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If you have children, you are a liar.  At least that’s the general consensus among my friends.  But then, we could just be really bad mothers.

The Princess (now also known as Skittlebutt) lost a book this week.  It was laying on the kitchen table where I (being the monster I am) made her do her homework before trick-or-treating Monday night.

Me:  “Are you reading?”

She:  “Yes.  Silently.”  [Deep sigh then closes the book]

Me:  “What was your story about today?”

She:  “Well I guess I’ll just REread it.”  [Slamming the book open on the table]

And now, magically, the book is gone.  I’ve dug through the garbage, the recycling bin and the God-forsaken playroom.  No book.  I asked her to look in her room and she whined that she diiiiiid looooook theeerrre.  That’s when my spinal cord snapped in two and my head spun…

{I was going to insert the Linda Blair Exorcist pic here but it scared me too much and I was afraid if I downloaded it to my laptop then I might go to hell.  Or get possessed myself.  Just kidding.  Mostly.}

and I started to lie.  A big one.

Well.  If you can’t find your reader then I guess you’ll just FAIL first grade and next year all your friends will be in second grade but not you.  Because you LOST YOUR BOOK.  I guess you’ll have to drop out of school and get a job.  Happy now?

OK.  I admit it was a little extreme and I felt HORRIBLE as soon as I said it.  But it was the whiiiiiiining that did me in.  I can’t take it.  And so I am home alone all morning looking for the damn book and still can’t find it.  Time to write a check I suppose.  Crap.

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