Anna and I had an animated discussion (late) last evening on the various methods of properly cleaning a toilet. I explained that merely waving the Lysol wipe in the general vicinity of said toilet is not effective, as evidenced by the mold growing underneath the seat. Anna was...shall we say...not receptive to this theory. Things deteriorated from there. You moms of teen girls can picture it, right?
This sort of encounter was nothing new, by the way. When (2 1/2 years ago) I first gave Anna the job of doing a daily, 2-minute powder room wipe-down, she was - to put it mildly - incensed. "Oh," she said. "And I suppose that means that you'll just do nothing!"
[Yes, I did laugh. Wouldn't you?]
So Anna came downstairs this morning, apologized (hey, she had a flute lesson she wanted to go to that day), and then....get this... she hugged me. What's up with that?
[I can tell you when she last hugged me. It was September of 2006.]
I posited that it was temporary insanity on her part. Larry, ever the realist, theorized that she fears we are draconian enough to confiscate the plane ticket her grandfather bought her. You see, she's slated to go to Europe with her friend's family for a few weeks this month.
Let me say here that Larry and I are strict; but we're not crazy. That's going to be our vacation, too, you know. But Anna doesn't have to know that, right? I need all the hugs I can get.