Wanda’s been spending a lot of time in the joint lately. Our personal joint is a spot in the hall outside the bathroom door. There is no worse place on earth than the time out spot. Placing her in it is practically child abuse.

Her emotions are just so raw and untamed and we aggrevate them by doing things like letting Magoo eat a lollipop he got for Valentine’s Day, asking Wanda to stop throwing wooden blocks in the house, and letting other people celebrate birthdays.

Here are a few classic shots from Laylee’s birthday earlier this year.

Wanda helps open the presents.

Eventually Laylee has to unwrap her gifts like this:
Notice how I’m more interested in documenting the drama than stopping it? Best mom ever.

Eventually she ran to the piano for a meltdown. Maybe she was going to write a song about it, which was apparently named, “WHERE’S WANDA’S PRESS-ENTS? I WANT WANDA’S PAH-TY TIME!”

The tragedy is highlighted by her smiling face in the photo behind her. I love this shot with a great wicked-stepmother kind of love.

So to help her comply with our unreasonable demands, I’ve started the time-honored tradition of counting her down to obedience.

“Wanda. You need to bring me that permanent maker and that chainsaw.”


“Wanda. One. Two…”

The other day, about halfway through the fiftieth round of counting that day, she yelled, “Mamma, NO! Stop THREEING!”

I will. I will totally stop threeing as soon as baby girl stops twoing with such unyielding persistence.

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