Today. The tiny dictator won. I, on the other hand, very much lost.
I feel like for the most part I have pretty solid handle on this multi-child-parenting-thing.
But today my two year old broke me.
I don’t even know when it started.
Was it when I rushed to pick her up from school last night – juggling the double wide stroller, the dog and my brand new phone – which immediately met its fate when hitting the concrete?
Was it when I realized there was not a crumb of food in the house for her (or for us for that matter) to eat for dinner? So she ate cheese, puffs open from last summer (or was it two summers ago?) and a Flintstones vitamin for her well-rounded meal?
Was it at 3 AM when all three babies ended up in bed with us and refused sleep for the duration of the night?
Maybe.
But more likely it began this morning.
It started with the usual tantrum where only I’m allowed to put her coat on. and shoes. and brush her teeth. and take her to the potty. and read her elmo. From there this tiny 21lb 2ft tall waif turned into into a 300lb world wrestling champion. It took two 40 year old adults to wrangle her into the carrier on Nathan’s back so she could get to school in time for breakfast and Nathan to work in time to not be fired.
Nope.
She won.
We lost.
We couldn’t even get one leg in that fucker.
I screamed, while wearing a robe, and a single sock “I’ll bring her to fucking school.”
Nathan yelled “nice mouth” and stormed off.
Clearly our finest moment.
The next hour and a half sucked hard. Details don’t matter just know there was a lot of poop a lot of tears a lot of cheese and a qtip involved.
This is all to say for those of you are watching – since we all watch and judge and take a look in our own mirrors. I do not have my shit together. This is not easy. There is a hell of a lot going on behind the scenes.
Alas, it’s Friday and on Friday you can start drinking at 6:30am. I think I read that somewhere.
But first, you must excuse me – I’m off to Trader Joe’s to buy that little jerk some cheese. 
This is the best! Don’t hate me for saying that because you had the worst time ever! Just know that we have all had that exact same shitty time and did the exact same shitty stuff that we realize years later was hilarious and makes for really good stories/blackmail material for your grown kids. Hugs, hugs, hugs and yes you can start drinking at lunchtime on Fridays. I definitely read that somewhere too.