Law and Order: PRESCHOOL Unit

Back-story: For the girls fourth birthday we gave them a big girl room. Twin sized beds and new bedding…the room is a soft pink with brown polka dots. Tis uber cute. Part of this renovation was to purge all the toys upstairs to what is now the playroom. That was a gift to me. It is wonderful to have all that crap the kid’s stuff in a specified area, out of the way, and I place I can send the kiddos to visit their crap toys, also, out of my way. Forehead smackin’ genius.

So...Reagan comes strolling downstairs and casually moseys up next to me at my computer.

Me: “Whatcha guys doing up there? Playing with your Barbies?”

Reagan: “Yes, just playing. Not cutting.”

The interrogation begins. My head whips a quarter turn to meet her eyes, tilts in a disapproving Mom manner, eyes narrowed: “Cutting? What are you cutting?”

Reagan: “Nothing.”

Me: “Did you find a pair of scissors?”

Reagan: “Nope.”

Me: “Are you lying, Reagan?”

The Little Liar: (extremely long pause) “No.”

Reagan turns and heads to the stairs. I rise and follow the lead.

Reagan: “Are you coming up to play with us, Mommy?”

Me: “No, I’m coming up to see what you’ve been cutting.”

Her eyes widen, and she double times it up the stairs. Abby is playing with the giant pink Barbie Brothel.

Reagan: “See, Mom, we’re just playing.”

Me: “Abby, were you two cutting something?”

Reagan looks at Abby, bug eyed. I swear I can see her slightly shaking her head ‘no’.

With a pointing finger, Abby turned State’s Evidence. On the floor beneath the Little Tykes table was a pile of foam nugget confetti from a purple alphabet puzzle, and two pages of a Chick-Fil-A kid’s meal book cut into perfect two inches strips. And a dainty pair of sharp pointed pink scissors. I pick them up and inspect the loveseat, curtains and carpet for damage. Then checked their hair for new, unauthorized coifs. All clear.

Me: “So, who did the cutting?”

Abby (nonchalantly pointing to the defendant’s table from the proverbial
stand): “Reagan did.”

The look on Reagan’s face confirmed the accusation. Her gaze dropped to the floor. I bit my lip, trying not to smile.

The verdict was in. Guilty.

Reagan: “Sorry, Mommy.”

The sentence was delivered.

Me: “Pick up every little piece you cut and throw them away. And you have to tell Daddy what you did.”

The Little Convict: “NOooo….he’ll be upset with me.”

Me: “Yep…”

Then I handed my prisoner over to the warden. Don’t worry—he paroled her in time for dessert. :)

Another One Bites the Dust

It was a beautiful sandwich. A Dagwood for a lady. Thin turkey, Colby jack cheese, little bit of mayo and brown mustard, all stacked between two slices of multigrain bread from Joe Fazio bakery (via Sam’s).

I was almost done assembling my lunch when Abby streaked down the hall saying, “I have to POOP!”

I giggled and told her I’d be right there to help.

Not thinking much about it, I left the empty kitchen and headed to the bathroom, where Abby was already finished with her business. I patted her front dry with tissue, but while I was busy trying to separate a wet wipe from the container, Abby‘s neked little tushie bolted down the hall to the living room.

“ABIGAIL! You need your butt wiped young lady!” I had no choice but to chase her with a wipe in hand.

As I passed the kitchen, from the corner of my eye I saw black. I looked in horror to see Zoe, aka Dogzilla, devouring my dainty Dagwood in one gulp.

“ZOE! You %^@&!#) $!^@#!” Surprised by getting caught, she retreated back up the stairs, mouth full, with a What? Me? I’m innocent! look on her face. My husband, Jerry appeared at the top of the stairs, and I proceeded to tell him what HIS dog did to my lunch. I stomped back through the kitchen, butt wipe still in hand, to find the elusive Abby monster.

As I approach her she points to my once beautiful cream colored couch cushion. “Looook, Mommy. Brown poop!”

Three skid marks embellished the lovely brocade pattern. I looked at the ceiling and screamed like the woman on the edge that I was. Jerry came running to find me wiping Abby’s tushie, but as I pointed to the poo streaks and told him what she said, I started laughing.

Lysol wipes removed Abby’s butt painting, but I’d strongly advise against napping on my couch. Especially with your head facing south.

And if there is any justice in the world, that stupid dog got horrible indigestion from eating my sandwich in one giant Dogzilla mouthful. She’s up for adoption if there are any takers out there.

No? Didn’t think so…