Hey guys, my bagina medicine is working!

Says the three year old standing in the bathroom door with her pants and underwear down around her ankles.  I spent the day on the phone with her pediatrician office trying to get them to prescribe me some Nystatin over the phone.  They were trying to get me to bring her in.  Clearly they don't understand what that visit would look like.  Or they didn't, until I broke it down for them.

"Uh, I'll make a note of that in her chart, which pharmacy would you like me to call it in to?"

I decided to take the girls out grocery shopping with me today.  First, to get them out of the house for the first time in 3 days.  Second, to get them out of the house so that Mike could do some recording with his guitar and new song.  And third, to rack up some "parenting hours" doing something they both like doing, that also accumulates gratitude from Mike cause it's a pain in the ass to do anything with them both in tow. And when I looked back at Layla in her car seat and told her to stop biting her nails, she promptly informed me that "I'm not biting my nails, mama, I'm picking my nose".

Er, okay.

I'll miss this uber honesty stage once she gets smart enough to try to lie.  Mike and I were both little liars as kids, and I'm certain that this trait is hereditary.  At least I know that there is hope that she can come out of that stage and be a half way decent human being.  Mike and I both have a pretty strong moral code.

Hmm.  Scratch that.  We're screwed.