And no, they may not come in that order.
Sometimes I feel bad for this poor little blog and anyone who takes the time to read it. When things are going well with the family and we're having fun and enjoying each other, I don't really stop to write about that; it essentially gets shelved to be blogged about when I have a few spare minutes. When it's a rough day or things are especially rough, this is one of the first places I turn to and I'm sorry about that.
Writing helps me express my feelings and get out all of the crazy that's in my head. Often when I'm stressed or overwhelmed with the amount of things I need to get done, I'll write out a list so that all those things are out of my head and on paper. The same theory and practice applies here: when the kids are driving me up a wall and into a padded room somewhere, I blog about it and then I'm not so stressed anymore. The words I have cooped up are out and so is the animosity.
I love my children with all of my heart, but as any mother can attest, sometimes they may just be too pushy, too cranky, too sassy, or just plain awful.
I really can't fault Reagan too much. Thinking that she'd be able to handle a small bit of cheese, I made spinach and cheese ravioli for dinner last night and she gobbled her two right up. She was then up at 9:30, 11:00, 12:00, 2:15, and 3:30 screaming. It brought back all of the horrible memories of how she'd be in pain before we determined she had a serious lactose-intolerance. We ended up snuggling and sleeping on our couch together, or as much as I could sleep. That girl moves in her sleep: kicks, turns, punches.
Both Reagan and I are now in straight Zombie form today. She's screaming more, just because she can. She's getting into things that she knows she shouldn't get into and I had to attempt to Reagan-proof the house before I went to the bathroom. She still managed to spill an entire glass of water all over herself and the floor in that time.
So, I've resigned myself that today just might result in an epic Battle of the Wills. And that Reagan will probably emerge victorious.
Now for the solution: I'm going to bake. Deep down, my thighs are telling me that drowning my sorrows and looking for reward in food, especially the delicious calorie-laden kind I'm dreaming of, is not healthy. But honestly, every screech, whine, or tantrum I experience today makes me want the food a little bit more and care about the calories a little bit less.
I fairly certain that pumpkin chocolate chip cookies are on the menu today.
Take that, thighs.
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