Oh. Thank. God. School is starting up again soon, in some parts of the country it already has, and I really couldn’t be more relieved. Let’s all take a moment to give thanks. (Pause for hallelujahs!)

I love my kids. I really do. But I’ve got to be honest with you here…they’re driving me freakin’ nuts. I’m seriously on my way to cuckoo land. Let me allow you a glimpse into my day-to-day and you’ll understand why.

The sun wakes up…and so does Jack. “Good morning!” he sings as he throws open our bedroom door, turning the light on. Every morning. The light. “I want bekfast,” he says in the next breath.

“Just a minute Jack,” I respond, yawning. My eyes are still recoiling at the sudden attack of flourescence.

“I want bekfast,” he repeats, a little more demanding.

“Jack, be patient please,” I respond, also a little more demanding. Is it possible for one’s brain to pound right out of one’s head? God.

“I WANT BEKFAST,” he yells, in case I hadn’t really heard him the first 2 times he asked.

“JACK!” I yell, “I SAID, BE PATIENT!” Pleasant way to start the day, right?

Believe it or not, things then progress rather pleasantly until Avery wakes up. Like her an unwelcome alarm clock, Jack trespasses and pulls down her covers. I hear “JACK!” coming from her room. I mean, I can’t blame her for yelling. I experience my own personal hell at the hands of Jack. But, alas, I start yelling at them to be nice to each other, damnit.

We get through breakfast (through the grace of God.).

Avery wants to play outside. The front yard. The one place her brother can’t go. Hmm…coincidence? I think not. I tell her “no.” After all, I have 70 loads of laundry to do. She needs to keep him busy. She pouts. Big shock. She’s 6.

To the back yard they go.

I referee a myriad of different arguments throughout the morning and serve up lunch.

“I wanted marshmallow creme,” Avery says as I hand her PB&J.

“Well, this is what you’re having,” I respond.

“But I don’t like peanut butter,” she tries.

“Yes, you do Avery.” Puh-lease..

“Sometimes I don’t. Like today. It doesn’t sound good,” she argues.

“Well, let me tell you what I don’t like little missy…” I begin. I’ll spare you the speech. Rest assured, Avery got the whole thing.

After lunch, Avery gets some various invitation to play at someone’s house. And then Jack freaks out. Feel free to refresh your memory about how that particular situation goes down by reading this.

Nap time. YESSS!

I wrestle Jack into bed for his afternoon nap. “I want jammies,” he cries.

“Jack, you can sleep in your shorts and t-shirt. This is naptime, not bedtime.”

“I don’t want to fleep. Not my bedtime, yet!” he yells, emphatically.

“Yes it is, Jack. No arguing. Lay down,” I urge, unwilling to lose this fight. I NEED naptime, people.

“I not fleepy, mommy,” he cries.

“Yes you are, Jack. Just lay down,” I say. And then, like the agreeable persona of his multiple personalities has taken over his body, he says, “Okay. Ni-nite mommy. I wuv you.” And then he flips over and goes to sleep. I stand there, breathing hard, perspiration across my forehead, staring at this sudden change. It gets me every single time.

Now, granted, school time is only going to save me from one of my kids. The relatively easy one. But the way I see it, that’s just one less little person around here from 8-3. It’s a win-win in my book. Now…only 745 more days to go until Jack’s in preschool. Oy.