It's been a day...

I am letting my children get the better of me. I realize they are small and usually harmless and don't really have a general sense of what they are doing. Sometimes, though, they make me want to put my head in a tub full of water and take a deep breath in. Okay, maybe not quite to that extent... that's just the drama in me talking. I'd settle for being locked inside my trunk for a few hours - especially if I can have a blanket, a book and a flashlight.

Fortunately, my youngest is still very much a baby and in all her sweetness I find I can simply nuzzle my face in her neck and be calm. I understand this won't last for forever, but I'm holding on to it with every last damn molecule in my body.
My oldest is usually quite entertaining and has in-depth conversations with me about all sorts of things. The only problem is, he wants to talk ALL.THE.TIME. If it's not "Mom, look at this!" it's "Mom, look at THAT!" and if it's neither or both of those, it includes fart jokes and burp jokes and then simultaneous fart and burp jokes and then a demonstration follows shortly after. He gets so wound up in all his talking glory that he ends up fumbling and tripping over words. He has so much to get out that the future thoughts takeover the present ones and he has to start all over AGAIN. He's got the gift of gab and I find myself telling him lately "Buddy, I'd love to keep talking but please.please.PLEASE can you take a breather and leave me in peace for just 5 minutes?
Sigh... and then there's Livy. My middle child. My wild child. My... anxiety. As you all know from previous posts, I am pretty partial to the girl and love her dearly. I do not, however, love her actions lately. Between the constant screaming at me to do things and do them "NOW!" and the poltergeist that has taken over her tiny 2 year old body - I am exhausted. No, really. Not, like, tired. I mean head to toenail, pure and simple D-O-N-E. After a particularly rough day today and the finale of her wrapping the kiddie binoculars string around her baby sister's throat twice and dragging her through the living room, I surrendered all of my Mommy patience and tossed her into the crib and left her there. It took every bit of my being to not spank the living hell out of her. You see, she'd already been a terror at her Grandmother's house. Then in the grocery store on the way home she ripped open a bag of goldfish crackers when I repeatedly told her not to and then threw them up and out of the cart in a magnificent explosion. She then reached up to the Self Scan screen and cancelled my entire shopping transaction while I was reaching under the cart for the milk. This was after I'd managed to somehow finagle scanning the entire cart of groceries while keeping the baby from pulling all of the magazines off the shelf and screaming at her brother to put the candy back for the 15th time. When we got home she didn't want her bowl of Spaghetti O's and instead of handing them back to me she tossed the bowl across the kitchen like a frisbee. This was followed by her chewing up the salad I made her into tiny little bits and spitting them all over the kitchen floor - repeatedly. I put her in the tub and after she attempted to drown her sister I then found her chewing (literally) apart all of her foamy princess bath toys and pouring water out of the tub onto the floor while her older brother screamed for help. Shortly after that, and several very loud warnings from myself, she continued running away from me while I tried to get her pajamas on and then laughed and peed on the floor. I gave in and tapped her leg once as I am not a fan of spanking. She cried for 3.7 seconds and then laughed once more and ran away. Finally wrangling her to the floor I used my legs to hold her down and dress her and explained that it was time to lie down on the couch and watch a show. She decided it was actually time to jump on the couch, fell off and almost broke her neck on the side table, scaring the living shit out of me in the process. I calmed her down, checked her neck for broken bones and put her back on the couch. I used my "Wrath of God" voice on her this time and threatened her to stay on the couch or else. She stood up, laughed, jumped and fell off...AGAIN. I glanced in her direction and quickly decided to act like I was ignoring the entire situation. If she broke something this time, she'd let me know. Insert attempted murder with binoculars incident - Nuff' said on that one. Defying me once more when I finally took her back out of the crib time-out, she got off of the couch, brought over the binoculars and asked me to look through them. As I bent down to peer through them she swiftly swung them into my face with a loud thud. I tried to tell myself it was just an accident but when I asked her to say sorry to Mommy and give me a hug, she sauntered over to me, leaned in an inch or two from my face and proceeded to spit right in my GOD DAMNED EYE.

As I desperately posted on Facebook earlier: Tally for the day - Kids: 1. Mom: 0. I've thought about calling the Super Nanny lady, but I can't face the embarassment on national television. I've even dreamed of putting her in some kind of toddler boot camp class, but I doubt they exist. Perhaps I need to look to a higher, Godly power these days. Afterall, if He doesn't help me now, He certainly won't like me when he sees what I do to her in her teenage years!