If they give out daily awards for being an outstanding mother, today would not be my day.
First I kicked Hannah in the eye. I was trying to go up the stairs, and she was sitting right in the way. As I lifted my leg to go over her, she stood up (and let's face it my spatial awareness is not always right on), and I kicked her right in the eye with my heavy boots.
Next, I tried to poison her at lunch. I was trying to get her to eat a sandwich, "Come on Hannah. Eat the food," and I couldn't figure out why she kept crying and saying, "All done, all done," when she had only eaten one bite. I tried to feed her a few more bites, to no avail. Finally I just plopped her out of her high chair and sent her to bed. Later, when I was cleaning up I noticed that the jam I had used on her sandwich was growing its own colony of mold. Nice.
After that, things went a little better until I was ignoring her and she fell off a chair and got another black eye.
I think God made children's memories short for a reason. Otherwise we'd all need therapy.