If I Make it to Morning Without Tears or Assuming the Fetal Position, I Will Consider it a Tremendous Success

So far this afternoon, since we came home from school, the following has happened:

I made a trip to the store to pick up all the things that are needed for the boys’ Valentine’s Day parties in the freezing cold and rainy weather because I was too lazy to do it yesterday.

Nick informed me that he is now official with the girl he likes at school.  Apparently 3 out of 4 of my boys are now attached.  Not even okay with this.  I allowed Alec to turn 10 years old last month; I thought I was done for a while with that which I cannot handle.

I decided that given the amount of coupling that is happening in this house that does not include me, Alec must either remain hopelessly devoted to his mom, or I will cry.  And I don’t often cry.

Thanks to weather that is not conducive to sending the boys outside to play, an indoor ninja game that included my bedroom being transformed into a makeshift dojo ended in tears, face-plant into the door boo-boos, and what may or may not have been my nicest Mommy voice to date.  

I carried an armload of dirty clothes down the stairs, walked straight to the kitchen sink, loaded them in there and turned on the water.  It was not until that point that I realized I was NOT standing in front of the washing machine.  

I cooked dinner for the boys and passively watched as they all carried their plates into the living room to eat.  Yeah, that’s not allowed in this house without permission.  But yet, it just happened.  And I did nothing. 

My phone rang seven times in twenty minutes with solicitor calls that may or may not have resulted in me randomly pushing buttons on the phone into someone’s ear for a full 60 seconds until I felt most of the frustration was out of me.  Think they will get the hint and add me to their do not call list?

Sensing that something is not quite right with mom, one of my children, who may be the smartest at the moment, has taken the Kindle into a closet and is hiding out in there in order to avoid me at all costs.  Again, smart kid.

I had to dig through Nick’s valentines that he filled out for his class, find the one on which he wrote “You are not nice” and have him do it over.  That was followed by a conversation that included ideas such as if you can’t say something nice, say nothing, and why that is really not appropriate.  And, in true Nick fashion, his defense was that it is the truth and he has been taught to always tell the truth.  Point taken, kid.  Do it over anyway. 

Oh, and here’s the kicker: IT IS ONLY 6 PM!  

I. Just. Can’t.

Not today.  Not anymore.  Seriously.

I would love to end this little post with something inspirational about how I will soldier on because I am a mom and that is what we do.  I would love to end this with some declaration that I will find my big girl pants and just deal with everything that comes at me with grace and patience.

Yeah.  That’s not gonna happen either.    

What I can do, however, is draw a hot bath, say a prayer, and wait for bedtime.  Maybe I will find those big girl pants somewhere in the bathtub, or in my prayers, but I would be willing to bet that the most likely place for them right now is in the washing machine, or the kitchen sink, or wherever the laundry gets clean in this house.