Moma drama...

I am a moma. That being said, I am not the maid, the psychologist, the marriage counselor, the gourmet chef, the perfect whatever...you continue to fill in the blanks! My kids have managed to destroy my house in the last half an hour!!! I need a personal nanny for each one of them, which I should have prefaced by saying that I need to move to Panama to afford my life. I am so needing Dr. Whateverhisnameis to come into my home and show me how to be this idealist perfect mom that I am definitely not. As of 8:30 this morning, I have already made three different breakfasts (because Ann Cherie doesn't want cereal and Maggie could not be made to eat oatmeal if the Lord himself came down from the sky right now and asked to eat with her), swept the entire house (because Laura was given chips to eat by her big sisters and chose to consume them while walking in a trail all over the house), mopped the house (because Maggie tumped her cereal bowl over and sugary milk leaves a mark on tables and floors), unloaded the dishwasher (as the two big girls whined and complained about being asked to help all the while it definitely not being something they had on their "Want to do" list for the day), reloaded the dishes (from all the different breakfast meals), and folded clothes (while the kids STOMP their feet trudging through the house as they are "FORCED" to put up their own clothes). So as of today, my home is being declared a nudist colony and a survivor episode. I am refusing to cook (to everyone's distinct pleasure- fend for yourself or eat the bugs that you attract with your trail of chips), refusing to wash clothes (when you run out of clean ones- GO NAKED for all I care), and refusing to wash dishes (maybe when you have to carve a branch into a bowl because all of ours have grown mold you will appreciate me). TLC, filming may begin as soon as you wish- my check, however, can be forwarded to the bahamas, where I will be permanently residing for the remainder of my life. I wish... These rugrats, I swear...