Tonight, my children were on my last nerve. Last nerve. I was trying to get some work done, and they were running around like wild, out of control animals, refusing to eat their dinners and flat out ignoring me. After I unsuccessfully called them in to the table for the 37th time, I began losing my temper. When I heard them laughing at my increasing anger, it only made things worse. By the time I finally located them using their hot-pink-berry-from-the-back-yard-stained-hands to finger paint each other and the house, I lost it.
I was far too angry to even grab the camera. When a Mommy Blogger is too pissed off to document a hot pink photo op such as this, you know she means business. Their shirts were off, their bodies stained pink and they all had amused expressions on their faces. All of them, except me. I grabbed my pink children and led them by the ears into the house, hissing at them their future punishments. I wanted to scare them. To shake them up into taking me seriously for once.
As I loudly slammed the screen door behind me, I caught glimpse of a neighbor gawking at me. Gawking at me like I have gawked at spanking in public or people who speak to their children in vicious tones. Gawking at me like I was one of those people who are undeserving and unfit and need to take a deep breath and calm the fuck down. Like that woman who made news a few months ago for dragging her tantrum throwing child from a store. Those people who are so easy to judge. Me.
At least nobody pulled out a video camera today. Because the footage could have made the evening news. And the children? They’re sleeping peacefully now and look like freaking angels. Freaking angels with pink hands.