Tonight was a night of much frustration. Matt is sick and I had been outside gardening for several hours this afternoon and therefore did not have anything done inside the house. Because she is a toddler and human, BC chose to take massive advantage and be as difficult as possible at dinner.

Matt ate quickly and then ran out to mow the lawn before it rains again. I was doing dishes. This was her chance to make me crazy. She sang songs and demanded more juice and argued with me and talked to the dog and did everything BUT eat her dinner. I finally sat down with her and tried to feed her dinner. She then planted her feet firmly on the table. Like a barbarian. In a manner that no doubt showed my hand and unwisely betrayed how irritated I was by her behavior, I demanded that she remove her feet. So she said, "I'll put my foot on my arm." No, you will not. You will put your foot down. "I will put my foot on my other leg." No. You. Will. Not. So then she propped her feet up on the edge of her chair next to her booster seat. I told her one more time to get her foot down off of the chair. And, upon her refusal, I lost it. I took her dinner away from her and put her in the red chair for time out.

Several hours later, when I had a chance to grab dinner, I was sitting at the table reading and eating my salad. My heel was resting on the seat of my chair and my chin was on my knee. It's inappropriate, yes, but comfortable. I hear her in the other room chatting cheerily about anything and everything, and I hear the chatter approaching the kitchen: "Charlie, don't do that. Don't eat my animal crackers. [She had no animal crackers, just for the record.] I will take Madeline and Thomas outside to the garden. Inside the fence. I will take them outside. Oh, hi Mommy. [Dead stop. Wide eyes. Pointing at my foot.] Put that down. Get that off the chair."

I stand corrected.