Anyone with a toddler knows – some days, it’s all about who holds the power. I am just now sitting down for a break after a forty-five minute struggle with a certain almost 3 year old – and I’m pretty certain she thinks she’s the one in charge. Newsflash, baby girl.

We laugh all the time about Charlie’s quirkiness – she and Vann are so much alike – they are both precise people with a little side of anal-retention, and sometimes this can be really amusing and funny, except for when you are trying to get her down for a nap and every five minutes she’s calling you back in her room for some reason or another. The problem is that she literally lets out a blood-curdling scream if her blanket goes askew or I forget to turn the fan on. We didn’t bring her special CD to my parent’s house last weekend and I thought both Charlie and Vann were going to have a hissy fit.

I probably would just let her have it out with herself except that I don’t want her waking up Baby Ella and so I’m running in there pointing my finger in her face and screaming (in a whisper), “IF YOU WAKE UP YOUR SISTER, KENGA IS GOING ON A VERY LONG VACATION!” to which she clings to Kenga for dear life and says, “No, MY Kenga!”

At that point, she is crying and desperately trying to wipe the snot and tears off her face, screaming (literally, I’m not making this up), “MY FACE! MY FACE! OH, MY FACE!” as if the snot is acid and the tears are a burning fire. And so I wipe her face and threaten her with a closed door if she can’t calm down (to which she dramatically yells back, “No, OPEN!”) and head back to the playroom for the peace and quiet I so desperately need.

And so the “Tortuous Three’s” have begun, eh? Check this article out.