Or in other words, how I turn into a Momster.
Well let's see...after reading a ton of stories to two over-tired toddlers and feeding food to kids who eat like savages and then helping piano practicing for 40 minutes and making play dough and crafting with little ones and having the same person ask if he can go on the computer 25 times (and it is the same answer every time) and chasing down a 2 year old who escaped outside and cried to be with the boys who were burning energy in the front yard while listening to a salesperson at the door who had a good deal but was anything but brief and finding the kids throwing playdough balls in the kitchen (mopped for the first time in 3 months) and later hearing blocks being thrown in the family room...
It's enough to turn any sane, reasonable person into a MONSTER. But I am a Momster, because I keep going back for more. Right now I am listening to a please please please please refrain and it is time to go pick up Hannah so here goes another round.
Somewhere deep down I love my job. I think. But I do believe in its importance which is why I refuse to let the media raise my children.
Taken from a frustrated e-mail to my husband so that he can understand why I am usually quite grumpy by the time he gets home every evening. Don't fret - it isn't always this bad, but today it was!
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