Madness

Do you ever have days when you wonder why reproducing seemed like a good idea? My kids really handed it to me today. Jackson seemed to forget how to do much else besides blink, and the baby spent the better part of his time dumping things on the floor, getting himself locked in the pantry, and trying to climb on the counter by way of the (hot, hot, hot) oven door.

It was one of those days. I ran around in a maroon hoodie, jeans, lime green socks and some kind of hairdo--I'm not sure what I'd call it, really--spouting things like, "Come on, if we're counting by fives, what's after 25?" That would be followed by "Stop CLIMBING on the table!" And then I'd move back to "No. Not forty-two. No. Not 27. Fives. We're counting by FIVES."

(One probably shouldn't try to home school a six-year-old and monitor an overzealous toddler while experiencing a sinus headache. The only thing I can say for my head right now is that it's still on my neck.)

I sometimes wonder how better parents get through days like these. How is it that on the days I want to try hard and make it a special, interactive, exciting time, my children experience some sort of personality malfunction? Am I the only parent who believes offspring-induced stress tastes better buried under ice cream?

By heaven's grace, we did finish our school day with more than the requisite number of hours, with the baby's limbs all in tact, and with hearty chicken strips shoved down everyone's bellies for dinner. I have managed to sweep and vacuum the floors yet again, and will now enjoy my clean house for 15 minutes before I go to sleep and the short people wake up again tomorrow.