Around 5:30 pm on Tuesday, I sent out a tweet, saying the following picture pretty much summed up my day:
There are a few of my friends who, whenever they talk about their children, sound as though their lives are nothing but rainbows and puppy dogs (and, not the kind of puppy dogs that chew your furniture, pee on your carpets, or eat toilet paper). Their children popped out perfectly obedient and sweet . . . and have never been known to chew furniture, pee on carpet, or eat toilet paper.
Tuesday? My kids did all of the above.
And bit me (thanks to Mr. Boy being in the 5th level of teething-hell).
And pulled my hair.
And refused to nap.
Dear, God . . . THEY REFUSED TO NAP!
Don’t these kidlets know that nap-time is MOMMY-time? My one chance for breathing, clearing my exasperated head . . . going to the bathroom by myself.
No, my kids just don’t (or won’t) get that fact through their little curly-headed brains.
So, one minute after my daughter forced Mr. Potato head teeth into my mouth and jammed Minnie Mouse ears on my head (while her brother alternated between pulling my hair and shoving fingers into my eyes), I called my husband.
I only had one thing to say to that man: “Please tell me you are on your way home.”
‘Cause, really . . . is there really anything else one can say in such a situation?
I didn’t think so.