How true

See this book jacket? This pretty much sums it up right now.

Yesterday was the WORST. DAY. EVER. Most of the time I have it together, the kids are great, we get along, I have patience, etc. But yesterday I thought I might commit myself to the mental hospital.

I won't go into the details what horrors the twins came up with.

Well, maybe I will. Here's the thing. I was a psychology major and family science minor. I keep telling myself that. I was an expert at child development back in college. I don't think my education is helping. I don't remember reading about what to do when kids take apart the entire food storage closet, pile everything they own onto a bed (including a floor lamp), jump into a bathtub that someone forgot to drain (with their clothes on), make mud pies outside (after a bath), or pretend that lotion is soap and lather themselves into a slimy mess. And the crying . . . oh, I would love it if kids came with a mute button.

The pressure and stress has just been building and building and building for days, and yesterday was the day that the twins finally broke me down.

Yes, Dr. Freud, what would you say I should do? Dr. Jung? Dr. Erickson? Oh, I should commit myself to the mental ward for evaluation? Thanks, that was my first thought too. I packed my bag after I found the twins squeezing out my lip gloss onto the carpet.