Brutality

Sunday sort of went from Bad to Worse.
Everything from breaking scissors (never knew I had it in me) to cutting my hands to knocking the one thing over after the other.

I was Not Nice.

Son#1 had verbal diarrhea, Son#2 ran around screaming Stupid Mommy everytime I looked in his direction, and Son#3 felt, well, like me.  
Lots of crying.  
Mmmmmm.

And I know why I was Not Nice:  Sometimes you're just done with Caring.
Yesterday, I didn't feel like remembering to buy milk or is there bread in the house, what will we have for dinner or are there enough nappies, and I certainly didn't care to change any.

Eventually I blamed the husband for everything as it didn't seem reasonable to blame the kids or myself.
That didn't pan out so well.
(Note to future self:  Try different approach)

Had to say sorry.
You know.  
Two syllables.  
As in [sɒrɪ].   

I went to bed thinking that at least tomorrow, this awful day will be over and done with, which made me feel better.

And I bought myself sunflowers.
From a farmer.
With a big dog.

.