I get in these moods sometimes where I have had enough. Enough whining, enough arguing, enough hearing the word "Mom!" What I did not know, however, was that even little ones get that way.
My precious three year old, Hannah, helps me sometimes with the laundry. She will push the clothes into the dryer for me and close the door. Or she will help to transfer the dry clothes to a basket. Of course, it takes longer this way, but she really enjoys helping and usually I don't mind. This morning, however, was hectic beyond belief. I had a huge pile of laundry to get through, not to mention the million dishes stacked all over the counter. And that was BEFORE school. Needless to say when she "helped" me by taking the WET clothes OUT of the dryer and piling them on the floor, I was not happy at all! I will admit I spoke to her rather sharply and that brought a flood of tears. I really felt bad about it, but my pride held onto my indignation as she walked away from me. It was my plan to go to her after I started the dryer and talk to her after I cooled off. I never got the chance.
I looked up from my clothes and stared down the barrel of a large Nerf bazooka. This little girl, this beautiful princess, had my head in the crosshairs as she peered through the scope. There was a coolness, a calculating callousness that I had never seen before. Apparently, this was not the day to make her angry. As I straightened up and moved to the right, the barrel stayed trained right on me. I have rarely seen such concentration and I would be willing to bet that it would even rival the military's top marksmen. Girl was on a mission and was not letting anything distract her.
Lucky for me, she can't resist a giggle when she hears a giggle, so that was all I had to do to break her concentration. As I snickered at the sight before me, a smile slowly broke on her face and the bazooka lowered. I have to admit that I breathed a sigh of relief at the fact that three year old princesses cannot legally own firearms.