Sticky Fingers

This girl. Monday was her day. Monday was not my day. She pulled out all the stops. Her first was the obvious, "Mom will never notice this":

 

Can you tell what it is?

We had fried eggs for breakfast and apparently she didn't care for it, so she just dropped it on the floor then and there.

When Melissa and I were little, I think we were trickier at hiding our breakfast mush. Mom would leave the room and we'd dash outside and dump it over the cement porch.

Her next antic occurred at the drugstore. If you can picture one of those old black and white films where the three stooges are walking around doing obvious "funnies" with silly looks on their faces, that is how we must have looked in the drugstore. I kid you not, this girl literally pocketed things faster than I could put them away. The first (we had to drop off perscription and wait for 15 minutes so we headed over to the grocery store) was a little bar of expensive, very cute (wish I had some) soap. She held it up to me on the sidewalk and said "Look at . . ". I marched the soap right back into the store (she's just three, I am sure she wouldn't have said a word if I had carried her in there, she won't even speak to familiar people in an audible voice). Then, when we got back to the drugstore after a few minutes (she tried taking a book at the grocery store), it was one thing after another. She had a rice-bag neck pillow behind her arms. Once I got that put away, she had some lipstick in her pocket, then we are walking around the cash register and she grabbed a package of crackers. The store workers were giggling at me because I lost my voice Saturday night and only half of anything I said was barely audible. I couldn't yell at her, I couldn't yell for my older daughter, and I illegally and intentionally left my son out in the van contentedly reading, "Hank the Cowdog".

So, that was my Monday. Her last words to me tonight when I said, "Good night little one" were, "Good night Big Mama".