"Oh nothing. I am just about ready to kill the kids and figured I better call somebody. You know. Then I can say, No, can't possibly have been me who strangled them. I was on the phone."
I heard my nephews screaming in the background. My own boys were squealing around my feet as I tried to get dinner. The husband, who is sick (lord help us), was sitting half comatose on the couch.
"Momma! Is it dinner yet? ... I TOLD you, Daddy. We're having grilled cheese. I told you!" The Boy gloated.
"Yeah," I said into the phone. "Know that feeling."
None of our boys were being bad, exactly. But sometimes we feel trapped by the endless chatter, the sporadic whining, the random cries over a grave injustice witnessed by no one but them.
Yes, it's lovely to hear your son -- this tiny person who only a few years ago was a mewling, helpless lump -- tell elaborate stories about rocketships crashing on the moon and kitties lost and missing their momma. It's wonderful to get a hug from an almost-1-year-old. Unprompted "I love you, Momma"s and snuggles and kisses are great.
And yes, yes, yes! to all the old people who tell me at the grocery store, at the library, in parking lots and anywhere else I happen to be with my little heathens in tow: YES! I know it goes quickly. And yes! I am enjoying it while I can.
Some days, sometimes all that jibber jabber is just enough to send you over the edge.
And that's when you call your sister. Thank god for sisters. (And for moms and friends.) Who do you call when the children are closing in?