Like when you have a sick child and you just want it to be over for her. And when you give her the antibiotic in liquid form because the pediatrician decided it was better and faster-acting than the tablet, she yonks it all up on the kitchen floor with the mint chocolate you let her swallow it down with because she has gag issues and conditioning issues when it comes to liquid medications. And you have to call the pediatrician at 8:00 PM to insist that he call in the tablets rather than force her to continue taking medication that will make her barf, and he’s not happy about it even though it’s his fault that he didn’t listen as your nearly-11 year old was begging him in his office earlier that afternoon to give the tablets and not the liquid.
Like when the dishes seem to multiply in the sink like rabbits. And Mount Laundrius explodes in a lava flow of clothes all of a sudden and what used to be only a load or two to do has turned into six.
Like when you notice a certain other person is in a bad mood and you ask, “Honey, what’s wrong? Is there something I can do?” and you get the grumpy reply, “Nothing. Everything is fine.” Clearly everything is not fine, but you’re expected to decipher the grump or be a mind reader. So you have to let the bad mood cycle because that’s what you hope someone would do for you. (Edit: Luckily you did do this because it all works out and you get a charming “I love you” after a nice catch-up conversation 🙂 )
Like when you find the Death Bananas that are causing the Fruit Fly Outbreak of September 2011. Oh, disgustingness. Putrefied, liquified bananas hidden behind a bowl of… get this… fruit. And then it gets better. The fruit flies found my red potatoes and turned them into Death Potatoes. My brand new bag of potatoes. ::sigh:: I hate The Smell of Death.
Like when your youngest comes up to you and says, “Mommy, the toilet broke!” and she proves it by holding up the toilet seat and lid.
Like discovering someone has been messing around with the temperature setting on the fridge and the fruit bin has frozen veggies in it that have turned brown and mushy.
Like getting a phone call during your eldest child’s sick day from her soccer coach to inform her that she didn’t make the school’s soccer team. And you feel guilty enough that you let her break her month-long grounding to play her DS for a while because she’s sick and sad. That’s the worst.