It's 5 o'clock somewhere

Face it. Most days I consider it a great accomplishment to reach 5:58 p.m. or whatever unGodly hour Josh is able to get home and still have my boys and my sanity in tact. And by in tact, I mean, I have not harmed them and they haven't caused me to curl up and cry. 

Hiding in the pantry does not count as failure either. That is my Happy Place. Or I mean, that is where I go when I give myself a Time Out. (Yes, there is a corkscrew and bottle of wine in there.)

I'll admit things have been pretty rough lately. Hudson has evolved into a sort of a bowling ball banging on all the walls and somehow always finding a way to knock his brother over.

So clearly I can see how birth order develops personality. (You know that is my favorite thing ever to research and read about.) For most of my conversations with Little Man involve the words, "Calm down!!!" Meanwhile, I am encouraging Tucker constantly to get back up and give Hudson some of his own medicine. You can save me the psychology of this parenting fail. I am aware that if I keep it up, they will both be terrorists. So, each day I sigh and try to come up with a new strategy.

Reality is --and why not be honest now when it is 12:40 a.m. and I am in desperate need of mind clearing-- that each and every single night I lie in bed and think about a hundred different ways I could have been more patient, sweeter, more fun throughout the day. Tomorrow will be better, I vow. 

(

 And the next day is better. Until about 6:53 a.m. (Tucker's magic wake up time) when my dudes start fighting over property rights of my lap while we wake up with our cartoons and Hudson has his first meltdown over the lack of PopTarts in the house.

 "Don't you think things are going smoooooother now, Mama?" he said to me on Monday at about 8:50 a.m.
"Then when?" I ask.
"Then earlier when I was hitting Tucka."

Lordy.

Thankfully the camera does not capture those rough patches (or hours) and only sees a really lovely afternoon at the orchard picking our own apples. Hudson ate FOUR while we were picking and one on the way home. Tucker also ate his weight in apples and was not too happy with me when I tried to take a picture without the prop (below).

P.S. For the quote book, "Whose decision was it to have this [casserole] again?" Hudson, age 4.