Weekend from Hell

I don't believe in pussyfooting around. So let me just call it like I see it: this weekend sucked.

1) K spent the entire two days working on a launch
2) Which may (or may not) have contributed to M acting like she was posessed by Satan
3) Which most certainly drove me to acting like an escaped mental patient minus the straight jacket and Thorazine

M, God love her, is not what most people would call an easy child. My parents take great delight in telling me I was worse. Just as I will probably take great delight in saying the same to M when/if she has children of her own some day.

Some might say M is a "difficult" child. I try very hard to think of other, less negative, terms to describe her: complex, spirited, highly sensitive. She's not always a challenge. In fact, there was a time not too long ago when she was a real pleasure to be around 80% to 90% of the time. But in the last year, with the arrival of the terrible twos and threes (and Z), things have changed. And I find myself having moments where it's all I can do not to hop in my car and drive off into the sunset.

To look at M, you'd never suspect her of having it in her. She's a lovely little girl and usually comes off as sweet, funny, and gentle. But those of us in the know (I'm looking at you Becca) know she can sometimes be a tough little nut to crack.

Anyway, long story short, I'm in no shape to come up with a scintillating post for Monday. I'm tired as only a parent can be who spent the past 48-hours trying to convince an overtired preschooler to stop acting out and go to bed. And on that note, I'm off to bed.