Dear Violet,

When I was a little girl, I was wearing a brand new pretty Sunday dress that nana bought for me.  She caught me holding a permanent marker, apparently about to write all over the dress.  She told me "Don't you even think about it."  I looked her square in the eyes, and slowly began to swirl that marker all over the front of that dress.  Luckily I'm alive today to tell you that story.

Now fast forward 25 years, and enter YOU.  I have a bookshelf in the kitchen with all my cookbooks (that I'm very attached to), and you've taken a liking to them as well.  However, instead of picking out inspirations for our next meals, you just make an entertaining game out of seeing how fast you can throw them all out of the shelf and onto the floor.  I've had to save a few of my favorites (including a precious family cookbook given to me by Mimi, and Mama's cookbook that Aunt Kathy put together for us, and the notebook from which I collect recipes, pictures, inspirations and wine facts that I cut out of magazines), and put them up high where you can't reach them.  Unfortunately, there's no room for the rest of them, so I'm forced to simply attempt to get you to stop playing your mean little game.  This morning, after picking them up and stacking them back on the shelf, I turned around to fill the coffee pot with water.  I turned back around and there you stood, with one hand on another cookbook, eyes on me.  I said in my most serious mama-bear voice "Violet, NO. NO."  You hesitated just one second, then slowly and calculatingly took the cookbook off the shelf, carefully placed it on the floor, and then stepped on it... repeatedly.  I had to laugh out loud because I immediately thought of how satisfying this scene would be to your nana and papa, after having lived through my stubborn toddler (and preteen, and teen, and well, you get the idea) stage.

Your dad and I are in for a wild ride, aren't we?


Don't worry though, I know I'll be okay, because in times of our "power struggles,"  I'll just think of this face...

And I'll remember that you're still my perfect little pumpkin head.

Love,
Mom