describes how I feel, often.
Oh I want to be an ever-loving, calm parent who can gently cajole their children into eating vegetables, having a bath, getting out of said bath, emptying said bath, and reminding children that the water really truly ought to remain in said bath, not on the bathroom floor.
But, instead, at around 5.30 each evening, as the sun sets over my house, I turn into a grumpy grizzly impatient and unreasonable version of myself that knows no bounds when it comes to forcing their kids to eat vegetables, get in the bath, get out of the bath, empty the bath and LEAVE THE WATER IN THE BATH.
By 8 pm, instead of all sitting cosily on the couch playing an educational board games, or sharing anecdotes of the day, I am the mother threatening to withdraw all TV viewing privileges for 2011, using a tightly controlled voice to describe JUST how cross I am becoming, and with my lips set into a definite cats bum, I move from room to room harrumphing and muttering, more early-Alzheimer's-onset than loving mother of two gorgeous children.
By 8.30, having exhausted all possible threats, bribed, wheedled, moaned and finally shouted (yes, you read that right, shouted) that I WILL NOT come back in ANY more times, and NO you can not have a glass of milk, and YES it is an hour past your bed time, and NO you may not sleep in my bed with me tonight, I look at my sleepy snuggled children, smother them in hugs and kisses, find myself apologising, again, for being a grumpy mummy, and retire to the lounge, where a trashy DVD and a glass of Pinot Noir will accompany me for the evening.
Got to love being a mother aye.