Let me preface with this: I love my children. I really, really love them.
I love when Little Bear comes up to me and demands a, “HUG!” I love when Butter smiles up at me and says, “I love you, Mommy,” for absolutely no reason. I love the smiles, I love the laughter, I love watching M interact with them. I love dance parties during bath time to Taylor Swift, One Direction, and Francesca Battistelli.
I absolutely do not love when LB is a cranky brat after a short nap [because his brother’s first soccer game was supposed to be at 2:45 today, but is actually next week], or when Butter kicks a ball so hard into his Pop’s face that one of Pop’s really, really, ridiculously expensive contacts just pops out of his eye. I don’t love the tears for no reason, the constant defiance, and the flat out ignoring me when I say something needs done.
Can you tell today has been A Day?
The boys were in bed by 7:30 because Butter kicked a beach ball so hard in M’s face that one of his really, really, ridiculously expensive contacts popped out of his eye. This is after LB slept until almost 5 p.m. because he didn’t get to nap until after 3 because of his brother’s aforementioned soccer game that wasn’t. Throw in that I think LB is teething again, and OMG Mama needs booze. And Xanax. [But not at the same time.]
And please, don’t get me started on the fiasco that is Butter’s team being switched for the second time. I take full responsibility for the first, as we got an email asking if someone could switch from a team that practiced on Thursday to one that practiced on Wednesday because one kid had a conflict. This time was the coach’s idea. I don’t mind so much because Butter really wasn’t cut out to be playing for a U6 team, but I have a feeling my head is going to kersplode if anything else changes.
I think it’s going to be a long week.