Peanut Butter, Tantrums, Elbows.

Sometimes Grace gets her own breakfast while Ruby and I are still asleep...

And her tummy is happy, and her teeth are all buttery and we have a good morning. Until it's time to clean and I have to get her to clean this off the kitchen table:

It's a village of animals with large, scary eyes. Not matter how hard I try, I can never fully understand how important this world is to Gracie. The way their bodies face, whether they are on the left or right, where they are in proximity to tiny chairs and swings, are all of great [tantrum-threatening] importance. She remembers who she has downstairs and who she has upstairs and her heart literally seizes up when anyone touches them. I keep thinking Hulk will rip right through the center of her body and attack me if I continue "helping" her clean them up. And when she starts screaming at me, I have to count backwards from ten and visualize how sad I think I'll be when she is too old to play with toys to get me through the next few minutes of pre-k meltdown episode #17. This happens almost every day. As I try to get Grace to transfer her traveling circus to the little toy table, Ruby's doing this:

She's got like one or two toys that she even cares about. And they are usually on the floor under the table. And when I ask her to move them, she picks them up and idly chucks them into the toy bin. If they fall to the bottom? Fine. She just skips off with all her little nondescript bruises riddling her knees and elbows, her two-day-old ponytail bouncing between her shoulders. Can't wait to meet my third little friend.