Almost Rurnt

What is rurnt? Well, that's Southern-ese for ruined. But it has a whole different connotation than just simply ruined. "Rurnt" is past hope. Completely rotten. Spoiled beyond belief.

And Punkin? She's just about rurnt.

Punkin is generally a very sweet girl. She's got an amazing sense of humor for a child her age. She knows what to do to get a laugh. She has a million-watt smile and every now and then she gets this devilish gleam in her eye that lets you know she's up to no good. And she loves her Bubba. Whatever Bubba's doing, Punkin must do it, too.

But the child has a stubborn streak a mile wide. And she's so dern independent that I can hardly stand it. On one hand I love the fact that she's independent, because Bubba would still let you dress him from head to toe while he just stands there slack. But Punkin? You.cannot.help.her. Not even when she has both legs in one leg hole of her pull-up. "No! I do it!" Fine. Great. But when I have to wait an eternity while she climbs up into the car -- quite a feat, I must add -- and wait some more while she contorts herself to fit into her seat, well, then it's not quite so great. And she won't let you help her. Not even a little boost up. "NO! I do it! You can't do it!" All day long, that's her refrain.

Punkin is "my spirited child" -- complete with air quotes, which really just means that she's just this side of rurnt.

I've decided that if my current job ever falls through, I can definitely find a job somewhere alligator wrestling. I've completely mastered a modified fireman's carry that keeps all important body parts out of the path of flailing limbs and biting teeth.

The child is practically impossible to punish. She thinks everything's a game. Every night after bath I have to chase her down to get her dried off and her pajamas on. Then I chase her to dry her hair. Then I chase her to brush her teeth. It's always a game.

I've tried asking nicely. "Punkin, come here please."

I've tried the three second warning, "Punkin, you better get in here by the time I count to three!" (which always worked on Bubba, I might add).

I've tried yelling, "Punkin, GET IN HERE NOW!"

Nothing. I always end up picking her up and taking her wherever I need her to be at that moment.

And then she flashes this smile:


And my frustration melts away. Well, most of it. Some of it.

Anyhoo, did you see that awesome shirt she has on? Here's a better look:



That, my friends, is courtesy of my good friend Karen over at The Rocking Pony. You can check out her etsy site here. This shirt is a new design that I requested, 'cause hey, girls want to be rock stars, too, right? She has tons of cute new designs. I've got my eye on several! Go check it out!

Anyway, I keep hoping Punkin's behavior is a phase. You know, part of the terrible twos. Let's hope it doesn't last too long or I won't be able to tell when puberty starts!