So here we are, Wednesday.

Jazzercise this evening, and then it is my self-assigned no-computer night. I'll probably be reading, or maybe scrapbooking. Or possibly baking.

Tomorrow's my birthday. I thought about taking the day off from work, but I'm already pretty thin on vacation time. I might head home an hour or so early, though.

Okay, there's not much "might" about it.

Penny dressed herself in pretty short order this morning, then told me she wanted some milk.

"Okay," I told her. "Wait until Mommy's dressed and I'll get you some milk."

"No, I gotta get it!"

"No. Mommy gets the milk."

Pause. "I gotta go downstairs."

I was this close to being done, anyway. "Okay, see you down there. Be careful."

I wondered, as I went down the stairs, if I would find her sitting in a puddle of milk. But even if she got the milk out of the fridge, she can't reach any cups, so...

She wasn't in the living room, and I hurried toward the kitchen-- No mess.

No child, either.

She can't open the house doors, and I'd have heard it if she had, anyway. Maybe she's in the bathroom looking in the mirror?

Except the door's closed and the light's off. That's not really a deterrant to Penny (you would not believe the trouble I have convincing certain relatives that no, really, she doesn't need a night-light) but I couldn't hear anything, either.

Surely she hadn't gone back upstairs without my noticing?

"Penny?"

Faintly, muffled: "Mommy! Where are you?"

"I'm right here. Where are you?"

"I'm hiding."

"Okay." I went back into the kitchen, pretended to look in some silly places for her first (in the dishwasher? ...no... in the plant? ...no... in the sink? ...no...) and then homed in on her usual hiding spot, which is my tupperware cabinet.

As I crouched to open it, I noticed that her Hallowe'en bucket, and all its sugary treasure, was... on the floor.

I'm pretty sure Matt and I didn't leave it there.

Of course, I was also pretty sure she wouldn't have been able to get it off the counter without making an enormous mess, so that only goes to show what I know.

I opened the tupperware cabinet. "There you are!"

"Here I am!" she chirped. "Look what I got!"

"Let me see."

In hushed, reverent tones: "Candy."

She had a lollypop, and had even managed to get all the paper off of it. I was tempted to just let her have the damn thing, but it takes her most of an hour to eat a sucker, and it's a pretty messy proposition. I took it away and promised she could have it after dinner tonight, if she was good.

I expected her to put up a fuss, but all she wanted was to be allowed to put the lollypop back into the bucket by herself, and then she ran off to play with her alphabet flashcards.

--Liz