towel

That’s our towel holder in the powder room. It may be hard to tell that, since it’s missing the holder part.

The girl comes out of the bathroom with her hands behind her back.

“Promise me you won’t be mad.”

In the history of humanity, that has never proceeded good news. She shows us the broken towel ring.

“What happened?”
“I hanged on it.”

There’s an oddly comforting side effect to all this. For months we’ve wondered why we would randomly hear a loud bang in the bathroom followed by a faint “I’m ok!” I was a bit worried the child was incapable of sitting on a toilet without falling off. I didn’t even know how to start treating that, much less how to deal with the inevitable mess it may cause. At least now I know she’s just a run of the mill dumbass. That’s easier to handle.

 

Leanne had a meltdown this morning because she didn’t like her outfit and didn’t like “any of [her] other clothes.” This doe–

Ya know what? I can’t even make a joke about this. It’s too scary. This shit wasn’t supposed to start until she became a teenager. My gut reaction was to turn to Austin to thank him for being a boy, but when I did, I found him sitting on the kitchen table. That’s either a step up or down, depending on your point of view, from finding him running around the family room butt ass naked yesterday.

I’ve come to realize that the rest of my life is going to be a careful balance of two very different types of headaches to keep one of them from killing me.