So despite all evidence, which is that Strudel is only fourteen months old, she has decided that she is actually two. The length of her patience, which is tested when she gets something stuck in a drawer or under her own foot, is about three seconds now.

Desperately, I decided to carry her to Franny’s school, a distance of about two blocks. I usually put her in the backpack because it’s easier, and because one of Franny’s younger classmates is fucking nuts and will put Strudel in a full nelson if I turn around for half a tick. I thought, cleverly, that we could have a meander home. It could be like those races where they dump the crabs in the middle of a circle and wait to see which one crawls out first. Who knew how long it would take to go two blocks? Could be forty-five minutes, could be two hours.

I did not expect her to make a beeline for home in fifteen minutes, stopping only to shout at a wiener dog and sample some delectable flowers on the way.

So for the rest of the morning she followed me around the house, shouting her opinions at me. She got really into munching on cranberries, and I realized after her third helping that she was saying “more” to get a refill. She is using the same freaky inflection I do, to try to get her to tell me what the hell she wants. What I really want to say is, “If I give you this, are you just going to throw it at the cat, or will you eat it?” We’re not there yet.

Her first really useful word, and I think it sums up her philosophy well to boot.

Of course, the cranberries weren’t really gone. During breaks from wiping her snotty nose on my beautiful green couch, she was dumping them in between the couch cushions and secreting them in her sister’s room. I’ll be finding desiccated burgundy crumbs for weeks.

I decided to take a little break and work on one of my quiet hobbies, pimprolling sewing, which was completely infuriating. How dare I look at something besides her? After ten minutes of minor brattiness I gave up and treated my stinky pickle to a tickle break.

Thank you, Giant Head of Charlie Sheen, for naptime. And tonight I go out with my rad sister, to have dinner. If you see a woman in the U-District with snot stains on her shoulders and cranberries falling out of her purse, just assume it’s not me, and that I am somewhere else, looking more fabulous and well-rested.

ALSO, I’m enjoying this, the My Space stupid haircut awards. R0x0r.