A friend of mine often tells me that when she leaves her kid with other people, they rave about how good he is, how well he listens, and how much fun he is to watch. But somehow, when he gets home, a switch goes off and he’s a completely different (sometimes mouthy) kid.

I get it now.

Miles’ daycare teachers love him. Every day they talk about what a great kid he is. I am always relieved to hear this of course (because who wants to be the one with the kid that causes all the trouble?) and we all drive home, happy.

The door opens, and more often than not: boom. He’s throwing cups, spoons, food at the dogs. He’s throwing a tantrum because I want him to ask me “please” to open the gate. He wants and cookie – I say no and the world as he knows it comes to an end. I’ve read before that kids tend to act the worst around their parents because they are the ones they know they can trust. They know, even if not consciously, that they can push and push and push your buttons and you will still love and cuddle them. I appreciate this sentiment. But sometimes man, when I’ve had a long day, I’d just love the kid to calm the heck down.

Today, Bryan tells me that Miles hits him. Not once, not twice, but three times. And the third time (after he was warned and stopped twice) he was put in time out, where he naturally threw a fit.

They are two. i get it. I love them, but for the love of Pete sometimes dude.  IT ISN’T THE END OF HUMANITY!

I do bedtime routine and take a shower. In my search for my missing hairbrush, I walk past their room, just in time to hear Miles say (in just about the sweetest voice ever) “Night night Abby”.


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