Remember that glowing post I wrote yesterday about the beauty of coming home to my children? How they seemed to appreciate me more? Were you laughing then, knowing that the other shoe would drop? That somehow, some way they would make me pay for those days of relaxation and those nights of unhindered sleep? And that they would choose the night that their father worked to do so?
I don't know what pod appeared in our home this afternoon but my children were replaced by an insane alien breed that cannot stop bickering, crying, and/or saying "Mommy" 12 times every minute. They have fought, thrown toys, screamed at the top of their lungs, and kicked the wall.
I swear that every ounce of residual cruise high has gone LOW.
And yet, I sit here laughing. Not because I need a straight jacket, though that is still a possibility -- stand by, boys. Not because my daughter just mooned me. She did. Seriously. But because my son just disappeared to his room and returned claiming that he had just put something on his blog. Yes. You read that right. He told me that baby was being so silly that he posted it on his blog and now everyone can read it. He's six, ladies and gentlemen. Yet in 2010, my six year old has created an imaginary blog wherein he can document his life.
And what do I do? I run to my blog to share it! He then sees me typing and says, "It that your blog, Mommy?" Oh, dear. I feel a lot like Dr. Frankenstein at this moment. Oh, what have I created?
Alas, I scooped up both of my monsters and told them that I loved them. Even when they made me crazy. Even when I yell and they kick. Even when toys have flown and tears have flowed. Always and forever.
I hope one day, my son will blog about that.