I walked out of my bedroom this morning to Ruth, smiling through a mouthful of marshmallow, in my kitchen where she'd pulled her chair up to the counter and was blissfully eating her breakfast straight from the marshmallow jar.
Ruth built a ramshackle gingerbread house last week. She thought we were going to keep it in the middle of the kitchen table until Christmas Eve so Santa could eat it. I've convinced her to let me mail it to him instead... what she doesn't know won't kill her. ;)
There is leftover pizza in my refrigerator. I'm pretty sure I could solve that problem in one sitting (and there's a lot of pizza in there). Stuffed crust pizza should come in smaller sizes - it just isn't fair. I believe Pizza Hut should be held accountable for KNOWINGLY contributing to the obesity epidemic in America.
I think a helicopter is trying to land on my house (right now).
Why is it so much easier for me to make two pony tails than one? Shouldn't it be the other way around?
Five minutes after I threw Ruth's soda in the trash she informed me she was DYING of thirst. I told her she'd survive until we found a water fountain. Ten minutes later I asked her how she was doing. Her response? "I'm attempting to drink my spit. I don't recommend it. It isn't exactly satisfying."
I told Ruth I needed an ugly Christmas sweater for work. "Why would you buy an ugly sweater on purpose? That's ridiculous!" she shrieked. I told her that's what grown ups did when all the fun had been sucked from their lives. She actually nodded as if she understood then told me we would buy the ugliest sweater in the universe. Today... I believe Ruth found that sweater. She was extremely proud of herself. It would have been even better if I could have convinced her to buy one for herself while she was at it.
That's all I've got right now. Cranky Baby Pants has been Cranky Demanding Pants alllllll day. I need to go see what the ruckus is about.