I Am Ated.

I find it hard to write something for my blog when the children hate me.

For the past few days, one of them says, "I hate you Mommy!" at least once a day. Even my three-year-old son, the little blond cherub, will tell me, "I ATE YOU MOMMY!" (he can't say his 'h's).

This, naturally, does not put me in a very good mood, especially when these words are accompanied by lots of stomping, door slamming and overall crappy attitude.

I try to be fun and playful. When that doesn't work, I switch to stern and firm. Finally, I'm on to pissed off and taking no prisoners. So much for consistency.

I've done everything I've sworn I'd never do. I have sat kids on the "naughty step". Banged on doors demanding they be opened. Canceled Friday's "movie night". Said the dreaded words, "Do you want me to call your father?"

Oh, how far the (not so) mighty have fallen.

Each night, I go to bed and say that tomorrow will be better. I will have more patience. I will not raise my voice unless absolutely necessary. I will follow the rules I've read in this book. I will be the mother I want to be.

And, by 10am, I look at the crumbled remains of the day and wonder what happened.