Reesa is now a two year old, made official by a birthday party with our neighbors the Knight’s and their two young children and Grandma Lois. A good time, and ice cream, was had by all. Don’t expect to get any reliable information about her age from the blondie herself.
“Reesa, how old are you?”
“Three and a half!”
“Noooo. Try again.”
“Um…one.”
* * * * *
Genevieve was pitching tantrums and being frequently crabby and recalcitrant this evening. Finally, at the start of dinner, she complained about having only one fork and received a warning that she did not need any more utensils and that if she continued to complain that she would be sent to bed. She thought for a few moments, then said “Well, if I can’t get another fork, then I’ll just go to bed.”
Big mistake. Mama said, “You called my hand, and now you’ll see it was no bluff. I’ll see your ultimatum and raise you one trip to bed,” took her by the hand and marched her to bed. (Daddy silently cheered—that child had been working on his last nerve of the evening.)
Much later at dinner, Reesa paused from her eating long enough to say to us, “She…called…Mama’s hand!”
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