Then there's the other one. The Natalie. She's two, you guys (or "you dies" as she says) and I should not have to answer to her the way I do. But yet, I do. And she's not even two and a half for another two weeks. But anyway, she's been telling us for weeks that she, also, would like to go to school. Then we take Wyatt to school and she wants to stay. She wants to go to his playground, she's picked out a classroom for herself, etc. The child is ready, the world probably is not. I'm not. Well, most days anyway. Today she's a little cantankerous and she was really reading me the riot act on the way home from Wyatt's drop-off in Nataliese, telling me in an unpleasant voice about how she wants to go to school and doesn't want to go home but would settle for the bouncy house and she doesn't like me, maybe even doesn't love me, ever, ever, everrrrrrr with that last bit delivered in her ugliest, loudest, whiniest, shriekiest voice she could muster. So I just calmly replied that I don't believe that she doesn't love me, I love her very much and really appreciate her not using that voice with me.
So she took a deep breath.
And then she repeated every. last. word of her soliloquy in her nicest, calmest, regular voice but with the same ugly words from the first go 'round.
Help me. There's been a secret hand-off and I'm just catching on. The little one is as smart as the big one and they're pretty darn good at this "wear down the mom" game. It's good I find them so loveable. It's also good I can still require afternoon naps of Miss Sassypants.