My son is in the shower right now, muttering darkly about me.

Meanest mom ever.

She said we could play…

She doesn’t understand…

We’re going to play all day tomorrow.

~~~~~

The good news is my kids love being back to school. They love their teachers and recess and lunch and seeing their friends. They don’t even mind learning new things! The wake up every day (more or less) bright-eyed and bushy tailed and ready to conquer the day.

Too bad they come home exhausted. And not the cute exhausted where they fall asleep at the dinner table and you sigh over how angelic they look. No – we’re talking about full on head-turning, teeth gnashing exhausted. Anything and everything sets them off. Wrong song on the radio, sibling tilting their head too close to the others carseat, being asked to hold the door for me because I’m laden down like a pack mule when we get home because the kids are too busy taunting each other to hear me tell them to get their own backpacks, their ability/inability to play with certain electronics when we get home and on and on and on.

Tonight I managed to become the worst mom in the world to both kids – that may be a new record.

We had pasta for dinner and despite asking for it, the Bean lost her ever loving mind when I put sauce instead of butter on her noodles.

I know I said sauce but I meant butter and why didn’t you understand meeeeee? (last part was said in the midst of a high-pitched sob that could only be heard by the dog).

And then there was Scorch. He wanted to play wiffle ball, so I happily agreed and told him that we had 10 minutes. So for 10 minutes he and I had a great time outside before it got dark – I pitched and shagged the balls as he pelted them all over the yard. We got inside and he had dessert – then he wanted to go outside and play actual wiffle ball.

Wait – I thought that was what we just did? Outside – for 10 minutes? (I was worrying he had early onset dementia)

*tears welling* That wasn’t wiffle ball, that was practice. Now we need to go out and play the real wiffle ball.

Nope- sorry Bud – it’s dark out. We aren’t going back up. We had a miscommunication, tomorrow we can go out and play.

But you SAID – you SAID we could play. You lied to me – you SAID we could play. Tomorrow we’re going to play for 2 hours. 9 innings. You can’t say no.

<Insert long discussion over why we don’t tell parents they are lying and how kids don’t make the rules>

And now, 10 minutes later, he’s still cursing my name.