Animal Cracker Missiles and Carrot Bombs

Today was not one of the joyous days of motherhood. I met the sitter in town to pick up my 15 month old and the minute I picked her up she started screaming. Why? Probably because she hates me. That's all I can figure. I endured 15 minutes of blood-curdling screams on the drive home, as well as animal crackers zinging past my head. Don't think she wasn't aiming. I know exactly what she was doing.

She was placed in her crib for a nap about 14 seconds after we walked in the door. And then she was an angel once again. For about 90 minutes. She woke up and it was whine whine here, cry cry there, again with the throwing of random objects. Dinner time rolled around and for one foolish moment I deluded myself into thinking that would make her happy. I pictured her chubby cheeks, her angelic curls, her little fingers delicately moving the nutritious morsels I so lovingly prepared to her precious cupids-bow lips.

Her pork chop (that I had sacrificially cut into tedious, bite size pieces) was slipped to the dog. Her carrot coins that I had slaved over getting to the right temperature (microwave, 100% power, 40 seconds, by the way) were thrown onto the ground with such force that they exploded like little orange bombs. Finally I cut up an apple into miniscule pieces, threw it in a bowl, and set it in front of the tv. Ironically, I had posted earlier today on my Facebook profile that tv is psychologically damaging to children. But I digress.

Things are much calmer now. Oh sure, I'm still yelling "Get away from the cat!" and "Put that down!" as I peer around my computer screen, but at least there is no sobbing going on.

Well, at least not by my daughter.