Phoebe has a problem with the way I accessorize our home. I’ll arrange something and the next day she’s moved things around to suit her particular aesthetic. Once I see she’s pulled a switcheroo, I move things back the way I like them. Umm, I adore her but she leaves a Pigpen-style wake of Disney-Princess-Barbie-Little-Pet-Shop detritus throughout our living room on a constant basis, so can’t Mama please just have her little 3’x3′ area in the living room she’s paid good (enough) money for? But Phoebe’s five, so the faux succulent is just a flower to her and therefore belongs in the vase. I take it out of the vase, she puts it back in the vase. Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth we go. She’s relentless in her vision, but so am I.
Until I saw this tonight:
Hell…I know when I’ve been trumped.
Okay, that made me laugh pretty darn hard. Good luck with that.
|’m smilin’ — BIG TIME!
She’s clearly an inspired artist. I think that is her take on the modern feminist mystique–or something.