What Happens At Daycare, Should Stay At Daycare!

So the folks like to say I’m pesky. They say it jokingly, so I was shocked when a normal day turned into DAYCARE! Is my peskiness forcing them to get rid of me? Three days this past week that started off normal enough eventually turned into strangers changing my diaper and wiping my butt. I should have known something was up when Mom was so concerned about what I was to wear during the day. I’m starting to think I should be looking for a job. The Folks aren’t kidding about getting me out of the house. At the very least, I have until I’m 18 when they throw me out on the streets.

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Daycare sounds scary at first, but the place isn’t so bad. They feed me and do so on a schedule, which is much better than waiting on Pops to get around to putting something on a plate for me. I also like having a few people around that aren’t giants. They understand how I feel about being told “no” all the time, being flung around like a rag doll at the whim of giants, getting your butt wiped for you, and having things stuffed up your nose at the first sign of a sniffle.

Of course, there are a few of these half-sizers I don’t understand; the ones that have an issue eating their food. Why in the wide, wide world of sports would you not eat your food? I’m constantly yelling at the folks for more. “Yummies” I yell and generally without the result I would like. I don’t have to yell this at the daycare. These kids just don’t realize: starving kids in Rocky Point and they are turning down perfectly good grub.

As cool as I am, I was a bit concerned about going to daycare. But with the food flowing like wine and the time I get to play outside, it’s a pretty cool situation. I get to play outside at home sometimes, but Pops is too busy to let me go out when I want, and once I wave “bye” to Mom in the morning I don’t see her again until it’s dark.

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There is one downside to this daycare business. I would have thought, being out of the Folks’ sight and out on my own, that I would have a bit of privacy. I have my fun at the daycare, but I don’t want the folks to think I’m having too much fun. I try to put on the frowny, pouty face as if I believed I would never see them again when they pick me up, but I didn’t realize I would be getting a report card every day. EVERY DAY!!! They know what I eat. They know what I play with. They even know when I get my diaper changed and what was in said diaper. I was a fool to think what happens at daycare, stays at daycare.

Until I get some discretion from the adults at daycare, or they institute pure Vegas rules, I’ll play knowing all will be reported. Of course, I’ll be working on a plan to pawn my shenanigans off on those non-eaters while sneaking their fruit cocktail.

Before leaving I would like to say Happy Birthday to my Grandpa Pyne! See you at Christmas.

Izaak P. Mitchell

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