I capped the marker and stretched my hand. Coloring cows that look like pigs on a pumpkin is hard work.
Ellis pointed a pudgy finger smeared with purple marker.
“Mama, color!”
“I need a break. If you don’t ease up, I’m calling OSHA.”
“COLOR!”
“I’ve drawn a star, a heart, D for daddy and three awful cows. What more do you want?”
“COLORCOLORCOLORCOLOR!”
“I DID!”
“MOAR COLOR!”
I uncapped the green and started writing, “H-E-L-P-M-E” on the side of the pumpkin.
Why do they call it the terrible twos? Shouldn’t it be the Tyrannical Twos? Dictator Doubled? The Stalinist Regime? The Reign of Holy Freaking Terror?
“NO. MOAR COW!” Ellis yelled interrupting my reverie.
I draw one, because I’m afraid she’ll disappear me if I don’t. The moment I finish, she scribbles over it. If she sends me a box with Gwenyth Paltrow’s head in it, I won’t be shocked.
