Before I had kids I never really knew what it was to be torn.

Our daughter is three years old.  Which for those of you who are not native English speakers, can loosely be translated as “evil.”

She yells.  She screams.  She talks back.  She doesn’t sleep.  (Therefore we don’t sleep).

So she’s at a sleepover at Grandma’s tonight so that her parents are able to retain their status as Non-Homicidal.

It’s been a torturous week, with her pushing us at every turn.  It was a godsend that we were able to get just one night of peace.

And yet . . .

She’s been gone an hour and . . .

I MISS HER VERY, VERY MUCH!