I love being a mom, really. But not right now. Now is that time of day where things fall apart.
The Helpful Toddler is refusing to nap during Mommy break time, creating so much noise in the process (is there any toddler “process” that doesn’t require loads of noise?…oh, right, the particularly bad ones–those are silent…) that she helpfully wakes the Hungry Infant from her nap way early. The Curious Pup wants to escape outside because he can read me like a barometer when it comes to frustration and anger.
So the baby is wailing, the kid is booming and banging around and calling out “Mooooommy” every 15 seconds (for good measure, I suppose), and the dog is incessantly ringing his bell. And I’m totally wiped out on the couch from a day full of house and yard work, and training tiny little slave drivers to be, you know, less slave-driver-y.
This is the order of operations almost every day. But it’s okay because this is usually when the hubby walks in the door. We have carefully contrived his daily arrival time so that I don’t go insane while trying to make dinner. Crazy person + kitchen knives + hot surfaces = not-a-pretty-scene.
I’m sitting here listening to the cacophony of wails, rings, booms, and general whining noises, thinking, “Any minute now. He’ll walk through that door and save us all from each other.” Then my phone beeps. It’s a message from the hubby.
Maybe it’s a good night to eat out.