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Some Days Are Like That

June, 2014

It could be worse. That's what I keep telling myself.

Some Days Are Like That

It could be worse. That's what I keep telling myself.

Within an hour of waking, I stubbed my toe, dribbled toothpaste on my shirt and broke a glass. Next up: We're out of coffee filters and the dishwasher's making a funny sound.

And the entire time my kids are at each other's throats. Mom! this and Mom! that. Gah! Driving. Me. Nuts. I wish I could fast-forward to tomorrow's fresh start—or at least to 10 pm, when the kids are sleeping.

Thirteen hours and counting.

On the bright side, it's a beautiful day. Sunny, but not too hot, with a few well placed cotton candy clouds. The oldest is off to the skate park with his friends, so I order the remaining two outside in an attempt to snap us out of this collective funk. We'll get some fresh air, a little gardening done and maybe even start getting along. Not for one second holding my breath on that last one, but a mom can dream, right?

I hand them each little square green berry-baskets and send them off to the raspberry patch, which they generally adore. Not today.

Ben flops down into the grass and groans as if he's dying a slow death. Em starts whining, "No! You can't make me!" so dramatically you'd think I was force-feeding her a plate of fried worms.


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