toilet, but that's all right.
(See, Ana's been holding in her poo because she wants to go on the toilet - but she's unable for some reason to go on the toilet. Eventually, this leads to her being unwilling to sit on the toilet for any reason, and then she complains that her tummy hurts. So I've taken to reminding her that it's okay to go in her diaper (when we're out, or she's sleeping, she has a diaper), especially if she can't go on the toilet) Which is what this whole conversation references.)
And then in the afternoon, she gets mad because I'm not letting her play with the VERY DELICATE cookbook I was looking at, so she snatches it out of my hand, runs off, and tosses it out the window. In the space of a blink. Except I hadn't blinked. (Blunk? Doesn't blunk sound right, though? It does!) I just couldn't possibly react fast enough, even had I known she'd throw it onto the downstairs roof.
Grr.
I may end up buying another copy. Not the paperback though - that fell apart.
Oh, never mind, you know the rest.
Today, in the morning, Ana was the sweetest little angel. I was lying down on the floor, and she wanted me to get up because "You make the fyoor dirty, Connie!" (Which is why I told her she had to pick up the cloth she'd tossed on the floor, because we don't want a messy floor.)
So I told her my back hurts, which it did only a little.
Cue the air of concern: Oh, Connie! If your back hurts, you hafta tell me. And you go poo-poo on the toilet, but that's all right.
(See, Ana's been holding in her poo because she wants to go on the toilet - but she's unable for some reason to go on the toilet. Eventually, this leads to her being unwilling to sit on the toilet for any reason, and then she complains that her tummy hurts. So I've taken to reminding her that it's okay to go in her diaper (when we're out, or she's sleeping, she has a diaper), especially if she can't go on the toilet) Which is what this whole conversation references.)
And then in the afternoon, she gets mad because I'm not letting her play with the VERY DELICATE cookbook I was looking at, so she snatches it out of my hand, runs off, and tosses it out the window. In the space of a blink. Except I hadn't blinked. (Blunk? Doesn't blunk sound right, though? It does!) I just couldn't possibly react fast enough, even had I known she'd throw it onto the downstairs roof.
Grr.
I may end up buying another copy. Not the paperback though - that fell apart.
