William was driving me crazy this morning while I was in the bathroom, trying to brush my teeth and get ready for the day.
He was constantly saying, "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, look at this" and pulling on my arm to look at his Sleeping Beauty book/Little People figure/family tree scroll (don't ask). Then he'd sweep his arm across the counter and knock everything in his way into the bathroom sink. Lather, rinse, repeat. Argh.
At one point, I got so frustrated that I said, "If you throw Daddy's contact case in the sink one more time, I'm going to take that Sleeping Beauty book right back to the store."
(Not that they'd take it. It's a mess, with lots of slightly torn and dogeared pages. It's clearly been well-loved.)
And William stopped his act and said, "But, Mommy. Santa Claus brought me that book."
Whoops. Busted. Quickly, I regrouped and managed to sputter a lame, "Well, I'll take it back to the store where Santa Claus bought it." Gah. Way to go.