Ornery

Abby has decided that hiding things is fun. She used to "throw" a tennis ball for Bailey, our Golden Retriever. Now she takes the ball, squirms into the tightest corner she can find behind a piece of furniture, and carefully places the ball on the floor, often peeking out to make sure Bailey knows she's being thwarted. This is what we in Maryland call "ornery."

Last night my darling daughter helped me discover that I must like these Twilight books more than I thought. I am about 3/4 through the second book, and after the baby went to sleep and I had finished straightening for the cleaning crew, I went to the end table to retrieve the book, planning to read it before bed. But it was nowhere to be found. I spent over ten minutes searching the first floor for the book. I finally found it stuck behind the couch in the sunroom. As an extra flourish, she had wrapped the book in a kitchen towel before hiding it.

Abby enjoys taking things out of the refrigerator, throwing things over the baby gate, strewing aluminum foil or waxed paper over the floor, emptying her diaper bag or my purse, changing the TV channel with the remote and wrapping "Bailey balls" (R's term for balls of fur that end up under furniture) in wet wipes or Kleenex. She likes her toys, too, for sure, and she especially likes books, but she seems to really enjoy physics, and experiments in psychology -- how to make Mommy or Silvia or doggy or kitty run, jump, search, or grumble in frustration.

I'm glad she's so intelligent (scary?) and curious (destructive?). I'm glad she is brave (fearless?) and confident (pushy?). She's ornery. She's my girl.