Circus Monkeys

It's 5:30pm.

I'm trying to complete dinner preparations while the littlest one is pulling on my black knit maternity skirt, pulling the wide waist band down towards my knees (try not to visualize here).

The sound of screeching, repeatative reprimanding and crying crowd out any sliver of silence that would try to sneak in during this most challenging of hours during the day. When I start to hear evidence of physical harm being done, that is when I intervene. Sometimes.

I heft up the black knit back to it's rightful place that hugs my ever-expanding middle, and against my vertebre's better judgement pick up the crying little one whose eyes are pleading for just a little TLC to head for the living room where the numerous offenses between Thing One and Thing Two are taking place. In vain, I try to proclaim peace, after forcing both to apologize and kiss each other. As I head back to the kitchen, I know full-well that this cease-fire will last for no more than 29.5 seconds...but dinner might burn, and that would just send me over the edge.

As can be easily imagined by any woman who has found herself in any situation remotely familiar, when my husband walked through the door, I was hopeful he would surmise the stress of the moment and in one heroic fell swope, diffuse it all out the door. I am hoping he is in secret awe of my ability to stay even remotely sane through the craziness of that full-moon-type time of day.

A bizarre, but immediate shift of mood occurs just as his black leather shoe hits the bristly, brown, back door welcome mat.

The littlest one suddenly finds great interest in the spatula I had thrown to her on the floor 10 minutes before hand...and, I kid you not, as I'm standing there drenched in sweat from my rccent peace negotiations, I surreally witness my two little toddlers PRANCING like little circus monkeys, hand in hand, into the middle of the kitchen, where they proceed to do a merry little jig...round and round, hand in hand they go, laughing with all the merriment of Christmas morning...all to the great amusement of their father. And total bewilderment of their mother.

Surely the Earth had shifted in it's orbit. Just in time for dinner-and daddy's arrival home.

(So much for the evidence I desired to support my lack of sanity!)

Thought I'd share, just in case you ever find yourself in a similar predicament. You're not alone.

:)