The Wee Ginger Beastie is in dreadful fettle today.
I'm convinced that a wandering hermit crab, disoriented from the cold, wandered in to my house, mistook her butt for a shell, crawled up her ass and set up housekeeping. Now it's pinching her tuchus and causing her to be an absolute Toddlesaurus.
Clothes? To Hell with clothes. She'd rather be naked and feral -- despite the fact that it's colder than Pelosi's box up here.
Food? There is no food oh Earth hat would satisfy her. Cereal, fruit, hot cocoa, milk, water, juice -- all have been summarily eye-rolled, though she will wander in to the kitchen and whine that she's hungry. Even peanut butter and nutella isn't the right thing.
Toys? "I don't have anything to plaaaaaay with." "I'm tirrrrred." "NO!" "NO!" "NO!"
We've bundled up and gone for a walk, and played hide and seek/chase-ass around the house.
Naps have been rejected out of hand.
Three temper tantrums in to the day, and I am praying for a wandering band of Gypsies.