Poisoning Children

My nanny duties aren't exactly detailed. Spoken duties include vague, "if you can" statements referring to laundry, math, and meals. Unspoken duties include keeping two children alive.

So I wake up and decide what I want to do. Then I remember I have children, and I modify my wishes. The modified wishes usually involve the outdoors. With children who would rather read and play video games for all of eternity, this is sometimes difficult. But when I can, I drag the children outside and pretend that nothing we ever do will benefit me in any way. I think they like things that way.

I like to go to this nature preserve nearby.

Mostly, the kids do not.

As we hike along, the smaller one obtains the coveted "front" position and then lets me in on one of his many dislikes.

"I hate gween."

He must be in hell.


But, as it turns out, the kid had a good reason for hating green.

Sometimes green comes in the form of a plant with mitten-shaped leaves. Sometimes that plant decides to eat children's faces.


So the kitchen counter looked like this for the next few days:

And we stayed indoors. Them watching super hero movies, me doing household chores. Awesome.

And I felt for the kid. I did. Poison ivy once devoured my own visage way back when.

But seriously. The boy is not helpless:

Destroy the green!

Keyed

Mad.
That's what I was when I pulled my laundry out of the drier Tuesday. Not immediately. In fact. I quite enjoy pulling laundry out of the drier. That freshly dried laundry smell? Not much beats it, you know?

But the brief happiness encountered when opening the drier door was not enough to shroud my annoyance when I saw my gray camisole.

The poor thing was helplessly entangled in the confines of my favorite comfy t-shirt. Twisted were those previously perfect cotton straps. I realized immediately the damage would be irreparable.

Look at those straps! Do you see how the one on the right is grossly out of proportion? I do.

Originally I was merely mad at myself for not having the foresight to hang dry the strappy portions of my wardrobe.

But then I started untwisting...
And soon found a happy little scapegoat for my laundry woes...

How could this happen?? I immediately checked my keys, since the most logical explanation would be that at some point my own room key was dropped among the clothes.

But I had my key. All of them, in fact. So the question was, who did not have all of their keys?

Aha! The culprit. 809. My floor. Shimer students even. Figures. Read all the great books you want, but it won't do a thing to prevent losing keys in driers.