Boo, August, BOOOOOO.

I’m not going to start this post with the typical disclaimers about how much I really love my children and how grateful I am to be a mom. I’m just not.

Yesterday I lost it up in this house.

It being the ability to remain calm and grown-up in the midst of people who are behaving very, very badly.

People being my children.

It’s August. You know how I feel about August and February when it comes to parenting. BOO is how I feel. NO THANK YOU is how I feel. Enough is enough is how I feel. Everything in moderation . . . especially family togetherness . . . is how I feel.

August is too hot for good parenting. And February is too cold. I have a fifteen degree temperature window inside which I am able to be a decent parent, or person, actually.

Yesterday my kids woke up on the wrong side of the world -meaning I wished immediately that they were in China instead of my home. They woke up cranky, fighting, whining, nagging and pinching each other just to see what would happen

They were being bad. And I was on edge. My dormant volcano self was threatening to blow before eight am. Not a good sign. Usually I’m good to go until at least eight thirty.

As preventative methods, I took several deep breaths, calmly gave everyone time outs, and drank glasses of ice water in between mugs of coffee. I even prayed that God would send me patience or someone else’s children.

Nothing worked. Eventually, I erupted.

And I started yelling. I yelled in my meanest horror movie monster voice. The voice that suggests that I might morph into a fire-breathing dragon at any moment. And there were instant tears and fear and faces full of fake repentance. When I felt finished yelling, I sent all three kids to their rooms for thirty minute time-outs. Yes, even the three year old. It was a safer place for them to be, trust me. Actually at that point, they wanted to go to their rooms. And as they rushed their terrified bottoms up the stairs, I called Tish back to make sure she didn’t have the phone hidden under her skirt. She sneaks it up there and calls Craig to rat me out all the time.

A half hour later they sneaked out of their rooms, tails between their legs, cowering a bit, sneaking suspicious and sidelong glances at me. Looking betrayed. Avoiding eye contact with each other. Nice and quiet. Niiiiiice and quiet.

A few hours later we decided to “start over” and we went to the pool.

As I watched my sweet, sun-kissed babies splashing in the water, I waited for that guilt to come. The guilt we’re supposed to have. The guilt we believe is inevitable whenever we lose it. The guilt we feel is our punishment for not being perfect, calm, machine-like mommies.

But guess what? The guilt never came. I realized with surprise that I felt GREAT.

Sure I scared the daylights out of them, but if the daylights were what made them behave like rabid animals, then I’m glad they’re gone. Good riddance, daylights.

I am not sorry that I lost it with my kids yesterday. I’m just proud it doesn’t happen every day. I’m not a superhero, I’m a lady doing my best to remain reasonable while spending day in and day out with three completely unreasonable people.

And I know that it is my job to teach them that grace abounds in this world, but perhaps it is also my job to teach them that if one insists upon being a jerk for extended periods of time, someone else in this world is eventually going to put one in her place. And it likely won’t be by withholding a sticker from one’s behavior chart.

In the real world it might involve someone getting all up in your face, Lovie.

Probably best to learn that lesson from mama first.

In unrelated news, last week I decided I was so high on life that I reduced my happy pill dosage. I think it’s going well.

Love, G

Also, we're kicking some bottom over here. Don't forget to vote today.