It had been one of those parenting evenings.

You know the ones. It was not just an evening. Nope. Not just a time when the sun goes down, people eat some dinner, maybe watch some basketball or work on homework.

No, this was a Parenting Onslaught. Last night, General Patton would have slunk off in defeat, I tell you.

You know how when you were little, and you and your sister were riding in the back seat of the station wagon, and you were stuck to the seats because it was sixteen thousand degrees and your dad would never put on the AC, and you were both doing that “I’m not touching you” thing with your pokey little fingers, but silently, because your plan was to dominate your sibling and also try not to get in trouble with Dad, aka, the Don?*

Yea, my sweet boys did all of that crap last night, but just skipped the silent part. Also there were some “I know you are but what am I’s” mixed in there, and a lavish sprinkling of sobbing. At one point I think I told them both, “If you come to me, and you are not bleeding, but you are whining, there WILL be blood.” Which only made them turn around and go back up stairs to the Dad, and also made me hanker for a Daniel Day Lewis movie.

But this one:

Not this one:

Note to self: when sad or mad or angry or tired, the “I will find you” scene in Mohicans does help.

Anyhow.

We got through it the Parenting Offensive. Barely. And as both boys headed up to bed, and the hubs and I grimly started in on the dishes because we both preferred scrubbing greasy pots to going upstairs, I said what I always say, on nights like these:

“Tell me again, why we had children.”

(See? I say the stuff you don’t. You’re welcome.)

And then… the hubs would smile and give me a kiss, and say, “They are wonderful and a blessing, even when they’re really annoying.”

But last night, he didn’t say that. Last night, he just grimly attacked the cast iron skillet with a vengeance, and said,

“Child labor.”

I didn’t bat an eye.

“Totally not worth our investment. They can barely pay off all the crap they have broken. We have an oscillating fan upstairs that neither oscillates OR fans, because of Blonde and his precious screwdriver. What is up with that? We are not getting our full return and it’s a crock. All those parents who tell you, ‘It’s the most wonderful thing, children are so awesome and blah blah blah,’ they are straight up lying. They only say all that so we end up stuck, like them, and then they don’t feel so sorry for themselves! It’s a CONSPIRACY!”

He had already left. I was alone, with my greasy suds, and my thoughts. Which I say out loud. So you don’t have to.

I would have to add here, I don’t totally want to NOT have my children. I just want them to be with me like they are in a Downton Abby episode, where they show up every fourth episode or so, in their starched collars, flanked by a nanny, say a few things, and BOOM, whisked away before bad acting! Then, they show up again at age twelve. Or not.

Plus, those kids have the chirpy accent thing going, and I could pretty much love that scary girl from The Bad Seed if she had just attempted a British accent.

Perhaps I exaggerate. Perhaps.

But I’m just saying what I know, I KNOW someone else out there has felt, just once.

Deep breath.

There is hope. All mothers know this. There is a Universal Reset for all mothers called:

Watch The Preshus Babies Sleep.

So I trudge upstairs, and see this:

Also this:

And all is right with the world. Again.

We had children because when they sleep they sprawl. They are delicious. That’s why.

Also: one day, as God is my witness, they will clean the cat box, and I won’t have to anymore. Truth.

Are you tired out, momsies? Did you have a parenting day that has, in all truth, parented you into exhaustion?

I suggest this:

This gem has been on Netflix since I had children. All through the years of my babies, I have been trying to keep up… and then I gave up and just binge watch it every few months or so on the mighty Netflix, until I run out of kleenex and have to sleep. I think this show understands. It gets the whole point. It is also irreverent, controversial, and at times hilarious and awful, and I still just kind of love it. Watch at your own risk. Lots of saucy stuff and lots of moments where you think, “Whoa. This is just really heartbreaking and yet I am snickering.”

That, is parenting.

* All one sentence! Wheee!!!!!