Seriously. I hate them. I have for a while now. No matter what I try to do to salvage them, they always go south by mid-afternoon. I think my children are just sick of hearing me talk by this point in the week, and my voice morphs into Charlie Brown’s teacher by the time it reaches their little ears: “Wha wha whuh wha, whuh wha wha wha wha.” It is seriously difficult to stay calm when there are two short people ignoring every. single. thing that comes out of my mouth, particularly when they are conspiring to break all of the few household rules we have. The rules are pretty simple. Don’t be a bully. Don’t destroy things. In fact, to simplify them even further, I’ve stolen a friend’s catch-all rule: “Be respectful, kind, and safe.” It covers all the bases: other people, belongings (yours and theirs), self. I dig it. The kids get it, but like all small children, they need reminders. 837 reminders per day, to be precise. To illustrate what Thursdays do to them and to me, today was more like 892.

I had big plans to combat the standard-issue Thursday frustration today. My son went back to school, and I got to sleep in and have some morning snuggles with the girls. Hooray for that! THAT was awesome. I did dishes twice, for the love of pete. As in, two full loads washed and in the dishwasher (I’m one of those freaks who washes them before they go into the machine that’s supposed to do that for you), all so I could go to bed with an empty kitchen sink, if nothing else. Hub made plans to game with his brother tonight after the older kiddos went to bed (which happened exactly on time!), so he’s lost in some online world I neither pretend nor desire to understand. I figure I’ll get the baby to sleep, make a quick run out to the post office to mail a package using their automated doohickey, then to the grocery for some essentials to get us through the weekend, and then a mad dash to this little dessert place that closes at 10:00 and is a perfect fix on the really rough days when all I want is something chocolate with cream cheese frosting.

There is only one thing wrong with this plan: the baby did not go to sleep. She wanted to party in that crazed way that only a baby in the midst of meeting milestones and having a growth spurt will do.

I finally got fed up with waiting for her to sleep and just put her in the car seat and left. Of course, by this point, it was so late I had to go for dessert first, and they were closed, in spite of the fact that I arrived before their usual closing time. As in, every light in the place was out. I think they must have switched to winter hours or something because I’m the only crazy lady who needs a chocolate fix on a Thursday night in January. Rude, right? So then I drive home, because now the baby is asleep (obviously), and it would be a lot easier to go to the grocery and post office without a sleeping baby. I haul her into the house, leave her in the bucket because I’m afraid to move her, head upstairs to pee before leaving again, and while I’m in the loo, BAM: she wakes up. Is she kidding me with this crap?!?

Long story short: it’s seven minutes before midnight. No post office. No grocery. I ended up making a batch of Martha White strawberry muffins (full of artificial goodness, but they were in the pantry, and I was desperate), and I’m still munching on them. Baby is nursing in my lap as I type, and she’s asleep again, but at some point, I’ll have to move her. I might make it out before I go to bed, but I clearly will NOT be in bed by midnight tonight.

You win some, you lose some, right? Thursday, 1. Me, 0. It’s the first game of the season, though. I’ve got time.