…Lucy throws a shoe and a few other things at you and says, “I hate you again, Mom, just like I did earlier. You are the worst.”

I just continued making cookies, which is a better reaction than the time about 30 minutes earlier when she also hated me. She has been a shrill, angry wreck since we got home from El Paso: the victim of too much fun and not enough sleep, and maybe some nerves about first grade thrown in to season the furious stew.

Surely tomorrow will be better. Or least someone else’s problem for 8 hours or so.

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