Worst day ever. Seriously.
And it started out so great. I think that makes it even worse. I'd rather just have it start out crappy. Starting out good, that's just playing dirty. That gives you a false sense of security, setting you up for the kill shot. Hitting below the belt.
But it did start off nice. Big kids woke up at five thirty, even though they were up forty five minutes past their bedtime last night. But I gave them some lucky charms to dump all over the living room floor and turned on noggin and went back to bed, and they left me alone until seven twenty. And in their defense, they would have kept leaving me alone, it was the baby who got me up. And once I'm up, the big kids suddenly NEED MAMA, even though they've been doing fine all morning long.
Got them to school, got home and read a little of my book (SO GOOD!!!) and did a HUGE amount of cleaning. Huge for me anyway. I got all three bedrooms and my bathroom done, and seriously, we're talking about three straight hours here. It felt good, I was in a great mood, the baby was laughing and having a good ole time...I shoulda known better. I really should have.
When we got home from school, things started going downhill fast. They were both sleeping HARD at school (since they'd been up since FIVE THIRTY) and I inadvertently woke them both up while trying to schlep them to the van. WHICH, as long as I'm devoting my post to a pity party, smells like cat urine because I left the van door open last night and there were six cats in there when we went out this morning.
BUT I DIGRESS.
So we're outside playing, and Scott is throwing rocks at the baby. And we're not talking pebbles here, we're talking rocks as big as my foot. And I'm a nine and a half. All right, I'm a ten. I don't even know how he lifted those suckers. He hadn't managed to hit the baby yet, so I say "SCOTT!!!! If you throw ONE MORE ROCK I'm gonna take you inside and beat your butt!" And, in true Scott fashion as of late, he looked me right in the eye and chucked another one right towards that baby.
So I snatch him up and take him to the kitchen and spank his hiney and throw him in his room and go on about my day. Which includes making dinner, in my grossly unsanitary and disorganized kitchen. And dinner which, by the way, no one eats but me. As usual. And while I'm making dinner, Scott grabs Warren by the forearm and proceeds to chomp down on it.
What the hell is wrong with that kid?
Well now I've just about had it, so I grab him and start screaming at him. Which, obviously, does no good. I always said I wouldn't be a screamer, because I know from personal experience that it doesn't work. So I said "You wanna bite people? I'm gonna bite you!" (He had bitten Ava on the calf outside, right before the rock incident, and when she came sobbing to me I told her to work it out herself, either bite him back or stop playing where he could reach her. What kind of mother says that to her kid?) And so I bit him, and dragged him to his room.
So after dinner (that no one ate but me) we're cleaning the playroom. It's not even that messy. But no one is doing anything productive, so after thousands of empty threats, I start loading up the garbage bags with all the stuff on the floor. And Scott looks me right in the eye AGAIN and says "I don't care if you throw it away. I don't like you." So then I REALLY lost it. Spanked his little butt (which apparently doesn't bother him either) and shove him into his jammies and throw him in bed.
So Ava's sobbing because it scares her when I'm screaming (duh! some crazy lady roaring at the top of her lungs would scare me too!) and she doesn't like for Scott to be in trouble, and because Warren has gotten ahold of my spanking spoon and is clocking her in the head with it. Does it ever end?
So I finally get Ava and Warren down too, and my kitchen is such a freaking mess and my house smells horrible and my kids hate me and I'm the EXACT kind of mother I swore I'd never be, and I want to just crawl into bed, but there's seriously food ALL OVER the place, and we have bugs and lizards and ants and it doesn't matter anyway, because no matter how early you go to bed, five thirty always feels like five thirty. So I climb into the shower, and I'm literally sobbing and carrying on like a crazy person (which I obviously am) and Ava comes in and asks me to take her ponytail out. Because obviously I didn't do baths tonight.
Seriously? Take your ponytail out? I know it's not her fault, and that she's not selfish, and she has no idea how upset I am, let alone why, so I take it out and bring her back to bed (dripping shampoo and water all over the floors I just mopped) and get back in the shower and cry even harder.
And there's nothing I can do about it.
I can't call anyone back home because it's three in the morning. I can't call anyone here because the two friends I've made don't know that I'm a lunatic yet. I just want someone to come over and give me a hug and watch Friends with me. And maybe I'll let them have some of my Cold Stone I got last weekend.
Why did we have to move to the wrong side of the world? Why didn't they give us a house on base, where I would have at least had a chance at making a few friends? Why did I have to fall in love with someone who works underwater, where they don't have phones? I mean, COME ON!!! They have phones in the Amazon jungle these days! Why are my kids so fricking naughty, even though I try and try and try to be patient? Why can't they follow the ONLY rules we have? WE ONLY HAVE TWO!!!!!!
I gotta tell you, right now, knowing that I have to drag the big trashcan down to the curb...it's pretty bleak over here. Knowing that between five and six tomorrow, those kids are going to walk up to me like today never even happened, and ask me to wipe their butts and get them some more lucky charms...I don't know how I'm going to do it.
And PS, for anyone who thinks it might be helpful to me if you were to say You gotta cherish these years, you're gonna miss it when it's gone- DO NOT DO IT. I will end you. I swear to God, I'll see you dead. No one cherishes this. No one misses this. People who say they do, they either didn't have more than one toddler, or they're just stupid. I mean it. I'll stop your heart.