There is Drama Oozing Out of Her Pores

Let me set the scene for you.

Lilly was horsing around the kitchen, acting ridiculously silly and super-charged like that time I stupidly let her eat Sport Beans. You know, jumping off of the counter, rolling under the table, somersaulting on the couch and taking it waaaaayyyyy beyond "fun."

After asking her several times to dial it down a notch, she ran smack into the island and laid in a heap violently convulsing and sobbing.

Since I had forseen this dramatic finale about 30 minutes prior and tried my best to use my very special parental powers to warn her of the impending doom that comes when a small one jumps around and acts hyper beyond all hyperness, I stood there.

Didn't flinch. Didn't budge. Just stood there and struggled to even feel bad for the headache that was likely coming on.

"MOOOMMMMMYYYY!"

She screamed in a voice that reminded me of Meg Ryan's character(s) who scream through tears in Sleepless in Seattle/You've Got Mail/When a Man Loves a Woman. She continues:

"I can't believe you are JUST STANDING THERE and LOOKING AT ME!"

"Lilly, I just kind of feel like I warned you about the consequences of what might happen if you kept running around like this."

Sob. Sob. Dramatic, hyseterical Sob. More shrieking:

"You aren't even doing one thing and I'm laying here and I've INJURED MY BRAIN."

When we get to junior high, HEAVEN. HELP. ME.