Yes, really. It was about 7 p.m. I was in the kitchen cleaning up the dinner mess and my son was running around the house screaming in that annoying little person high pitched voice that they seem to love. And then it was quiet, toooooo quiet. I went into the living room to see what he was up to and then I witnessed the boy shaking his no-longer-spill-proof sippy cup over the couch, milk splashing all over. I lost it. I went into the kitchen to get a rag and some cleaner and marched back in there to make him clean up his mess. He was laughing, I was on the verge of tears. After he wiped up the floor, I put him in time out (five feet away from me) and cleaned up the milk the best I could. And then I went into the kitchen and had a cry.
I figure crying was a better solution than strangling the boy, which for about one millisecond felt like the right idea.
And then I went back into the room, gave my son a hug and kiss and sat down together to watch Dora (for the 1,347th time).
Have I told you I love being a mom?