Just now, if someone from DHS were to have passed within 100 yards of my home, they would have felt the need to stage an intervention. Of my three children, two were screaming inconsolably. Funny, both have way more testosterone than I have…could there be a correlation between having a meltdown and being male? Yeah, probably not.
In case you are wondering just what traumatic event was unfolding at my home to cause my sons such emotional distress, let me explain. The oldest couldn’t find a piece of paper that he’d been writing on and the youngest didn’t like how pointy his sister had drawn the ears of the cat in her picture.
Why did I think this was a good time to go off my anti-depressant? There comes a brief moment when being way past chubby seems like not too much of a price to pay for a wee little slice of sanity. I tell you, having children suddenly enlightened me as to why all those mothers in the 1950s and 60s were hopped up on Valium all the time. “Takes the edge off? Sure thing, load me up.” None of this would be quite as horrific except for the ridiculous level the pounding in my temples has reached. What started out as a slight headache has spent the ensuing hours between now and when I got out of bed morphing into a raging headache that borders on migraine territory. I’m thinking the only thing that will take the edge off this day is way more powerful than a little pill. Sheesh.
I’ve finally gotten some silence in my house. The youngest is watching t.v. with a blanket and a sippy cup of watered down juice. (I know the moms out there won’t judge me for those parenting techniques.) The oldest found the missing paper and also feeling pacified.
Now, I’m just waiting for my daughter to start wailing about some major life-changing event. Like not finding the lavender crayon in the box of 8000 crayons we have.