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It’s 6:30 pm. Well actually it’s 6:24,  who’s keeping track anyways?! (You all are. Stop lying). When we say we are gonna go home and hang out with our toddlers, what that really means is go volunteer at the most thankless job in the world. I drive to get her after working all day with this crazy idea in My head that we will color together, dance, laugh etc. I envision tickles and snacks that resemble Sesame Street characters (thanks for that proven failure, Pinterest!) and none of this is what happens. 

Instead I end up trying to entertain her, while I clumsily cook dinner, protecting her from the hot oven. In the meantime, I hear these following phrases belted out at me like a drill Sargent; “frozen!! Elsa!!” Or “mommy, juice!!!” Or “potty, come on!!!” And in the midst of it all dinner now has become charred. Which will have to suffice. 

But does she eat it? No. No way. It’s not something she enjoys apparently. Although she ate the same damn meal last week with no problem!!

I beg her to eat, knowing she will use the “I’m hungry” excuse at bedtime. Which is sometimes true because she refused to eat a whole lot. But mostly it’s just a guilt trip and a way to stay up later. 

By this time of night, she is convinced she has won. This is not an amicable hang out session. This is a war!!! And she has me feeling as though she could very well be correct in her feats. 

I suck at chess, but I’m pretty sure I’m a pawn, and I have to dig enough energy from within to make it through to the nighttime routine while plotting my next move. 

She’s too damn cute to get short with. But eventually I have to put my foot down. 

“Zoey! Eat, now please” 

And the tears roll from her big brown eyes and I sit robed in my “worst mommy ever” label.  


Yeah. Me and Zoey went home to hang out. Ha ha ha. More like she got picked up by her chauffeur, catered to by her chef, waited on by her busser, and entertained by her jester. 

She’s not always a grump. I don’t want to make it sound like all I do is complain because I love her more than anything. But holy moly, there’s no time clock in motherhood.

It’s a good thing… That you’re so stubborn. And it’s a good thing you’ve got a sense of self. 

It’s a good thing I love you, miss Zoey! It’s a good thing…. And it’s a good thing that you keep me on my toes!