I am fed up today. One of those days where the amount of self-sacrifice parenthood requires makes me want to scream and scream until hours have gone by and I'm transported to a place where I can succumb to my own needs, exhaustion, wants and desires.

If I hear "mama, can I...." one more time today, the screaming is going to start. I am trying to keep it in but it's making my stomach feel like oil being poured into one of Jeff's frying pans that he turned on high three hours ahead of the time he plans to cook.

Obviously it's not at the age of three, but at what age DO kids stop being so self-centered? I mean dude. I just dragged my ass out to the park with Harpo for an hour and a half and of course, despite the "transition warnings" (useless), I still had a huge resisting whinefest coupled with a quick runaway game and then a burst into tears that he didn't get to say goodbye to his buddy Jack.

Um well LISTEN to me when I tell you it's time to go and say goodbye then! And when you finally do get in the car, how about a "Gee thanks Mama for taking me to the park to play" instead of an immediate "Mama, can I _____________" whatever your new demand of the minute is....

I'm tired. I'm sick. I'm stressed. I'm on a death watch for my dog. My fridge is cleaned out but all the crap is on the counter awaiting rinsing and recycling. (It would be nice not to care and toss it all in the trash and be done with it). I have blood stains in my quilt two days in a row that take two wash cycles to get out. I have my bedding to wash that got peed on today when the pullup leaked AGAIN.

I'm holding a useless, outrageously expensive piece of paper called a Bachelor of Arts degree in English which causes me nothing but stress, forms and useless payments every month. Where am I? Where is Jess? All I have is my little knitting project. I guess I'm one big st--I mean b--itch.