I had one of those awful mornings when all signs told me to go crawl in a hole. In the horror movie of my life, the audience screamed "Ack! Don't go in there today!!" My back has been very hurty, my husband is out of town, it is cold like the Arctic, the new exotic coffee we bought on a lark tastes like, uh, well, crap and I was a jerk to one of my friends yesterday and woke up plagued with guilt. Poopety poop poop. It was one of those days when it would have been great if the kids had gotten along and been reasonable.
That is the trouble with kids. Not only do they smell fear, but they smell a bad mood. I think my bad mood gives off some pheromone that triggers the most bickery part of their wee brains. In order to have a peaceful shower, I put on the sacred electronic beasty of joy. Cute belly's full of eggs, toast and cider, a little Backyardigans on a Sunday morning...why not relax and let a mother take a shower? I don't know either. There was screaming, there was thundering down halls, there was accusations of one kind and another. I got out of the shower, wrapped myself in a towel and hollered in a way most un-becoming to a mother. Like all hollering in a towel sessions, nobody took me seriously.
My friend down the street rescued me. I dropped the kids off at her place and headed out to grocery shop alone. Who knew sitting in a parking lot alone singing along to the radio could be so relaxing? After procuring a weeks worth of lunch box fodder and perusing the magazine aisle for more time than is really necessary, I got back down to the business of being a mother. One pot of chicken stock to cover up my wounded beast pheromones and an oven full of roasted potatoes (the ultimate ketchup vehicle) later and we are all friends again. They didn't even give me the biz when I washed their hair. Tomorrow is another day.
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