I'm not a yeller.
I'm not a screamer.
And I certainly wouldn't call my self a holler-er either.
Most of the time, that is.
These. These are the days that I question my sanity. I question my abilities. I question every fiber of my being that told me I'd be a good mother because these days, I feel like the sticky, elastic mess of hot gum stuck to the underside of a sneaker.
Oh yes, it is just that good.
Motherhood. The ultimate gift. The supreme experience. The be all and end all of our existence because after all, if nobody wanted to become a mother none of us would even exist, right?
It's mind numbing at times.
And while trying to keep your cool can be the very thing that drives that nail into the coffin resting precariously on the edge of a freshly dug grave - aka the brink of every last sane thought in your mind - it can also be the very thing to pull you out of the abyss, the void of rational thought, the sea of misunderstanding teenagers and kids riding scooters through your house because it's too hot to ride them outside.
And just when you think you have 2 out of 3 figured out and calmed down with promises to visit the AT & T store and just possibly a trip across the mall to Old Navy to pick up a pair of $10 "skinny jeans" because lord knows, you aren't ever going to be wearing a pair of those...might as well let the 6 year old, that's when the middle child (the one who's supposed to be behaving) loses all control right then and there and you would swear you heard the mating call of a wildebeest just now but oh no, that's just him...singing.
It's only Monday.
There's a chilly bottle of pinot grigio in the fridge that somehow survived the weekend without being uncorked.
And why does just the act of writing that sentence suddenly make the world a much better place?
There are also leftover hot dogs in the fridge but, oddly enough, the thought of those does nothing to ease my mind.