Well, Excuse Me.

But I think you've got my chair.

Hmm, that would be an excellent line for a country song. Oh wait.

Kenly has recently laid claim to my chair. It hasn't caused too much of an uproar as I spend 95% of my waking hours cleaning, cooking, band-aiding, seperating, tickling, laundering, etc etc. But tonight? Tonight I was content to leave the burdens of motherhood behind and just recline.

Kenly, as it turned out, had other ideas. When I instructed her that this was Mommy's chair and she needed to vacate or I would withhold the chocolate milk and take her blanket hostage (because THAT is excellent parenting, people) she ignored me.

It became obvious that I was in need of a different tactic. Crying. I threw myself (and by that I mean carefully descended so as to not further injure my lumbar region) on the floor, kicking and screaming and forcing out crocodile tears that led to a snotty mess while yelling "YOU STOLE MY CHAIR"

The child had the audacity to laugh at me.
Later, when I recounted this story to Allen about his ungrateful daughter hoarding the chair that I bought to relieve my aching back, he was all "Are we talking about the chair that was delivered out of the blue a few months ago that I had no idea about and when I asked you where it came from you said that you loved me so much and appreciated me working so hard that you bought ME a chair to relax in that was for me and ONLY ME?"

Oh, yeah. That's the one.

So I kissed the little conman (conwoman? conkid?) and parked my behind on the couch.

Then I asked who was up for a game of hide and seek and the second her eager little 2 year old body was in motion I lept onto the chair in a blaze of glory. Because 2 year olds are gullible like that. And I would be an imbecile not to capitalize.

Cheers!

Update: Take a chill pill, people... this is all sarcasm. I use it. A lot.