You don't? Ever?

Err...okay than neither do I.

(And if you haven't, you know you have wanted to at some point.)

Anyway, today is one of those days. I love my kids more than anything on this planet. I mean, I would almost be willing to give up my most favorite, coveted designer collection of clothing that I have. The ones with the tags still on. Hanging in my closet. Yes, I love my kids that much.

Other days, I don't love my kids that much. Still love them? Yes, of course. Just not in a Juicy Couture kind of way. It all started this morning. My house has been a mess to start with, so that right there puts me in a bad mood. The baby and I were in my bedroom, messing around, playing on the ground, me checking some emails, etc, when I hear Gunner being really quiet out in the kitchen. And as all mommas know, when your kids are being really really quiet, you know there is something naughty going on. So I make my way into the kitchen and there I see it...a sea of photos all over the kitchen floor. Scattered everywhere. Now this wouldn't be THAT big of a deal, at least not big enough to send me over the edge or make me use to F-word (I didn't of course...) but the pictures that were scattered all over the floor? I had just organized them into piles. Remember back when I said I had a lot of pictures that I needed to get developed?

Like 2000?????

Yeah THOSE ones. They had all been organized. All been put into certain piles that pertained to certain categories to give to certain people.

ALL. TWO. THOUSAND. OF. THEM. PLUS SOME! 

Do you feel my pain yet?

But of course, you know I still didn't use the F-word. Most definitely not out loud and screamed at the top of my lungs. Because only a bad mother would do that.

So I decide that the smart thing to do at this point would be to put both my kids in the bathtub. At least then they are confined to a space where I can watch them. And maybe clean up my bathroom a little while they are in there. I don't know how Gunner got a hold of the giant gallon sized bucket, but he did. And all it took was 3 seconds of me stepping out of the bathroom (only 3 seconds mom! Only THREE seconds! I promise I didn't leave them in there alone together for more than that so they could drown and/or fall and hit their head!) for me to hear the gush of water. All over the bathroom floor. Again, this wouldn't have been that big of a deal because all kids are going to splash a little and get water outside the tub. Of course they are. And I would have been fine with that. Nothing a little towel can't clean up.

Little towel? HA! Water was EVERYWHERE and when I turned to walk back into the bathroom, I totally slipped and landed right on my ass, hitting my elbow on the tile floor SO HARD that you KNOW I wanted to say the F-word. But I didn't. Of course. Because I am a good mother.

I clean up the pool in my bathroom. I yank get my kids out of the bath, dry them off, and then decide that the smart thing to do at this point is to put on a movie for them to watch so I can take a shower and wash my hair that hadn't been washed in a week. No joke. Seven whole days. You see, the whole washing/drying/styling my hair thing? Hell. My hair isn't all nice and silky smooth. Nor can I get out of the shower and scrunch it up into cute little curls. No, no. My hair is incredibly thick (which you would assume would be a good thing) and in order for it to look semi-decent, I have to either a) blow dry it immediately after exiting the shower and spend about 30 minutes with the straight iron or curler to make it look like I haven't stuck my finger in a light socket or b) let it air dry and then spend about 30 minutes with the straight iron or curler to make it look like I haven't stuck my finger in a light socket. So usually? My hair is pulled back with two rubberbands on top of my head. For about a week until I decide to wash it and then repeat, repeat, repeat.

But today. Oooooh today. Today my mom had said that she would take my almost 3-year old for the night. SCORE! You mean it will only be me, my hubby and baby? Why thank you very much mother. The hubs, baby and I will just treat ourselves to a nice little dinner out since little baby is such a delight to take out in public. (No really, he is.) So. Night Out = Hair Styled. Right?

So I get out of the shower, hair dripping wet and look for my hairbrush to get all those matted knots out. Remember how I said my hair is extremely thick and it takes a pretty heavy duty hairbrush to make its way through. Open drawer where I always keep hairbrush. Not in there. Ok. Open another drawer where I could have possibly thrown in hairbrush. Not in there. Open 3 more drawers. Then the cabinets. Then I look back behind the toilet (you never know) and then I start to be more creative. Hairbrush isn't anywhere in the bathroom, so I start to look elsewhere. The closet. The bedroom. The kids' toy chest. Under the bed. Outside, across the street, the neighbors basement, hell maybe my hairbrush is in TOKYO!!!

Now, this wouldn't have been that big a deal if say, I had more than one hairbrush in my house. And I do. But second hairbrush has been designated to the family dog. Yes, we use my old hairbrush to brush dogs hair. And I think it's out in the sagebrush behind my house anyway, so that wouldn't work even if it had to. By this time I have been looking for my hairbrush for about 15 minutes, and becoming angrier by the second. You see, I NEVER do my hair! For the reasons stated above, I just don't want to deal with it nor have the time. But tonight? Oh yes TONIGHT my mother was taking my almost 3-year old for the night and I was going out. Out on the town, baby. So I needed to find that damn hairbrush.

In a moment of pure emotional exhaustion I make my way back to the bathroom and sit on the edge of the tub where the tub is still filled up because I hate putting my hands into that nasty water after the kids get out of the bath. They pee in there. The water is almost yellow when they get out. Gross. And then I spot it. My hairbrush. Floating face down in the bathtub. In the nasty yellow pee water. At that moment, I could either fish the hairbrush out of the tub and put it to my head to get the knots out, or I could go on a date night with my husband and baby with my knotty hair piled on top of my head with two rubberbands.

I will let you guess what I chose.

So I decide that the smart thing to do at this point would be to pick my kids up and put them in the car. Turn on the heat in the car so they aren't freezing to death in the single digit temperatures. You see, if they are in the car, strapped in their carseats, with the heat on, well then I know they are at least safe. If not annoyed to be left in the car, strapped in their carseats. But for me? They are in a confined space where I know they will be safe. And I can actually get dressed and maybe throw a load of laundry in the washer without breaking up WWIII from two bothers. (And again mom, don't call CPS on me. They were only alone in the car for about 4 minutes. With the heat on and strapped safely in their carseats.)

Gunner wants water. I would never deny my child water. So I give him the sippy cup but nooooooooo, he wants my water. The water that I had brought to the car with me. In a glass mason jar filled to the top with ice and water. Normally, I would have said no way, you get the sippy cup, this is mommys water, but he wanted my water and let me know with a very, very high pitched voice. And I was at my wits end.

Half a mile down the road, I once again hear a gush of water. I turn around and see Gunner grinning, empty glass mason jar in hand. Now, this wouldn't have been that big a deal if he had dumped the whole entire mason jar of ice water on the floor of the car. Yes, I would have been pissed and probably would have yelled at him, but nothing a trip to the carwash and their fancy vacuums couldn't have fixed. But no.

NOOoooooooooo.

He had dumped the whole entire mason jar of ice water straight into my Coach diaper bag. The same Coach diaper bag that I had just filled with new make-up, a few tampons and OH YEAH. Those 2000 pictures that I had just gotten developed.

So again, I ask you.

Do you ever say "F*CK!" in front of your kids?

BECAUSE I DO!!!!!




at least someone knows how I feel.