Laugh, cry, laugh, cry...laugh.

Oh, Evan. How I love you for keeping me on my toes. Because the milk you spilled on the couch last week and the water you spilled on it this morning (trying to "wash" your Lightning McQueen car) wasn't enough, you added some interesting texture to it (and the carpet) tonight.

As a friend of mine noted, the utter lack of concern in this photo is priceless. But you weren't altogether unconcerned. When I walked into the kitchen with a load of dirty laundry, gave you a half-second glance and said: "Hey Evan, I'm going to go downstairs...WHAT THE...OH MY GOSH!!"--you looked up and said, "Look, Mommy! Circle on finger!" and proudly showed me how you'd gotten a Cheerio to stick on your thumb. And I promptly dropped the laundry all over the kitchen floor, stunned senseless.

I didn't want to punish you (just in case it really was an accident), but after some careful questioning and finally reasoning that it would be near-impossible to accidentally spill an entire jumbo-sized box of Cheerios--did I mention I bought them just this morning, especially for Daddy, and they were on a once-in-a-lifetime sale?--I put you in your room for a short time-out, more to keep you from eating Cheerios off the floor than to make you feel bad.

And in between scooping Cheerios off the couch and picking Cheerios off the bottom of my feet (the honey-nut kind are a lot stickier than I thought), I was laughing inside. Sort of. Just a little.

Because it's not like this hasn't happened before. First, there were the animal crackers.

And, well, the Cheerios. The regular kind.

Then the Swiss Miss.

Those were accidents. And you were little--how were you supposed to know what instant cocoa looked like, unless you ripped the pouch open?  

But then there was the box of Wheat Thins. (Again, a jumbo-sized box. Maybe there's a pattern here?) And you weren't so little anymore. And the way you ate them, oh-so-nonchalantly, while I stood there in the doorway of your room, made me think you knew exactly what you were doing.

          

And the "Make me!" look you gave me when I told you to pick them up proved it.

 
So here's what's going down: No more "I want to take with"--your phrase for meaning you want to take the entire box/bag of crackers or chips or cereal wherever you go. From now until you are 18, you get a bowl. A small bowl. This is as much to avoid any chance of you over-stuffing yourself like a horse as it is to ensure the couch lasts a few more years.
 
Oh, and I don't mean to nag, but the little pile of poop you left in the hallway two minutes later wasn't exactly endearing. I'm sorry I didn't know you needed to be changed; I've had a cold since Saturday and can't smell a thing...in this case, that was both good and bad. But on the upside, I was oh-so-happy when you refused a pull-up and said you wanted underwear...though I was a bit skeptical when you excitedly said, "Cars movie!!" after I ran through our little spiel about keeping your underwear dry. (I can't blame you for not focusing on the task at hand when the end reward is so distracting, but let's try, okay?) I thought this would be entirely plausible, considering you'd just gone to the bathroom...but unfortunately, you were wet when we came back upstairs from finally putting those clothes on the kitchen floor in the washer.
 
But it's really hard to be mad at you, because you're such a sweet little stinker. As I showed you your wet Wall-E undies and sighed, you leaned forward just enough to bump your forehead against mine, and you looked at me with that impish little grin I've come to know so well, and I had to laugh. And even though it was only 8:59--two hours before your bed time, and five before mine--we both got in our pj's, and you calmly walked into your own room (one victory, at least, since you've been sleeping in my spot next to Daddy for the past couple of weeks), and picked out two books, just like I asked. Thank you for that.
 
And as we read "Llama Llama Red Pajama" and "Don't Forget the Oatmeal," you snuggled into the crook of my arm, and we fell asleep together, until Daddy came home 20 minutes later and woke me up. (By the way, it's now 1:26 a.m., and you're still asleep. Please stay that way until at least 6:30, okay?) And sorry, but I tattled on you (and me, because what mom trusts her 3-year-old with 4,000 Cheerios?) and told Daddy everything, and I have to tell you, I laughed like a crazy woman. Because I either had to laugh or cry, and on the whole, we had a good day. And 10 years from now, I'm not going to remember picking up 4,000 Cheerios...well, maybe I will. Yeah, I will. Especially because I have photos of your cereal-filled shoe.
 

But the picture I'm really going to remember from today is this one, because it perfectly captures wonderful, funny, lovable little you.

Oh, and P.S. You owe me $2.89, plus tax.

Love,

Mommy