Listen to MEEEE!  Or the screaming in my head will make my brain bleed!

For the two or three people who read my blog, (thank you Tom, Sheryl, & Jeff,) you know that I have not been myself the past few days.  Okay, I have been exactlymyself.  My very bitchy, clumsy, short-tempered, PMSing self.  Shut the hell up.  Anyway, I am here to say that I decided, yes happiness is a choice I know, wa wa wa to all you sunshiny fuckers out there who are without disgustingly raging inconsistent hormones and have not birthed babies and moved 1000 times in five years, I DECIDED I would do something different this morning so NOT to want to start my day downing  xanax with my coffee. 

Decision Numero Uno:  Get out the door earlier.  Everyone knows, being five minutes ahead of schedule can make or break you.  If you are five minutes behind, it can add 100x more aggravation.  I start to talk faster.  In order to make our kids move faster.  I talk louder, in order to make them move faster.  And, I tend to sound a bit meaner.  NOT ONE, of which, helps. Ever. Never.  Ever.  Although, it is very, very, effective in making me feel like shit.  It makes my adrenaline rush, my blood pressure rise, thus starting my day immediately with a headache.  A+ for Mommy.

Number two:  (I was going to say Decision B: to be silly and dumb, but that would totally annoy Tom, so back to English for you babe!)  Be chipper.  Really chipper!  “Hello World!  Here comes Baylee Grace Brosnan!”  Get her all pumped up for the day.  Be in a great mood myself.  It will rub off on her for sure.  Those peanuts can be manipulated like putty.  They are like little chameleons. If you’ve seen five year old girls, those tiny bitches, they can switch best friends faster than my Grandma Jesse could slap back a well aged Scotch.  (Bless her heart!)  Seriously, it worked with Bay; she was on board, singing, dancing, jumping with glee, spinning around the house, happy as Clinton in his own cum.

Keep on, Keepin’ on:  This is where my brain starts to bleed, and things fall apart.  Time to get into the car.  It’s a short walk down the driveway, open the door, climb in, sit and strap.  Not complicated.  What’s the big deal?  Ohhhhh, I could punch the effer who messes with me on the struggle of a Mother (female-35yr.old-PMSing-harpy/demon) vs. 5 yr. old daughter with Polly pocket and littlest pet shop pretending to go to Disney, with Jackie Chan and perform Karate on every bad guy that they encounter. Then when she FINALLY gets to her door, she has to draw, with her finger, in the morning dew, on my car, a ‘beautiful lady bug.’  And then tell me about it.  “Look Mommy, isn’t it so cute!?”  I answer yes of course, trying not to implode, and tell her to get in and strap for the third or fourth time.  Oh, My Head, Is THROBBING!  She climbs in and I think I am home free.  Thank goodness, because I have had it.  I planned on being early, or at least on time.  Now the little shit is going to make us late!  How freaking early do we have to get up!? 

As she gets in the car, and I think she is going to sit down, there is one more scene with Jackie, Polly, & Pet shop.  I calmly take the toys, gently, so NOT to scare her that she thinks I might beat her, (by the way, she ACTS LIKE THAT, we DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT spank, touch or discipline our children in any other way than the most calm we deem appropriate, with time outs and consequences; taking their most prized possessions away.  Don’t get me wrong, we are not in a glass house and are NOT perfect, BUT we are not physical with our kids.  It’s just when I raise my voice a teenie tiny bit, you would think she is in front of Hitler!) I tell her in my loud and annoyed voice, (so she doesn’t grow up to be a Narcissist) “SIT DOWN AND STRAP!  YOU DON’T GET YOUR TOYS UNTIL YOU LISTEN! I WANT TO BE ON TIME! STOP TAKING SO LONG!” 

In her sweetest, most mouse like voice, with her chin down and her eyes up, batting her eye lashes, AND talking like she’s three, “Am I in twob el?  Ur scarin’ me?”

OH for crying out loud!  I have been screaming at the top of my lungs, “GET IN THE FUCKING CAR!!!!!!!!!!!” in MY HEAD for the last ten minutes, given myself a migraine, all to avoid this.  WHY? WHY could I have not hung on for 120 more seconds?  Someone, PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!! Tell me I can do better tomorrow!  Tell me she won’t win every time!

If this were thirty years ago, I would have had my ass smacked up into that car, several times, (I wouldn’t have to climb in myself, yippee, and I would be flyyyyyyingggg!) and then told:

“I’LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT!!!!”

Hello World, here comes Baylee Grace Brosnan!