Several photos that weird me out.

I took this photo yesterday before dance photos. This is a photo of my 6 year old. She's six. Not to be confused with 10 or 12 or any age other than 6. Is this a glimpse of things to come?

Yes, I realize that I have created this. It isn't as though she's capable of accurately applying liquid eyeliner to herself. In my weak, shameful defense, I was trying to bribe her younger sister into cleaning her room and getting her pictures taken by offering to do a full makeup on her when Jane jumped on the offer and cleaned her room up lickety split. Lizzy never did. She didn't even get her pictures done. I guess that is just one of the many differences between my two girls. When makeup is calling, Jane answers.

Actually, Lizzy answers too, but she's more interested in applying it herself...

Nice lipstick, Biz.

We took a lot of pictures. In part because Jane is never opposed to having her likeness taken, but mostly because every time I looked at her, I had to make sure that I got a picture of her all dolled up.

She's growing up WAY too fast.

And I'm totally weirded out.

Adventures in parenthood

Charlie... might be the death of me.

Seriously, if he doesn't kill me, I'm not entirely sure what will. The upside of that is that if he doesn't kill me, I will believe myself to be invincible, which could come in handy from time to time.

Not a single one of you who has boys every accurately communicated the amount of energy and patience that's required to manage a two year old boy and I hold you all personally responsible for my current state of emotional instability.

To anyone who might, at some point in their life, find themselves responsible for managing a two year old boy, I would like to take this opportunity to inform you that he might be the death of you. There, I warned you. Don't blame me.

Case in point... The other day, Charlie was quietly upstairs playing with his sister while I visited with a friend downstairs. I should have know. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN! Never, I repeat, never let your two year old boy play quietly upstairs. Two year old boys don't play quietly. They play very loudly and get into mischief quietly. This is a fact of life.

He finally came downstairs covered in his sister's special order, not cheap eczema cream.

It was deluxe.

First, I gasped, then I may have cried a teeny bit, then I just started laughing and grabbed my camera. I figured it was the healthiest way to deal with the whole situation.

And considering the amount of shame he displayed, I imagine he probably didn't need me to get mad at him. Look at him, he knows what he's done.

Let us pray that he's learned his lesson because he generally uses up all the patience I've got for him and the girls before we get to the end of Monday. This week, I've cleaned up wet dog food out of the heating vent, taken him to the ER when he fell out of shopping cart at Costco, prevented him from running out of Wal-mart into traffic (again) as well as all the little things like cleaning up mud off my wool rug, waking up at 5:30 every morning and dealing with endless temper tantrums.

Lucky for him, he's got his looks to fall back on.