Last night, I was in the kitchen making brownies to bring to work. It was 6:40 pm, Rory had eaten her dinner, and Fiona was due for a feeding at 7:00, so I had a narrow window in which to get the brownies mixed and thrown in the oven. I was buzzing around the kitchen like a sparrow with an overactive thyroid, monitoring Rory (with my ears) as she raced around the main level of the townhouse, and smiling as she shouted, "SIT DOWN!," which usually means she is standing on the couch (a no-no). Fiona was smiling and cooing in her bouncy seat, which usually resides on the kitchen table.
I went to the sink to wash my hands, and gazed out into the dining room/living room area. Guess what I saw?
Rory had pulled out one of the kitchen chairs, had climbed up onto the table, and was on her knees, looming over Fiona and waving a pacifier at her. There were SO many things wrong with this scenario. and I started to holler for her to get down.
In a rare moment of clarity, I stopped myself, fearing that if I shrieked she would scramble off the table and fall. I calmly walked around the counter and over to the table and hoisted her down, saying, "Never, *never* get up on the table again. Ever."
Then I went back into the kitchen to finish my baking, and my hands had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. What a little imp!!!