I really do want to live in the moment with my kids. I do, I do. But sometimes it just isn't in the cards. Those rose-colored glasses get all smudged with sticky little fingerprints and I just can't see anymore. I can't find my patience or my positive attitude. They are filed away in my mental mommy system of emotions and outlooks, and I just can't find them. All I keep finding under "P" is pissed off.
So I say screw it. And I wallow a little. Who doesn't, right?
Today was one of those days. I just couldn't find my happy place. It was lost somewhere underneath the banana-smeared shirt with the tear-soaked shoulders. I think maybe when I put it away last time it got misfiled under "N" for Not Gonna Happen.
So instead I tried to grin and bear it until my husband got home. And that's when all the tantrums and fevers and sweat (did I mention we are in the midst of a heat wave?) came bubbling back up to the surface and unloaded themselves onto my poor, unsuspecting, was-in-a-good-mood-before-he-got-home husband.
Then he lost his happy place too. And they never see it coming, do they? I feel bad. At least I did feel bad for a few minutes. And then I told him to "buck up".
Sometimes I really wish my day could start at the drive through. I could just pull on up to the window and place my order.
"I'll take the 3 year old that follows directions, but hold the whining. And I also need a 6 year old that puts her shoes away and doesn't complain about dinner. And I need a 1 year old that is healthy for at least 30 days straight - can I get a receipt for that one in case it doesn't last for the full warranty period?
Oh, and this time, don't forget my Happy Place."
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