Oh. My.

There are some days whilst raising small children that you feel the thin, thin edge between your brain on sanity and your brain off sanity. The baby has been asleep for one hour. The two year old needs to go take a nap. So he pounds noisily down the hall, pausing to trip twice into a “OOh. AAh.” football roll one thin layer of pressed wood door away from the sleeping baby in the crib. That accomplished, he pounds on into his room, with noisy exclamations, then proceeds to make his mommy make multiple entries into the room to stop the drumming, to stop the driving of school buses and trucks, to “put my covers on”, to “get me some water”…of course to change the poopy diaper. Not to mention the room exits that are following by the stampede back into his room, along with the loud “BANG” of the door against the wall. Your brain starts quivering with enraged despair as you picture the baby waking up (how could he NOT?), along with Gabe not sleeping…and all you wanted was a little bit of time to sit down and check email…a quiet moment in a busy day. Then throw in the fact that Gabe does NOT understand about why we need to whisper sometimes, but seems to instead bellow louder at those times….oh my. Along with the fact that when he gets tired, he tries to work himself up, and gets loud and throws himself around noisily and clumsily and loudly trips over everything within a 10 foot radius. I’ve been exercising my “rage-containing” muscles today. He’s not being bad, he’s just being a 2 ½ year old boy child. Breathe. Breathe. You learn those breathing labor pants for a lifetime of laborious child raising. Whoo-whoo-ha-ha…