If I have to tell you one more time!

That's as far as I ever get with that threat. I think it's because what goes through my head next isn't appropriate for a 6 year old or 3 year old to hear. I'm fairly certain Lil Man wouldn't understand the scenarios anyway.

It usually goes something like this: "If I have to tell you one more time..."

• They'll send mommy to a funny farm where she'll be locked in a padded room, wearing a straight jacket and she'll laugh maniacally all day and repeat the word "no" 1,000 times a day and they'll keep here there forever because she'll never get better.
• I'll run away with Jim Sturgess to a tropical island in the middle of the Pacific where no one will find me and I'll never have to hear the words "But Mommy!" again.
• I'll go outside, dig up a fuzzy worm, eat it and die. (My great grandmother used this one a lot when we did stuff that she didn't like. We'd feel really guilty and beg her not to go and die....)
• I'll run away with James McAvoy to England and live in a cottage in the country side where no one will ever find me or take sharpie pens to the table.
• I'll tell Santa. (I do say this one.)

The point is, the kids are driving me crazy. It's been a bad two weeks, mother wise. I'm exhausted and a little bit closer to deep fried crazy. I'm at a loss for what to do next. Between the temper tantrums, the screaming, the back talk and the arguing I may be bald soon. Or I might not make it to my next birthday cause I'll have died from frustration.

I asked Husband last night "is it normal for a person to hate her own kids?" His answer? "Yeah, for the first 18 years."

Don't get me wrong, I really love my kids. But right now, it's really hard to like them. I wonder how many other moms get that way?