I wish there was a text to convey grumpy. I guess I could write in red but that just isn't me. I've always been a blue typist.
What a day. I'm sick of not seeing my husband at night. I know that we both have to work and this is the easiest way for both of us to be able to work full time and not have to have a babysitter which ultimately is what we want. But the stresses of him never seeming to be home at night kills me. Tonight was one of those nights I could have really used him home. Oh boy could I use him home right now.
I am NOT a perfect mom. Today proves that. I definitely am not at my finest form. I couldn't get my paycheque today due to a timing issue which isn't a major deal but it would have been nice to have it in the bank. I have to take the dog to the vet tomorrow for his first set of shots because I'm terrified of parvo. That's weighing on my mind too. He's so little I hate the thought of causing him any pain. Then the kids started in. Madyson was being fine, she was reading like crazy and doing the normal things she does. Mitch started in. He's having a tough day I get that. But there's a definite difference between him having a bad day and a horrible day. And everything goes downhill. He tossed the puppy onto his bed (which wasn't very far but that's not the point. He can't be doing such things.) So I put him in the corner. And my Lord, he screamed. He screeched and bellered at the top of his lungs. It was horrible - not to mention I left him there for longer than three minutes which is usually his normal time out time. In the process I managed to get the dog bathed (he really needed it) and found my only family picture's glass had been cracked. Of course that kind of sent me right over the edge. It's not necessarily one event that has sent me spiraling (oh I forgot I bathed Mitch in there too and he absolutely soaked the floor causing Madyson to fall and I told her to suck it up :( ) but the accumilation (sp) of them all together. I feel defeated. I can definitely say that today is not a happy day.
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