Today is Thursday, which means Pajama Day at our house. It's the only day that Nan's not in school, and, unless there's an ill-planned appointment, we stay HOME. We stay home and we stay in our pajamas, or, in Nan's case, in the costume of our choice. She's currently wearing a leotard, footless tights, and snow boots. She looks fabulous. She's curled up on the couch, under her tinkerbell blanket, absorbing Elmo with great intensity as she rocks her baby du jour. Today's baby is the stuffed My Little Pony, Sweetie Belle. As my friend said, "How on EARTH do you sleep with that thing in the house? It looks positively EVIL." She's not wrong. It's a creepy looking thing with anime eyes who pretends to suck a pacifier (complete with kind of yucky sucking noises) and constantly professes her love for her "mommy". Nan has refused to be her mommy-- she claims this hellspawn is mine. They're simply sisters. "Sister" is her highest commendation-- if she pretends you are her sister, you are a special person to her. My mom is the most frequent recipient of this largesse, but my cousin was deemed worthy the other day. Times like that I feel a little twinge of guilt that she doesn't HAVE a real sister, but then I see how she treats her "sisters", and I realize that it's probably for the best. She can be rather dictatorial. She'd need to have a MUCH younger sister-- someone who wouldn't balk at her bossiness. I'm quite certain my sister has a lot to say on that subject-- Nan didn't get this from nowhere. I nearly ended a playdate early yesterday because Nan was FREAKING OUT about the way her friend was playing--it wasn't as she'd planned it, and a meltdown ensued. Part of it was due to Nan's extreme exhaustion (poor sleep the night before + no nap= crabby child), but part of it was control freakiness to the twelfth degree. Sorry, kid. I took her aside and spoke to her for awhile, and eventually the girls were playing nicely again. Nan and her friend, B., generally play very well together. They're both only children, so B.'s mom and I like them to get together and learn to share on a regular basis. Sometimes it's successful, sometimes not so much. I have learned that I have a very limited capacity for noise and mess-- perhaps it's best that I have only one kid. A couple of hours of chaos are more than I can handle. I spend my time following the children in a fruitless attempt to pick up the toys in their wake, and I end up crabby and bedraggled. Usually, I make cookies in an attempt to stop myself from bothering the children, and that works for awhile. Plus, I feel all June Cleaver-esque serving the children warm cookies and milk. And that's a good feeling, for a little while.