I woke up this morning feeling foul. It’s one of those days that I must monitor my every word and every action, knowing that I could explode on the nearest offenders.
Tate is lucky he’s at work today.
My children are lucky that I know how volatile my mood is today.
I’ve been keeping a running dialogue of self-checking reminders in my head all morning.
Don’t throw the green spoon at Carson, simply hand it to him and take the purple spoon away. He’ll stop crying if you do.
Ella will be napping soon. Don’t scream at her to shut up. She’s just a BABY.
You don’t even believe in spanking! Keep your hands to yourself.
Grow up! Act like the PARENT, not the toddler.
I don’t know what, if anything specific, set me off. Tate and I went on a date last night that was almost as fun as taking both kids with us. Almost. It is actually supposed to be in the 60′s today, but both of my kids are sick so we are stuck at home for what feels like the 873rd day in a row in exile. Maybe it’s the 8th day of Aunt Flo’s visit. Maybe the upcoming “vacation” home is stressing me out. Maybe I’m just tired.
I don’t want to feel like this.
Don’t drink all the alcohol in the house. The authorities would frown upon that. It would also cost thousands of dollars in therapy for the children.
Forget about baking those brownies to self-medicate.