I have children’s books hidden in my room because to read them one more time might send me ALL THE WAY OVER THE EDGE.
I might smile sweetly, but I have no sympathy for your business trip (i.e.: night alone in a hotel room), client dinner (aka: eating food someone else prepared while it’s still hot with people who don’t sing the theme song to Backyardigans halfway through the meal) or happy hour (do I even need to translate that?). No sympathy. None. Like, at all.
BG thinks all her princesses have lost their shoes. They are in a bag in my closet.
I’m jealous of my 3-year-old’s wardrobe.
Yesterday when she took my bracelet, I didn’t use it as a teaching moment. I didn’t quietly respond as an adult mother to her child. I snatched it and said “That’s mine! Get your own!”
I’m 33 years old and I still do my homework on the way to school. (just now it’s Bible study questions and it’s before we leave the house because Brynna can’t drive)
I only finished the Bible study questions because Lois, my 85-year-old group leader, would call me out for not being prepared.