I can't say I wasn't warned

Most of the time being the mother of three-under-four isn't that bad. With the aid of Rere, my house is always clean. I only ever have to go out with all three once a week, to church. Edwin kindly takes 2-3 naps a day, and goes to bed at 5.

But three problem with three is that, well there are three. If one has a bad day, at least the other two are pleasant. If two have a bad day, there's still one left to remind me that I really do love my children. But if all three children choose the very same day to lose all sense of decency and kindness, heaven help us all.

Sophia started off this morning by not drinking her milk. Yesterday morning she didn't drink her milk either, and I'd had enough of trying to use all methods known to motherkind to get a two year-old to drink-your-blasted-milk-why-don't-you. Screaming and yelling will work in a pinch.

Edwin has recently turned six months old. Both the girls turned nasty at six months, not ever pleased with anything and abandoning nice long naps in favor of short erratic unpredictable ones. Edwin decided to eschew his 2-3 hour nap this afternoon in favor of a much shorter 45-minute one. And he decided to do it 15 minutes after I fell asleep for my nap.

Kathleen and Sophia have swim lessons twice a week. Kathleen has had mixed feelings, but mostly positive after her initial screaming session. Today, she evidently felt nostalgic and spent 55 minutes of the 45-minute lesson crying. She even tried to gag for crying so hard.

Sophia is potty trained. Mostly. Every now and then she'll fail to stave off what is inevitable, and this afternoon failed in her efforts, creating a trail 15 feet long across the carpet and floor.

And Brandon, the girls' one bright hope for making it to bedtime safe and whole, just left from work. An hour late.

Mama said there would be days like this, and I knew what I was getting into. But that's cold comfort when the days themselves arrive in full glory. Thank heaven for bedtime.