The following is an email I sent to some friends who would understand on April 11, 2008 titled “Welcome to Hell…”
Do you ever have one of those days when you just have to celebrate your failure as a parent or you'd lose it? My kids are driving me to drink. I'm totally back on the sauce. Real Coke that is, in all its sugary glory.
Their behavior is at an all-time unacceptable low. I had all three in a bathroom stall at Friday's yesterday, when Mother Nature decided to show up. "Mommy, what's that?" So add to that hormones. I guess this is a good thing, though, because being 3 1/2 weeks late, I was about to start some research on vasectomies I didn't really want to.
This morning I actually said, "Wait 'til your father gets home!" for the first time ever. Lexi had something behind her back and a guilty look on her face. She handed me a handful of rubble, and I didn't even know what I was looking at. I felt like I needed one of those little jeweler scopes to figure it out. As I was pushing around the little pieces, I could just make out a hoof. OH, GOOD LORD!! Here comes Savannah with the rest of the wilted porcelain carousel music box family heirloom. First of all who makes such a fragile detailed thing for kids, and secondly who actually gives them one?? (A: in-laws) ((Just in case anyone in our family is reading this, it's my fault. I should have taken better care of it.))
After that I needed to breathe, so I went down to put wet clothes in the dryer and stayed down there a couple minutes longer than I should have. As long as the girls weren't spoon-feeding the baby Ranch with a Barbie leg, I didn't care.
Not long after, I was changing the 1024th pull-up (which I am SO over) when the baby puked and 2 wasps flew into the enclosed porch at the same time. I didn't have enough arms! Then I realized Savannah escaped bare-assed and she was on the run down to the play set. The definition of risk management- the baby getting stung is more of a priority than Savannah getting splinters in her ass.
I put on such a great show for the kids trying to kill the wasps that they came back up by themselves. By the way, we have too many #&*^%@ toys on the porch. I just started chucking them out into the yard. It was raining Little Tykes. Lexi must have figured I was on the brink because she went to take her nap without me telling her to. Savannah, not so lucky.
I'm changing my name to Beyonce' Cleopatra Winfrey. Right now, anything but "mommy" because Savannah has been in her room screaming it for the past 40 minutes. After about 20 min. she kicked it up to the "You-Don't-Think'-I'm-Serious?" cry, which sounds like a wounded rabid raccoon.
I guess I'm writing this as evidence for my insanity plea when I have to off a few. My husband is on his way to Winchester to pick up my Godson who is spending the weekend with us. Lucky for him he’s a good kid. If things get any worse, don't be surprised if I show up on your doorstep just to hide. Thanks for listening!
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