I can't say I don't know where a day like this comes from because they tend to happen on Sundays that follow cycles where I haven't had a non-working day for two or three weeks.
"Child. Child. Child! Child! CHILD!" I can hear myself sounding more and more like one of those unreasonable parents at the playground that is so obviously overwrought, but I find almost no way to stem my feelings.
My wife, gratefully, was having a better day, and stepped in where necessary to head me away from the cliff I'm still perfectly prepared to drive right over.
Not that the kids were much help either. Both of them were in ON mode like I haven't seen for a long time.
My boy refused to nap and clung to me like he was trying to set down roots. I love the little guy, but I've got chafe marks from where his little hands were gripping the scruff of my neck. I'm so glad he finally went to sleep.
My daughter, who to be fair is used to me having a pretty fair amount of patience, kept going at my personal space in small ways that ultimately undermined my sanity:
Me: "What happened to my wallet?"
Girl, laughing: "It's not your wallet Daddy, it's a birthday gift for my brown bear!"
Me: "Where are my keys?"
Girl, looking innocent: "I think I put them someplace."
Me, looking like Charlie brown losing his kite to the tree again: "Arrrghhhh!"
Normally, I'd have the patience and this would all be cute and delightful. Today, I'm just glad I'm married, and hoping that the other 364 days of good behavior will convince my family I'm worth enduring.
"I'm overreacting I'm sure .... tomorrow will be better ... there's always those last beers in the fridge ... the traffic will be light going to work on Columbus day ...," there's a long parade of hopes, little hopes coaxing me back.
I just feel when I'm like this more and more like the old line from the country music tune The Bug: "Sometimes you're the Louisville Slugger Baby, Sometimes you're the ball."
Oh boy! I better go to bed.