One morning a few weeks ago, it happened to be a very rare occasion that I was up before AKA (the norm is being wrenched violently from a deep sleep by the "pop" of her door, at all hours of the night, and the shrieking that ensues when she realizes that I have not been standing outside her door all night long awaiting her needs like a personal maid), and I noticed that one of my still-living plants was ailing. I got a small watering can and was giving the plant some water when,without a rustle or any warning at all--POP--went her door and the screaming began. I hastily put the watering can down on one of the shelves on the entertainment center, where the plant is (correction: was. The plant didn't make it.) and went to go attend to her majesty, since she is for some reason incapable of even getting out of bed by herself. She stands there until I go in there and pick her up, then have to carry her to the kitchen and get her vitamin and do all the other morning routines. Well, before the morning routines could proceed, she noticed the watering can across the room on the shelf and it was a show stopper: "Uh oh! OOPS! Uh oh, Mommy! Lookit! Uh oh!" The morning could not continue until I removed the watering can from that shelf and returned it to its usual place. And now, weeks later, she still talks about the watering can on the shelf and how silly Mommy is for putting the watering can there!
The same reaction follows when I leave a cup or maybe a piece of mail on the coffee table overnight. Like this morning there was a cup standing with her Fisher Price Little People town that has become a sprawling suburb on the coffee table. She immediately spotted it, and the questioning began: "Mommy, why you leave that there? What that there for? Why you do that, Mommy?"
Silly me! In this tiny house where she behaves as Godzilla, leaving a trail of mess and destruction and chaos, and things are not in any way tidy, but leaning and falling and precarious and jumbled and piled, etc--she is offended by one tiny 8 oz juice glass.
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