Dear Courtney

Dear Courtney,

It was my most sincere wish that I would not have to write such a letter to you.  Only once have I had to write such a letter and it was to your older brother Paul.  But dear girl, however harsh these words may sound, you deserve it.  The story of your reign of terror will no longer be kept in the shadows.  I am including the above picture as a testament that what I write is true.  If this is not proof enough, I also have pictures of every incident I intend to write about.

The minute you were born and I realized that I had a red haired little girl, I wanted to disprove that awful stigma that people believe about red heads--you know...that red heads are rather hot tempered.  But little girl, you were born with this in your heart and regardless of how your mother loved and coddled you, you wanted to have your own way.  And the way you ensured you would always get your own way was by perfecting the most awful screechy wail.  And you use it all....the...time....

Lets just look at how much you screamed today for instance.  Your dad wouldn't let you eat his entire breakfast (after you had already finished yours), and to ensure that he would have something to fill his growling stomach, he gently took you off the table where you had strategically placed your little behind RIGHT beside his plate.  You were quite literally breathing on his breakfast.  Was this the morning that you sneezed all over his toast and egg too--leaving a wad of snot behind?  No, I think that might have been the day before...or maybe 2-3 days ago...but I digress.....

Oh right...the screaming....oh how you howled when he put you down.  Then you climbed back up and once again were taken down.  You tried a third and fourth time.  Each time to no avail.  By now your dad had finished and I'm pretty sure you used that opportunity to utter your dislike for the present situation.  Soon your momma started school.  Anytime attention is diverted from the 19 month old, we are succumbed to a lovely fit that can last anywhere from between, oh, 1-3 hours.  In fact, we have become so accustomed to the background noise that the work gets done regardless.  Little girl, you screamed during breakfast.  You screamed during school.  You especially screamed when I wouldn't let you eat the tips of my white board markers.  You screamed while we waited for Lindsay to finish her piano lessons.  You screamed when your brother wouldn't let you eat, swallow and digest his little prized rubber cars.  You screamed when I was cooking supper and wouldn't let you dip your foot in my pot of boiling potatoes.  You screamed when I wouldn't even let you walk on my counter tops and on my stove.  You screamed at supper when the cheese had been eaten off your sandwich (by YOU) and ALAS, it wasn't replaced!  Needless to say, is it any wonder your mother marched you off to bed for a nap by 10:00 in the morning--2 1/2 hours earlier than usual?  Really, you wonder why you end up in bed at 6:30 in the evening?

Now to be fair, this was only an overview of one day.  You do not scream incessantly all day everyday.  No, that would make you predictable and I have not found any predictability in your character at all.  For instance, immersing Sunday shoes in dog water 10 minutes before leaving for church is not at all related to standing on my printer and calmly looking outside.  Nor is eating pop can tabs in any way similar to scribbling on the children's half completed school assignments. 

However, in many things we are seeing a little correlation.  For example, when I complete the daily pantry rescue, where I find the 19 month old dangling precariously from the snack shelf (located second shelf from the top) I find it perfectly normal to saturate my socks while wading through the several litres of water that, not 6 seconds earlier, you have released from the water cooler to the pantry floor.

Also, I have discovered the direct correlation between extreme confusion and delay and a 'Courtney bathroom visit.'  Oh, the activities that go on here I hardly dare utter, but when I started this letter I determined not to leave anything in the shadows.  Large wet gobs of toilet paper resolutely sitting on the floor are generally an indication that you were thirsty.  I have also discovered that if the gobs are 'fresh' I can often catch you in another room of the house with one in your hand yet--busily sucking the moisture out of the wet, soggy toilet paper ball.  But once again, you are not always predictable.  Sometimes when I enter the bathroom the toilet paper is undisturbed.  Then, as I look into the toilet, I discover an entire pack of feminine hygiene products, unwrapped, and submersed.  Even then it's not always predictable, for I've also fished  Q-tips, a cup, and even Seth's pants out of there.  Lovely.  Just remember, what you do DOES come back to you one day.  When the toilet paper and the toilet are left alone, I discover instead that you've fed our toothbrushes to the dog outside.  Or...you've sucked on your father's razor and cut your lip.  Or...you've fallen asleep in the bathroom sink.  And remember, I have photographic evidence for ALL of this.

Courtney, you inhale all my school erasers.  You've pushed my fax machine off the desk where it crashed to the floor.  You smacked my windows with a meter stick.  You run my dishwasher when it's empty.  You smeared pilfered chocolate spread all over my carpet.  You take the phone off the hook, leaving a busy signal to any callers for hours.  You harass the dog.  You erase my whiteboard while I'm trying to teach.  You throw dog food down the stairs.  You destroy your brother's LEGO creations.  You climb on my counters.  You pick holes into the oranges.  You shove toys into my central vac system.  You touch my books.

Courtney, I love you like crazy, but you are a real stinker.  I end this letter on the same note that I ended my letter to Paul so long ago.  It seems to have worked for him. 

I have 16 years to cure you of this behavior. I can only reiterate what I have said in the past; it’s a good thing 2 year olds are so cute, otherwise there would be abandoned toddlers running rampant through the streets causing a lot of chaos, destruction and mayhem. Welcome to boot camp girl, population: 2…you and me!

Love MOM