Bad, bad mother

In a matter of minutes, and I mean minutes, maybe even seconds, my baby got upstairs where I found him playing with electricity, blankets in the humidifier, magazines in the toilet. Downstairs. Serrated knife from counter top. "MOOOMMMY, Cole is playing with a knife." Why wasn't it pushed all the way back? Blame husband. On to trash picking. Now he's eating peanut butter cup eggs. My breakfast. In celebration of Easter. At 8:23 a.m.

This is a warning. Don't ever leave your children with me. And if you do, better not do it on a Friday even though Friday is the day I am supposed to be wearing my mother hat.