I'm convinced the daycare director, a lithe, snake-y looking woman in her mid-thirties, hates me. Or at least I was until this morning. I admit, she would have good reason to after I forced my beloved to call her after the little angel's first day at daycare and tell her I was very tempted not to bring her back ever again after they WITHHELD FOOD. Okay, so what if she was sleeping and they thought they were being nice?

Anyway, she pierces me with her reptilian eyes every time I walk past her office. She's mad because she lost our paperwork, so every time I go in there, she gives me another useless sheet to fill out and bring back. Yesterday it was the food stamps application, or free-breakfast program or something like that. I was confused, because I don't know how anyone on the free-breakfast program could afford to shell out almost $700 a month for childcare, but again, this is part of what is wrong with America in the first place. I mean, if you need free breakfast, you should also get free daycare, in my opinion. But that's a whole other social issue I don't have time to lecture on this morning.

So yesterday my friend C. at work suggested I give the teachers a nice present to make up for my little outburst. I was horrified - I mean, I had told them exactly how to treat her and they lost the little, carefully typed piece of paper. Is it MY fault they had no heart, brain or courage in Oz? But being the kind, politically savvy person she is, C. reminded me that a little honey goes a long way if you can overlook principle. She is so right. So last night I went home and actually BAKED COOKIES. This is so out of character for me that most of you are probably spilling coffee on your laps right now. Yes, I did. And I even attached a cute thank-you card to the plate.

This morning I walked in a half-hour late, cookies and free-breakfast sheet in hand, only to find the evil snake-woman hounding some other poor, misfortunate soul who had had the audacity to forget to pay her yesterday. His head hung somewhere between the knot of his tie and his breastbone. I realized it was not just me...she hates us all. I handed her the cookies, and with a new spring in my step, headed downstairs to see the people who actually like my child. I still cried on the way to work, though. I'm spending a fortune on mascara these days.