in a nutshell. lillie and grae were fab and fun. esmé was a beast.
she's sort of going through this strange stage where she gets so upset and cries like a banshee and doesn't even care who hears her. i mean, packed public places with other children who aren't wearing fancy dresses with stinking grey uggs. it looks like they've even brushed their hair, some of these little people. it's amazing. and they're quiet. weirder still, they're not punching anyone in frustration.
there. there's the key word. she is frustrated. i know this and she knows this and everyone knows this. it's just that i have to be at grae's school in about an hour and esmé's coming with me because grae's insisting on it and we are all secretly a little scared.
yesterday, i missed the girlies' lacrosse game because esmé had a wedgie. also, she used my scarf to wipe the mud from her stinking gray uggs. i would've been mad but the little thing tried to wash my scarf afterwards. so then i was just furious.
uncle sugar brought home three tiny bags of gummy worms for the girlies. i'm not good with math and neither is esmé, apparently, because she devoured them all herself.
also, she called pretty much everyone she saw a boob. and then spelled it. b-o-o-b. she was whispering, but still. it's not that hard to read her lips.
and then last night, she saw a commercial that really touched her. it was that collegeinyourpjs.com brilliance.
i'm going to college there! she declared.
you can't. i snapped. you don't wear pajamas.
there was one shining moment when another mom at another lacrosse game where esmé was not bothered by anything wedgie gave her a blanket so she could make a tent. in the mud. the way she thanked this woman, you would have thought she'd just been given ten target gift cards. you could tell the woman was charmed by her effusiveness. i, however, was not.
she's not really that nice, i muttered.
but that monster of mine just grinned at me and i could see her mouthing those four fateful letters.
keep your fingers crossed that the little monkey doesn't tell grae's teacher that her sister thinks she's unorganized. sigh. photo of esmé by amie adams.