It’s 8 a.m., and I’m telling my girls that they can switch jackets after lunch if they hate the ones they’re wearing so much. I’m arguing with them over who changed out of their nighties first yesterday and whose turn it is to go first today. I’m explaining to them that the toilet flushes at the same speed for both of them.
It’s 10 a.m., and I’m trying not to lose my mind over the fact that at 3 and a half, these girls refuse to feed themselves. One of them is sitting in front of the television with a full cup of yogurt just going to waste. The other has painted the couch in the stuff. I contemplate yelling at them and calling them names. But I don’t.