I’ve been thinking about learning how to brew some sort of booze at home. Not because I think it would be fun. Honestly, I have some negative images of people who enjoy home brewing alcohol, based on some questionable characters in my past life.
But, really, I’m thinking about doing it because I have a feeling I’m going to need a large glass of something alcoholic at the end of each day for the next few (16 or 17?) years and I want to make sure it’s always available, even if it isn’t fully fermented.
It’s been one of those days.
Annika purposely dumped her lunch on the ground at the park; soaked through her shorts, threw toys all over the house, over and over again throughout the day; refused to eat her dinner unless she was holding the dish or standing up; dumped food on the floor, purposely and accidentally; stood in the bathtub screaming, tried to climb out before I had washed her, dumped water on the floor; and then ran around like a wild woman tossing books on the floor and alternately crying and laughing until I took her to bed an hour earlier than she usually goes to bed.
And today wasn’t even what I would classify as a bad day.
We had fun at library story time this morning. She actually slept long enough this morning so that I could have a luxurious shower and make my coffee before she woke up.
She was adorable and charming. She said, “I luff you,” for the first time. Granted, she was just repeating what I said to her, but still, she said it as we stood over the stove making soap.
I was actually able to make the soap, start a scoby, chat with a friend on the phone and make homemade french fries that are sitting cold and barely touched in the refrigerator because she suddenly decided that she preferred peas over french fries.
By 7 p.m. I was exhausted. It reminded me of when I was a kid and my mom used to say, “You have to go to bed because I’M tired.”
I always thought it was unfair, especially when she said it and didn’t actually go to bed, but sat up reading or knitting, doing things that looked like work to me and I couldn’t understand why she needed me to be in bed for her to do them. (Yes, I used to sneak out of bed and sit in the darkened hallway, checking to make sure that it really was necessary for me to be in bed.)
So yeah. The toddler years have begun in full force.
I have a feeling I’m going to really regret complaining about feeling forced to take naps with her.