Yesterday was one of those days when I wonder if the universe somehow lost my life map...if the great dog of destiny ate it and I wasn't supposed to be a mom at all.
I was supposed to be a mechanic. A nice, non-stressed out mechanic whose charges are metal and grease and if you get really pissed at them, you can kick them and no one cares.
I can't kick my kids. ARGH! God, I wanted to. Actually I wanted to get in my car and drive far, far away. I went outside at one point, just to get some air and I could hear them screaming through the door. All three of them. It's usually one. Two at the most, but today all three of them were in on it. Screaming and crying and whining. And fighting. Over everything. Who had the most bubbles in the bath tub, who got their banana first, who got the blue cup, who had more milk in said cup...they were making me insane. I don't know where I was when sweet little Delaney was kidnapped and replaced with the tiny diva that lives here now.
"You need to get dressed, get your pants on. We have to leave."
"No. You do it."
"You can put your own pants on."
"No. I hate them."
"Then go pick out some other ones. Get your shoes and coat. Come on, we're late."
"No. I don't want to wear a coat."
"There's snow on the ground."
"I DON'T CARE! I want to wear wings!" How about horns?
Then there's my six year old...He looks innocent, but really should come with a warning label.
"Sight" words are not the only new words he's been learning in kindergarten. I'm so glad he's in public school.
And this little guy...
He tries so hard to be good. But the other two are teaching him everything they know. And apparently they're gifted teachers.
I don't have a favorite kid, but I do have a favorite age and it's not 6, 3 or 18 months. Maybe 7, 4 and 2 will work out better for me...