We’ve all heard the line, “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.’

Someone needs to explain this to my 3-year-old.

Toddlers are little emotional terrorists and this kid has made a sport out of testing my patience. All toddlers are contrarian. They will rebuke any idea. Especially when you are dealing in fact. Even more so when it’s your idea. “The sky is blue,” I sigh, staring at the gorgeous blue sky. “Nope,” the toddler sings, “The sky is yellow with purple polka-dots.” This is just one minute example of every conversation I’m forced to have on loop with this child. I’ve started to just agree with him,”You’re right… I do love a sky with purple polka-dots,” I remark. “Silly Mommy, the sky is blue. You’re so silly.” Groan. He’s trying to kill me.

The 3 and 4-year-old curriculum at preschool is all about the alphabet. The alphabet is our world, and we eat it, we breathe it… we got this bitch. For every week we have a specific letter. Dinner times are spent coming up with words starting with the aforementioned letter. Bedtime is spent reading books where every affected word has to be pointed out, that’s the thing about 3-year-olds… they can be adorable and charming, witty and funny, filled with enthusiasm and empathy, but don’t put your guard down. No matter how cute they act or how much wine you’ve drunk, toddlers are the human equivalent to a feral cat. It’ll take your food, but it will go psycho ninja if you try to pet it.

This week we are on letter D. It seems like such an easy letter. A letter filled with promise and hope… that’s until my kid got hold of it.

We were driving home from school, “What would you like to bring in for letter D show-and-tell tomorrow?” I can’t believe I remembered this in advance. Even though his teachers just told me. Even if they stapled a post-it note to my forehead… this should be good. We’ve only been talking about this letter for a week. “I. Don’t. Know.” whined the monkey. “How about your duck? Duck starts with the letter D.” I knew what was about to happen… the contrarian that is my child was about to show his face.

“I don’t have a duck,” he muttered with disdain.

“Sure you do, the one your brother won for you, the one in your bed.”


“MOOOOMMMM…. that’s not a REAL duck!” Oh lord, here we go. “Um, I don’t think it has to be a real duck.” Where the fuck can I find a real duck? Now he’s thinking.

“How about a dinosaur? Dinosaur starts with the letter D.” This is gonna get ugly. Is it too early to start drinking? What time is it?

“I don’t have a dinosaur,” the toddler yells.

“Sure you do, all those dinosaur toys you’re always playing with.”


“MOOOOMMMM…. those aren’t REAL dinosaurs!” Now he’s screaming. Screaming is bad. “Um, real dinosaurs are extinct. I’m relatively certain your teacher doesn’t expect a real dinosaur.” He rolls his eyes. Rolling of the eyes is a very bad sign.

“How about your doggy? Doggy starts with the letter D.” He loves his stuffed doggy. Maybe I’ll get a stay of execution on this fight.

“I don’t have a doggy!” Now he’s pissed. I’m screwed.

“Sure you do, your Aunt bought him for you when you were born. You sleep with him every night.”


“MOOOOMMMM…. that’s not a REAL doggy!”

This went on for the entire ride home, and an extra 20 minutes once we were inside the front door. I’d ruled out the possibility of him bringing in his daddy, donuts, disco ball, diuretics, detectives, Doritos, dominatrix, delivery boys, and decomposition. Okay, some of those were a joke, but less than you think. I was about to hand him my most cherished engagement ring, because diamonds, and tell him to have at it so I would be done with discussing show-and-tell for the letter D.

D is for douchebag, D is for dumbass, D is for DRIVING ME CRAZY!

He picked that moment to blow my mind…

“I think I’ll bring in duck.”


I’m gonna pour myself a drink (D) and start thinking about the letter E.


Today was the 3-year-old’s last day of school. They had a sweet little show where the kids sang songs and did dances. It was completely adorable and for a tiny millisecond you can almost forget that cute little angel is your psychotic toddler.

This is bad.

Never forget.

Don’t even think about forgetting the fact that in an instant they can go from “Aw” to The Exorcist.

I’m telling you this not to scare you (but lets face it, fear is your friend with a toddler) but to keep you on your toes. The very toes he’s going to pound with his fists during the next tantrum.

In our normal, everyday life I make pretty good choices on what to feed my kids. This usually depends on my exhaustion level. We don’t do a lot of fast or frozen foods, or candy, or sweets. The oldest has juice, but not the 3-year-old. And when they don’t eat shit, you can really see a difference in their personality. At least I can see the difference in my kids. I can probably see the difference in your kids too but they aren’t my problem.

That’s why it is totally my fault what is happening right now. Letting my guard down today was a huge mistake and I’m paying for it. In spades.

It’s to the point of Masochism. I knew what the outcome was going to be but I allowed it to happen anyway. Touche peer pressure.

After the little play they had an Ice Cream Social to end the school year.  My very hungry caterpillar had a loaded ice cream sundae, with chocolate sauce, and mini-m&m’s. Then he ate a brownie. And I’m watching him consume all this junk and saying to myself, “he never gets treats like this, it’s only one day. How can I deny him when he’s not allergic, he hasn’t been bad, all his friends are doing it?”.

But I know better.

Then his teacher gave him a lovely end of the year gift… a beach pail filled with toys, and his name on it. So sweet of her. As I loaded the kids into the car I was busy looking at everything and reading her card to me {a tear-jerker for sure}. I missed the fact that a pack of Skittles was also in the pail. 3-year-old didn’t miss a beat and started pigging out on Skittles.

By the time we got home things were going downhill.

“I don’t wanna take a nap, I big boy”

Big boys take naps.

“Not Daddy, not big brother.”

Daddy’s at work, I can assure you if he were home, he would be napping.


{Oh Hell No! I’m nice Mommy. You’re Fidel Castro with a sugar high. Don’t get it twisted}

I’m sorry you feel that way.

Once we arrived home he seemed to chill out a bit. We watched some mindless children’s programming but he barely took a bite of the sandwich I made him.

As nap time approached I gave him lots of notice. All met with a very specific type of anger that is the true symbol of a sugar crash.

He’s in his bed right now pitching a fit reminiscent of Veruca Salt.

Note to self, stop at one bowl of ice cream and next time, make sure you have enough wine.