Have you ever had THAT kind of day?? And on the heels of two THOSE kinds of days?

THOSE days are stuck-inside-all-day-no-break-from-each-other-no-way-to-get-the-kid-energy-out-mommy-and-kids kind of days.

However THAT kind of day is extra special…therefore rendering it the quality designation of , well, THAT day.

I’m sure you know what I’m talking about: You know, like when your two year old randomly smacks a strange lady on the ass bottom at the bounce house place?  And, while potty training, that same toddler requests 14 (no joke) trips to the bathroom while you are out of the house for three hours? Oh, yes….and poops in his pull up (also while you are out) and, of course, you have to change his POOPY diaper while he is standingbecause he is afraid of changing tables – and you don’t want to add rota virus to your list of things to deal with, so you won’t lay him down on the floor – even on a mat.

THAT kind of day also typically includes feeling invisible.  You speak.  No.One.Responds.  You actually look behind you and pat yourself on the shoulder to make sure you are really there.  It then hits you – the tone of your voice must have changed – you can now only be heard by the neighborhood dogs.  Hence the incessant barking out back.

There is also a myriad of screaming (you get in on the game when you can’t take it anymore and immediately feel guilty), a plethora of sibling fights, a headache you woke up with and can’t seem to kick, marker that has magically made its way onto your couch, and a 4 year old who’s current favorite past time is tattling.

And, let’s not forget the kicker: as a joke, while you are sitting at the dinner table next to him, your 2 year old proceeds to fill the left side of his nose with tiny pieces of quesadilla he has torn from his plate. 12 nose-blows later (and a vision of the ER) you are fairly certain he is no longer in danger of coating the inside of his lungs with cheese.

You instantly send your husband (who is at a business meeting, eating good food and having intelligent, adult converstation) a text that says, :Your son filled his nose with itty-bitty pieces of quesadilla.  I got it out, but I might be drunk by the time you get home.”

And, once you have managed to finally get them into bed (and get them back into bed, and then get them BACK into bed again), you sit down in a dark room, suck your thumb and rock back and forth.

At least I think that would qualify as THAT kind of day, wouldn’t it?