I’m just waiting for the day you have to visit my house because my daughter told her daycare teachers I locked her in the dog crate. No, really, she ASKED to be locked in there. With the dog. And it’s actually a big dog crate, quite cozy for a toddler. And a dog. Honest, she could get out if she wanted to, but she LIKES it in there. With the dog. No REALLY. All she has to do is slide the locks over and the door pops open. But it was HER idea to spend 30 minutes in there. I promise.

Dear daycare teacher,

Don’t worry, I feel your pain. When I picked up my daughter from daycare today and she, an innocent (evil) three year old, looked at me with a completely straight face and said in a deadpan voice, “We didn’t do nothing today, we just sat in the corner all day. We didn’t get lunch or have naptime or nothing,” I knew that was not even close to the truth. Not. Even. Close. No matter how good her delivery was. And her only three.

Dear husband,

When you get home, I need a drink. A really large drink. Because having a three year old stomp off and yell at me defiantly that she’s going to the sunroom, “Because you’re being MEAN to me,” makes me need a drink. A strong drink.

Dear CPS,

The toddler being in the dog crate and her declaring me mean have nothing to do with each other. I SWEAR. Two totally unrelated incidents. Happening mere minutes apart.

Dear Calgon,

Take me away.

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