Breathing

Do you know how many times today I have said, "AAAHHHGHHH!" I do. 87,546.

And yet, oddly enough, I haven't felt the need to melt down, or even get emotional about it. Like, I've gotten angry with the kids and yelled a few times, but what day passes without that happening? I am ready--and I mean ready--for George to come home, and I swear to God if he's a second later than I need him to be, that meltdown I've been avoiding will no longer be avoided. But I just happened to notice that during this whole day during which the kids have been on some kind of tantrum-slash-non-napping-relay race, not once have I felt disengaged or found myself saying, "I hate this life! I hate these kids! Nobody cares about me!" It's this very strange thing of going back and forth between serious frustration/yelling, and cuddling and having a talk about other kids who won't share, or lovingly trying to encourage Nora to use a public potty even though it's really big and scary. And during all of it, I feel mostly fine. Yeah, like I said, there's some serious frustration happening, but it's the kind I feel when I'm frustrated with George. I can be freaking foaming at the mouth, but it wouldn't occur to me to think he's actually a bad husband, or that I don't love him or some nonsense like that.

So all that feels pretty good.

*****

There was a little break there, during which Nora had two accidents in ten minutes after insisting for the better part of the day that, no, of course she didn't have to go poop or pee. I guess what I mean to say is that everything before the stars took place before 3 pm. And apparently there is a big difference between pre- and post-3pm.

At this point, I'm limping along. My face nearly exploded an hour ago from the headache I finally developed after having two kids wailing in my ears all day.

AAAAGGH.

87,547.