Hello. My Name is Frazzled. (But You Can Call Me Mom.)

I was just telling a friend my kids had me particularly frazzled today and she expressed surprise. "So you are like the rest of us," she said with what I will infer to be a relieved chuckle. Whaaaaaaaaaaat? How I have hidden my parenting ineptitude from her for so long I do not know. 

Well, this one is for her, and for every other mama out there having a rough kid-day.

Some days I call them the Tag Team of Terror. My husband calls them Terrorists. They are our children. And whatever unflattering T-word you want to use, they seem to have both reached a pinnacle age for difficulty. ...Well actually, probably not, as we're only 5 years into this parenting thing and I fear we have a whole lot of difficult phases ahead. But regardless, those little T's are pretty darn difficult in tandem right now.

Should I admit that it's feels a tad cathartic calling them little T's? It's almost like I'm cussing at them, but not. Maybe that's how I should start expressing anger: call things by their first letter in accusatory tones. Stub my toe on the door and shout at said-door, "You D!" When my husband is upsetting me, "Stop being a B!" ...wait, that one doesn't work so well.

But back to my little T's. They got the best of me today, I'm afraid.

They fought. One screamed - a whole lot - like it was her only means of communicating. One argued - a whole lot - like he had suddenly acquired wisdom. They were loud, difficult, full of complaints and seemed to need the same toy/piece of food/pen/EVERYTHING at the same moment in a repeating round of bickering.

Why?!? (Picture arms outstretched to the sky, beseeching God.)

From the moment my daughter woke up and started screaming demands to be rescued from her crib...(Yes, she's nearly 2 and still in a crib; I like to keep them trapped as long as possible.)... and my son came sauntering out of bed complaining about the day of the week - it's been nonstop.

Unfortunately, to top-off the chaos of their combined-75-lbs of self-centered childishness + grumpy x2, I took them to the store in this state.

Short of sharing that unsavory experience, let me just say that there were a number of times I wanted to look around indignantly, like I might be thinking someone is playing a trick on me. (God?) But I didn't because then I might have had to meet the stares of the unfortunate shoppers in the store at the same time as us.

I take that back, those shoppers were not unfortunate. They were the opposite of unfortunate because they were not me. They got to watch/listen and get a free little pop of gratitude for their own lives.

I, on the other hand, came home from the arena for complaints and bickering, aka Fresh & Easy, looking like a haggardly old lady. Not that I had time to glance in a mirror to actually know what I looked like, but I could just feel it, feel the haggardly sticking right onto my forehead crease lines, unshaven legs, and Mom Jeans.

Are you kidding me? I only have two kids. 2! Why are they besting me?

How is it that two little humans, that I actually love so abundantly, can challenge my sanity so
completely? Can exhaust me so thoroughly? Can frustrate me so adeptly?

Little T's.

I feel I should balance my pretend-cursing at my kids with a more loving reminder on the joy and beauty of parenthood, but I don't want to. Not today anyway. Today I am simply commiserating with every other parent out there that, yes, raising little people is a ridiculously difficult, humbling job.

For some encouraging, uplifting parenting reminders,

you can check out my pal's post here.