Tess is having a bit of a rough week, which I attribute to being tired. I think she still needs an afternoon nap, but she disagrees. As a result she has been a bit… cranky. And this crankiness seems to have manifested itself in a mysterious ailment.
Whenever I ask her to do something she doesn't want to do, she complains that her foot is "itchy." When I say, "Tess, it's time for your nap," she replies: "No, my foot itchy in bed."
"Tess, it's time to go pick up Gracie."
"No, my foot too itchy."
"Tess, let's go read a book."
"NO — MY FOOT ITCHY!"
I have tried everything I can think of to cure the itchy foot: scratching, tickling, socks, no socks, and even an ice pack. Yesterday at breakfast, Tess wouldn't eat because her foot was ITCHY. She claimed she was climbing off her stool because she needed to get a Band-Aid for it. I was seconds away from suggesting a tourniquet. But Grace was not fooled by Tess's shenanigans, and had this gem of wisdom to impart:
Once upon a time there was a little boy who ran into a neighborhood and said, "Help, help, there are wolves chasing after me!" But there weren't really any wolves. And he did it two more times. And then the fourth time he did it, he ran into the neighborhood and said, "Help, help, there are wolves chasing after me!" And this time the neighbors didn't come to help him because they thought he was joking. And the wolves won. And that's why you should never joke. So Tess, is your foot really hurt?
Tess stayed in her seat. Nicely done, big sister. There's nothing like a good fable to teach a two-year old a lesson.
Travelingjenny 
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