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Cooking dinner tonight and I thought the toddler was rather quiet.
The first warning sign known to all mothers, is silence.
If there is silence, you know shi* is going down – you just don’t know the extent of it until you go and investigate.
It’s a bit like Cluedo…
“It was the toddler, in the kitchen, with the cellotape and a potato…” That kind of thing.
I stop what I’m doing and go upstairs to find said toddler in the bathroom.
With a toothbrush.
And enough toilet roll on the floor to make mummy costumes for an entire reception class. 
The little machine of destruction has the toothbrush (not his I hasten to add but his brothers) in his hand, and his hand is right down the toilet having a good old scrub about.
There is wet tissue all over the floor and his mouth is wet.
After a little detective work it would appear that, after scrubbing the toilet clean with his brothers toothbrush, he then decided to clean his teeth with it.
Delightful.
I won’t be asking him for a kiss at bedtime.

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