This morning was a disaster of mundane proportions. Really, nothing interesting; the dishwasher didn’t get run last night, the oatmeal didn’t get started early enough to be done when we were hungry, the alarm clock battery died and Dane had to rush out the door, blah blah blah. It just added up to a minor mess.

And then I tried to dress Audrey. First of all, the girl picks out her own clothes. She’s ONE. Most mornings, I choose something for her to wear, and she says no. We repeat this interaction a few times. Eventually I hold her up in front of the closet where she points at outfits: no, no, no, THIS! (“This” is her all-purpose word, here meaning something along the lines of “give me that shirt and don’t try to mess with me, lady.”)

So this morning, I put her in the “this” outfit, and she started trying to yank her shirt off immediately. I kept up a helpful stream of chatter: “No no, you’re almost dressed! See, it’s the shirt you picked! And now it’s on!” At which point she pulled the thing away from her body with such force that she ripped the shirt along the seam. What would have happened if I tried to dress her in one of the “no” outfits?

Luckily, we’ve got men at work in the backyard to take our minds off such minor troubles. They’re doing some removal of concrete patio and some destruction of storage shed; my kids are both enthralled and terrified. They keep asking whether perhaps the guys are having so much fun tearing down the shed, that they might move on to the house next. I’ve said no in about eighteen different ways, which means it’s time to stop watching the action and go eat lunch.

Who knows what delights the afternoon may bring!