Wednesday, November 4, 2009


It's about that time of day. Any mom out there will know what I'm talking about. The Witching Hours. The time of day when your normally sweet children grow horns. When they are wholly incapable of playing nice with one another. When the whining increases precipitously, until it eventually peaks. When the volume in the house becomes deafening. When you lose what is left of your daily patience.

When you start to hate your husband for being somewhere else. When you start to resent the fact that he is at work or driving home or on a business trip or heaven forbid, doing something fun. When you would give anything for a few precious seconds of quiet. When even the strongest mother will start to crack. When the words "fine" and "whatever" are uttered not from the mouths of children, but from the mouths of their mothers.

It is this time of day that I referred to a few weeks back. I was at school picking up the kids when another mother, her oldest the same age as Ally, glanced up at me with that look of desperation. I know it well. Her kids, they weren't listening. They wanted, needed, had to have right now! They were pushing one another. They were whining. And she was done. Ready to give up and accept the fact that she had brought forth into this world rotten little children. That she had failed as a mother. Ready, that is, until I looked at the clock, and said aloud, "Well, it is almost 4:00, you know?" And she looked at me in disbelief. Suddenly she wasn't alone.

"Wait. You mean, it's not just me??? Your kids do this too???"

Yes, yes they do. They all do it sometimes. Almost always during the witching hours. It's okay though. Daddy will be home soon. He'd better be.

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