Mommy and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

There are some days... maybe even a lot of days, we as people, or as parents, would prefer to forget. Even better, we'd prefer to have them scorched from our memories. Brain bleach? Yes please.
I think we all prefer only to have good days. AWESOME days. Holy shit best day ever days- but the reality of that happening? Well, for most normal folks- or at least those of us not tripping on LSD or eating a bag of magic mushrooms- it's a pipe dream.

You always hear those annoying fuckers saying "with the good comes the bad", "the grass is always greener", "what goes up most come down", and "the glass is half full"- and you just DO NOT want to believe it, especially when you are feeling quite the opposite.
  Oh hell no with that optimism bullshit! Not in the middle of MY bad day!


Not on THAT kind of day.

The kind of day where you wake up with both kids in your bed, awake, and you're being shoved off the edge. The kind of day where one child has a paint-peeling meltdown before 8am, you realize you don't have what you need to make the breakfast you want so you're stuck with toast, and your husband nitpicks and bitches to the point you want to smother the life out of him. The kind of day where your child just won't stop fucking SCREAMING no matter WHAT you do, for hours on end, to the point where you honestly feel like you might explode, and anything anyone does, even just speaking to the red-faced screecher makes it worse. The kind of day with multiple potty accidents, very little patience, body aches and pains and it's not even lunch time yet. The kind of day where you're congested, the kids are congested, and you've never seen so many boogers in your life, you want to take the kids outside but not only is it too cold but it will likely make you all sicker and prolong the irritation, and a news broadcast breaks through the one show you wanted to watch during what you hope will be a long nap time, but isn't.
The kind of day where you are hanging on for dear fucking life until bed time-and not YOUR bed time- but the kids' bed time, just so you can have a little bit of silence to regain rational thinking and psyche yourself up to be able to deal with the next day.

The kind of day where you relate to that whiny little turd Alexander.

The only possible savior of a day like this (other than a gigantic drink of the alcoholic nature) is knowing it's just one day, JUST ONE- and that some day- maybe not ANY day soon (read: far the fuck in the future)- there's a slim possibility you can look back at it and laugh.

Until then? I think i'll move to Australia.