Today was one of those days. One of those there is a toddler jumping on my bladder before my eyes are open followed by we’re out of cereal mornings. And then I’m scrambling to make instant oatmeal while the troops lose morale and turn to civil wars, and it just went from there.
One of those, “I’m sorry. Mommy is having a grumpy day”, followed by screeching and threats. Kids smell blood in the water, I’m telling you. On days when I wake up all Pollyanna and a little bluebird follows me around singing, they take it easy. But let me wake up on the wrong side and they are on it.
I know what you’re saying,
Richy everyone. Maybe they are bad because I made them that way, with the anger and the hostility. Maybe you’re right. Come a little closer and let’s talk about it while I punch you in the neck.
It seems to me, as the largest grouchy party, that they do especially bad things before I am “frustrated”. Like today. As I am getting out of the shower, where I prayed violently for more grace, I happen across Brynn cheerfully pouring 16 ounces of bottled water on the hardwood floor. Later, the partners in crime stripped down and then emptied a dresser, so they could “get dressed”. R2 drifts from room to room, surveying the damages and trying to steer clear of the stick horse which has been doubling as a light saber.
Part of the problem is that I don’t eat breakfast. There is a very good reason that I don’t eat breakfast. It’s because I hate morning, and I want to die.
(Dear Mama, that sentence was for humor purposes only, I am actually quite happy, albeit irritated with mankind)
Anyways, I have been quite cheered up by the writing of this post. Also, Toby and Brynn went outside to torture bugs or something, so R2 and I can sneak a few brownies out of the broken microwave where I hid them.