Because I Wasn't Already Having Enough Fun

So, anyone with young children knows that often the toughest part of the day is when you are trying to make dinner and the kids are DONE. They are tired, hungry, bored of all the toys, tv, etc that can keep them entertained throughout normal parts of the day. You are also DONE by this point of the day, which makes it all the more challenging to keep your sanity.

I have heard people call it the Witching Hour. This is a gravely inadequate term, much like the phrases "morning sickness" (not just in the morning, people!) and a "normal 9 month-long pregnancy" (it's 10 months and yes I want every bit of credit for that 10 months!) are laughably inadequate.

And hour? No, it is HOURS. Plural.

Tonight, during the Witching HOURS, I was making dinner. It was a fairly simple dinner, but that did not decrease the challenges I encountered.

Our 5 month old girl was screaming/crying because she likes to do that from about 4:30 pm until bedtime, around 7:30/8. It is delightful, really. There is nothing you can do, so you just have to kind of let her do it. That alone is terribly draining.

Well, she was in her third or fourth location within 45 or so minutes with her third or fourth toy because I was insane enough (as I am every night) to think that changing something would make her stop crying.

I was in the homestretch of finishing cooking. I felt fairly unscathed at this point. The crying was still going on, but I could see the finish line.

All of a sudden, I turn around and my 2 year old comes walking towards me with his hands outstretched and saying, "yucky!"

He had some stuff on his hands. A lot of stuff. At first I could not determine what it was. I had an idea but I thought, "surely not."

Yes, poop. All over his hands. I had been awaiting a delivery from him, but I was not expecting it to be presented this way.

Knowing it could have been so much worse, I whisper a quick prayer of thanks for it being somewhat contained and am thankful for our 2 year old telling me about it.

I pick him up while holding his arms away from me and take him to get cleaned up and bathe him.

But not before he managed to get some on me.

The baby's screaming has now reached new decibels. Dogs are howling in the distance.

Remarkably, I have managed to remain fairly calm and even laugh at all of this. I do call my husband, who at this point, is on his way home just to give him a heads up as to why I may be a touch frazzled when he gets home. And that I probably need some immediate assistance when he walks in the door.

And, of course, as ALWAYS happens, miraculous peace descends on our house mere seconds before the husband walks in the door and everything appears to be a-okay.

He always wonders why I am so frazzled.