Milk.

It's been a long week. A week filled with me getting up in the middle of the night to soothe my one year old for at least an hour every night. A week filled with hard workouts, intense chocolate cravings and a death in the family. A week of endless mac and cheese and Cheerios on my kitchen floor. A week that did not promise a relaxing weekend.

I go upstairs for two minutes to find a shirt for my three year old, so we could go shopping without everyone knowing she had mac and cheese (again) for lunch. When I come back downstairs Allie's hair is wet. It's milk. Audrey had taken Allie's bottle and tipped it upside down so that the milk dripped in her hair. Why?!? Then I find more drops of milk on the playroom chair, then on the dining room chair cushion and on the kitchen table and finally by the back door. Why Why Why!? When I asked she said, " I was making pancakes." Pancakes!? You were making pancakes in your sisters hair!? Ugh. This was after she colored with blue crayon on our front door, and windows. Poor Allie. Her hair smelled like soured milk and stuck together, despite my attempt to scrub out the milk out while it was still wet. Today was not the first time she got in trouble for decorating the house with her penmanship. And today was not the first day she doused her sisters hair with milk.

I was mad. She was punished. Shopping was postponed.

We finally made it out, just Audrey and me, to buy gifts for the birthday party this weekend. Allie stayed home to have her hair washed. My 3 year old in the toy aisle is sounds something like this: "Mom, can I get this one?" "No Audrey, we're not getting that one today." "But Mommy I really like this dolly." "Audrey, it's time to go." " Can we go down the Repunzel aisle again?" "Audrey, we need to get going to pick up the pizza." "Can I get this for my next birthday?" "Sure."

Really, she's not bad to shop with at all, as long as I remember that she is 3 and when I put her in a toy aisle her face lights up and mind overloads like mine when I get my Pottery Barn magazine, or worse, when I visit Gymboree.

So that was my Friday. A little shopping, an afternoon of clean-up and a lot of milk.