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There are times in the year….maybe even in the month…that my crankiness is so extreme, that it can be well…kinda scary.  It is the kind of stuff that other women whisper about, “can you believe she did…?” Really, I should just keep what happens during these times in my lil closet of ‘DON’T TELL PEOPLE ABOUT THIS’.

When these times occur, I want to crawl into bed with a case of wine and come back out when the time passes.  Because, during these times, normal everyday things are demon possessed events.

When, God forbid, I have to repeat myself.  At all.  Even a syllable. There are usually repercussions involved if I do… and the big crocodile tears don’t bother me a bit.

When, if the dish doesn’t go in the dishwasher just right, it gets tossed into the backyard.  To shatter into pieces.

When, if a child says they don’t like what I made, even though I know they actually do, they will probably wear it.

When, if my teenage son doesn’t hear me calling him, I will stand at the bottom of the stairs and scream so loud my throat hurts, the baby cries, the dog runs and my face turns red.  Then I throw a shoe at him when he appears all, “What?”.  Yes, I knock the ‘what’ right out of him with my Tom sandal.

When something isn’t right.  Like my ten-year old’s disaster of a room; and of course I have told her thousands of times about it already.  During these times…she prays I don’t go in there, cause if I do, it involves big black trash bags and her never seeing some of her stuff again.  Oh and screaming.  Me screaming.

During these times, my husband wishes he was traveling (actually he is quite often traveling during these times-lucky him) and wonders who the hell he really married.

During these times, I sit, and envision myself getting in my vehicle, starting it, throwing my sunglasses on and putting it in drive.  And not looking back.

Am I the only crazy, sick, twisted individual that has these horrible days?

I suppose if I am, I am ok with it, cause, well I just am.

I do have a bit of light on these days.  I add an extra glass of wine to my daily nightly routine and crawl into bed early.  And pray.  Fervently.  That the young ones do not wake up in the middle of the night.  Cause that could be disastrous.

And when the time does pass, I go back, mommy guilt in tow, and hug and kiss and apologize away all my demons.

I am sure these days will be less and less as the lil ones get bigger.  Maybe.  Or maybe I am just a psycho mom.

Somehow though, my kids still love me.