Don't tell me you have never had a day like this, and...if you have never had a day like this...don't tell me! ;)

This comes from a book called, I Didn't Plan to Be a Witch. Sounds like I can be a witch sometimes eh! Anyway I thought this was so funny and had to share. This came from a journal entry from Linda Eyre.

It is Monday. The day began with squeals of delight. It was the first snowstorm after a long drought. By the time the kids were ready to leave for school the front hall was strew with soggy snow pants, snow-caked boots, and mismatched mittens.

My noble plans to get all the children completely finished with their music practice and jobs by the time they left for school were dashed. By 8:15, no practicing had been done, and breakfast had not crossed anyone's mind. They were saturated with the exhilaration of the first snow. Amidst shrieks of laughter as the children spewed out stories of their snowballs and snowmen, I sent them off to school and then did all their jobs, made dinner in the crockpot, tried to clear a path to get in the front door, dragged down a batch of washing, sighed deeply at the sight of batches of washing done but not folded and some folded but not put away, and mounds of ironing and leftovers from teenagers' sewing projects.

I closed the door, tried to forget it, and attempted to make Charity and myself presentable enough to appear at an aerobics class. After dashing to the bank to make a deposit lest I become overdrawn...again...and a quick stop at the video store to drop off the weekend video before they opened, so I wouldn't have to pay a late fee. I arrived at exercise class twenty-five minutes late and "enjoyed" thirty-five minutes of pain and suffering as I tried to"put myself first."

Next, on my way to run errands with two preschoolers, I realized that I was the car pool for the afternoon kindergartners. I turned the car around, picked them up, and after driving through for fast food, I rushed to the mall to get a Cub Scout shirt and a new coat for Eli, who had, in the tradition of his siblings, lost his at school.
During the process of these purchases, two-year-old Charity got lost three times, and I suffered through four kicking and screaming tantrums because she couldn't have what she wanted. Eli, our toothless, freckled five-year-old, became a "basket case" because we couldn't stop at the candy machines.

Just as I was dashing off to pick up the elementary school kids, I saw an old friend who introduced me to a married daughter and told her what darling children I had. "Thanks," I said, glad that she didn't know the whole truth. "I needed that !"

Next it was on to a promised "mommy date" with Talmadge, which was a reward for wearing his headgear more than any of his siblings for the past week (four children were wearing orthodontic paraphernalia). We headed for the frozen yogurt store, which was my idea of a fun mommy date. I soon learned that he had his heart set of his idea of a fun mommy date, which was to go to the model store to get a new chassis for his remote-control car. By the time we go home, it was too late to eat the stew I had prepared before we had to leave for Dad's basketball game. We all went for a family-gym evening and I tried to watch the game, but was interrupted every two minutes by a child either begging for 50 cents for the soft-drink machine or needing to go to the bathroom.

While Richard had fun taking the other kids to frozen yogurt after the game, Saydi and I hurried off to her cello lesson. I listened with my ears while I balanced my checkbook with my eyes, feeling guilty because I had forgotten to bring a piece of paper so I could write a letter to our college daughter.

Upon our arrival at home, that daughter was on the phone, calling from Wellesley. When she talked to me, she told me tat her contact lenses were tearing at her eyes, the water was turning her hair green and that sh couldn't find a date for the formal dinner dance. When she talked with Richard she told him what a wonderful time she'd been having and how beautiful the campus was.

The call was the end of a perfect day for one who started out thinking f herself as a bit of a martyr. I was too tired to tackle the laundry room of sew on the Scout badges as I had planned. I found myself kicking boots down the hall and muttering about how much I hated winter. By that time it was 11:00 P.M. and I found Charity--who had gotten out of bed because she wasn't a bit tired because she had sneaked a nap in the car--walking around in the hall, having taken off her pajamas and put her clothes back on, complete with shoes and socks, concluding her eighteen hour symphony of tears because she was hungry.
Not at all nicely, I put her back in bed and dropped into my own. Completely depressed and miserable , I realized that my mood was somewhat due to PMS , yet another trial to suffer! Just then Richard came in and said, "I forgot to tell you that they need two articles from u for the newsletter tomorrow morning!"

"Why can he never tell me things like that a little more than twelve hours in advance!" I fumed. Feeling like a total, unadulterated martyr, I counted to ten. It didn't make me feel any better. Just before I put the covers over my head, I said, " I can't do it...and you...are stupid."
Not very profound words from a martyr about to die. Even though Richard had no idea where I was coming from, somehow it made me feel better.
All martyr days do not have a happy ending, but this one did. The next morning Richard handed me a handwritten poem at 6:30 A.M. that pointed out the things he appreciated about me. How divine--to realize that somebody actually appreciated the efforts of the martyr...before her death!

I walked directly to the bathroom, locked the door, let the kids make their own breakfast, and wrote this entry to the tune of a two-year-old who could smell me like a dog, beating on the door.