I walked downstairs this morning and Katie was sitting on the sofa.
Sitting on the sofa with a q-tip in each ear.
Straight-faced, and matter-of-factly she explained, "I'm a robot."
This robot is so good at making play-doh cookies, bothering the cat, emptying the entire contents of the coat closet hat and mitten basket, leaving beads in places where the baby can eat them, and looking perpetually unkept, it can be sure I will never trade it in for a newer, better model.
Returning is such a hassle, and I am pretty sure I lost my receipt.