Today was one of those days when I wonder why on earth God made me a mother. I'd like to believe that the kids are the ones to blame, but really, are they? I mean, just because things started off this morning with both boys screaming outside the bedroom door as they chased one another up the stairs (from the basement), jerking me out of a sound sleep that only came after being awake for three hours with Emma during the night, does not necessarily mean that Ian and Jamie are to blame for the tone of today.
And just because four children seemed to forget how to put on four sets of snowsuits and misplace eight mittens, four hats, four scarves and eight boots just as they were getting ready to leave for the school bus doesn't mean they are solely responsible for the pounding headache that began around 8:30 this morning.
Let's also make it clear that Emma and Jamie fighting (to the point of pushing and punching each other) to determine who would get to go to the bathroom first when they got home at noon (despite the fact that we have two bathrooms-yes, I said, two bathrooms...two bathrooms, two children, you'd think it would be simple, no?) did not put me in a bad mood all on its own.
Nor did the constant screaming, fighting, whining and complaining (especially about dinner) in any way, shape or form cause me to blame them for my crankiness.
Oh, wait a minute...yes, it did. And that is why I feel this crushing guilt, now that they are all quietly drifting off to la-la-land...because no matter how crazy the day is, at the end of it, I see Carol Brady and Mrs. Partridge in my head and think, "They would never have yelled like that...", and then I wonder just what kind of mother I am and whether my children will still love me in the morning. After a few minutes of self-pity, I realize that, of course they will, and that today is just one of those days that every parent has to deal with from time to time.
It's too bad that insight didn't come earlier in the day...
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