Take It Back.

I’ve had the kind of night where the kids should be in bed and something completely awesome should be on the television that they simply can not resist. Their stomaches should be full and they should not wander into the kitchen a thousand times after I’ve made supper and they’ve eaten it.

I’ve had that kind of night. The kind where right now, as I type sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with a crying nearly 3-year-old, I want to plant my face into a box of glass shards.

Dirty glass shards.

This night should not be filled with him freaking out over his brother taking his shoe off, while he sits with only the left one, a fully-zipped hoodie, a red shirt and no pants. Chase should not be freaking out over being cold after I serve him frozen yogurt that he requested.

Conner, on this night, should stop shoving his brother into the wall. He should stop scaring him anytime Chase turns a new corner. I’ve had the kind of night where Conner shouldn’t want to drive my insane with stupid requests. I shouldn’t have to say “stop screaming” or “stop laughing” or STOP ANYTHING because I’ve had enough of this day.

Unfortunately, I’ve got all of those things and I have them on this day and with this headache and this life. Which sounds so “FEEL SORRY FOR ME”, but that’s not my point. As a matter of fact, I don’t have a point. I just wanted to say UUUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHH.