It's one of those days.
Where five o'clock hits and dinner is no where near being ready and I find myself stuffing Christmas cookies straight out of the freezer into my face.
Where my son has decided that listening to what I ask of him is just a challenge of wills and instead of putting his shoes on after lunch out with a friend he runs away and laughs at me from the top of the play place.
Where he has a full-blown tantrum in the parking lot in sub-freezing temperatures because I had the audacity to ask him to get in the same side of the car as his sister.
Where I get hit, kicked and bit by my three-year old for daring to take away the plastic sword a friend (stupidly) gave him.
Where the meal I decided to fix for dinner takes so freaking long that I am dredging and browning little bits of meat for stroganoff with a clingy, hungry toddler attached to my legs.
Where my children eat Easy Mac and bananas for dinner because I still haven't started the 45 minutes of simmering.
Where my husband informs me that he will go commando tomorrow since I've neglected the laundry.
Where my children have already watched two hours of Sesame Street just so I can break down in the kitchen and beat myself up for having failed at the whole day.
I know most days aren't like this, but why does it smack me in the face so unexpectedly? Why do I start the day off cheerfully making my husband breakfast in a clean kitchen and then I turn into this crumpled mess who can't keep it together for ten minutes after he walks in the door?