And it's only 9 a.m.

This morning Maggie woke up at the ridiculous hour of 7 am (my kids usually sleep in 'til 8, and I count on that last hour of sleep because it's what keeps me sane). So I try to get her to snuggle with me in my bed for awhile, but she lays there tossing and turning and sighing and clearing her throat until I finally ask her what she wants and she leaps up, hands stretched over her head and yells, "Brekkfixed!" So I drag my feet all the way to the kitchen and ask her what she wants. She doesn't know. I ask her, "Yogurt?" No. "Toast?" No. "Cereal?" No. "Juice?" No. "Oatmeal?" No. "What?" I say exasperated... "What do you want?" She still doesn't know. "Maggie," I say, "tell me what". She looks up at me and says, confused, "what."

I put a glass of milk and a few crackers on the table and go back to bed.
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In other "Maggie News", she cut her own hair. With scissors. Or as she appropriately calls them, "sharps". Somehow during the two minutes I was changing Cash's diaper, she found scissors and cut a chunk of her hair. Luckily, it wasn't too big a chunk, and I honestly can't even tell where she cut it. Still, it's pretty terrifying when your daughter says, "Look mom! I'm pretty!" and you go into the bathroom to see this:


She wanted a haircut because last night I gave one to Cash. Sibling rivalry begins. Here's a snapshot of Cash's haircut (so trendy with the little faux-hawk... or maybe it's just redneck.) {Also please notice the pretty necklace that Cash insists on wearing EVERY DAY- sigh}



UPDATE: It's now 10 am and Maggie just showed me where she "painted" the walls with a sponge brush and an ink pad... oh, heaven help me...