This is just today’s edition. Tomorrow’s will be ever-so-slightly different. Not different enough to be awesome, just different enough to fool me into thinking it’s a brand new day.
1. I won’t let her eat a dishwasher tab.
2. I won’t let her chug the white vinegar she found under the kitchen sink.
4. Her hair is in her face.
5. I put in a barrette to try to keep the hair off her face.
6. She pulled out the barrette and now it’s clipped to her shirt sleeve.
7. I won’t turn on the shouting bilingual cash register toy: “GLISSEZ LE FROMAGE JAUNE PAR MON LECTEUR!”
8. I keep correcting her when she calls footprints “mittens.”
9. There’s no apple juice.
10. The only knife she’s allowed to play with is plastic.
11. I keep suggesting “sleep” as a solution to “tiredness.”
12. Spinning makes her dizzy.
13. The flashlight is off. On. Off. On.
14. She’s expected to eat yogurt with a spoon.
15. I won’t read Bear Takes A Trip for the ninth time today (oh yes, I keep count).