It Isn't Supposed to Be This Way

It is difficult for me to admit, and even more difficult to reason why, that on the two days per week when both of my children attend morning preschool, I have a much more difficult time dealing with them later in the day.

No, it's not them, it's ME. You would think that a rest from both dervishes, a moment to myself to think, some quality caffeine, and maybe a pastry, would allow my brain cells time to hang out, refuel, then regroup when it's time to become Mommy again. But NO. My best guess is that my brain cells GET USED to being their own bosses for several hours, and loudly REBEL when any one shows up to prove otherwise. Tuesday and Thursday afternoons are my WORST MOMMY TIMES EVER. I snap, growl, yell, and when the kids are in another room, curse like the sailor I never was. I madly telegraph an SOS to my husband at work--send pizza, send a nanny, send a man with a butterfly net. ANYTHING, but just get me away from these kids. Oh, and these dogs too.

It's Thursday night. He brought home pizza an hour and a half earlier than he usually gets home. The husband is bathing the troops. And yet, my FUCKING DOG KEEPS BARKING AT ME AND SCRATCHING UP THE FUCKING UPHOLSTERY. AND YES THERE IS A DRIED PUDDLE OF PEE HERE IN MY STUDY THAT HASN'T BEEN CLEANED UP FROM WHEN HUSBAND FOUND IT THIS MORNING BECAUSE THE SPRAY BOTTLE OF ENZYME CLEANSER FELL BEHIND THE CHEST FREEZER IN THE GARAGE THE OTHER DAY AND I DON'T HAVE STRETCH ARMSTRONG ARMS TO GET BACK THERE AND RETRIEVE IT. OH AND THEN IT NEEDS TO BE REFILLED ANYWAY FROM THE 2 GALLON CONTAINER WITH THE FUNNEL.

Okay. I think I'll go figure out the spray bottle situation right now. I feel a little better having gotten that off my chest. And I'm going to put the goddamn dog in his crate. Which is IN MY STUDY. AAAAARGHH!!!