mama said there'd be days like this

We were suppose to go to the pumpkin patch today.
It rained,
the pumpkin patch closed.

Beckham fed 3 times last night.
One time refusing to go back to sleep.
For an hour.

Lance sleeps good in the rain. 

[insert sarcastic font]

My house is a mess.
I cleaned it last night.

There are 3 baskets of clean clothes sitting in my chair right now.
I know they will sit there until I decide to do them.

My husband vacuums...

and rarely neglects to load the dishwasher--

but laundry doesn't hit his radar.

Nor does picking up a crying baby during dinner.

I know,
because I ate lunch with a curious baby in my lap--
ripping off my phone, my napkin, and whatever else he could touch, to the ground.
Like I always do.

I am starting to despise restaurant dining.

Maddox sat almost perched on my shoulder, and only ate his fries.
And then cried when I took them away offering the deal, "one bite of grilled cheese for one french fry"

We both won [or lost] because he ate 3 small bites... got 3 more small fries, and then just decided he'd have chocolate milk for lunch.

Back home, both boys bruised their right eyes.
Different episodes.
Both cried and needed mommy kisses.

Yearning for a break, I sat down to blog.
But not without 4 questions from my husband.
Separate questions.
None were important.
But obviously more important than whatever I was doing.

The last one was answered with a huff and angry response.
He told me, "just go back to blogging" as if I don't deserve this time, "or leave".

So I did.
I left.
45 minutes early.
To breathe.
I mean, work.

Stopped by to get my tire filled up,
went to leave and the little icon was still orange.
And now my car says that all 4 tires have zero air pressure.
They're full.

Finally made it to work...
Where I walked into a grunting baby- barely prefusing oxygen, a waiting room smelling like fire, and my book, The Wednesday Letter, still unopened because I ran my tail off my entire shift.

The maintenance man said there was no fire...
but a belt had slipped off, and that's where the smell was coming from.

I still made it out by 8:00.

Back home, my husband is pretending we didn't have a texting war,
and is trying to be my friend.
But I am my mother's child,
and am giving one hell of a silent treatment.

Kind of.
I've thrown up grease from my Kincaids BLT and fried okra.
Twice.
And it wasn't silent.

The boys are now in bed.
[Beckham better sleep]
The Rangers won.
Modern Family made me laugh.
And tomorrow's a new day.

I can say all these things about my husband...
because despite me wanting to jab his eyes out,
I love him.
And these crazy- jacked up days.

Because they're mine.

Mama says there'd be days like this.
There'd be days like this, my momma says!