Wedgies = Weapons of Mass Destruction

UGH. Today. Let me start with where it all went wrong. Side note: Nikki, if you're reading this, HI! I can't reply to your comments and I feel bad about that! :)

The moment my alarm went off at 7:45 am (yes, my kids sleep in past 8:00... sleep training works, people).

I got up, got myself ready, and then went in to wake up my sleeping monster devil child daughter. At first, it was great - she got out of bed, happy to be starting her day. She was pumped and excited for school. But then I did a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad thing.

I made her put on pants. 
It started with a whine, "But mom, there's wedgies in my pants!!"

Fine. I did what any loving mother would do - I picked my kid's underwear out of her butt.

"THERE'S STILL WEDGIES!!! I HATE THESE PANTS!!! STUPID PANTS!!!" as she rips them off and throws them against the wall. 

Okay, okay - so I got her another pair of pants, and it was like the freakin' twilight zone as she started screaming AGAIN.

"THERE'S STILL WEDGIES!!! I HATE THESE PANTS!!! STUPID PANTS!!!"

I sighed, trying to keep my patience, and through gritted teeth in a not very nice voice, "It's not the pants, let's try a different pair of underwear, okay, sweetie?" In my mind I was thinking, Ohmyfreakinggosh I am going to kill someone. I wish I drank wine. Why are three-year-olds so damn crazy?!

We got her some new underwear and put her pants back on. Nope. Not happening. This time the screaming reached levels of epic proportions. Poor Callum was just sitting there watching everything go down, no doubt thinking, Women are psycho. Girls are psycho. I'm moving out as soon as I can wipe my own butt.

By this point, Elsie was lying on the floor of the bathroom, butt-naked, screaming something along the lines of "I JUST HATE WEDGIES, THEY ARE LITTLE MONSTERS IN MY UNDERWEAR MAKING MY BUTT ALL ITCHY. WEDGIES ARE SO DUMB, MY PANTS HAVE SO MANY WEDGIES! I DON'T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL!!!"

I did what any mom would do at that point and stormed downstairs, got one of her Christmas presents, and threw it away (AKA the trunk of the car, not to be seen again until her birthday), all the while noting my every move in a very loud, "I just escaped from the psych ward" voice.

Let's just say that that certainly didn't help matters and, to put it nicely, s*** hit the fan and my kid went crazy. She proceeded to teepee the bathroom, throw all her clothes, and shriek like a banshee the whole time. That takes talent and dedication, you know.

Eventually everything got straightened out, my kid settled on a swimsuit for her day's wardrobe, and I decided two kids is more than enough.

Moral of the story: Wedgies ruin EVERYTHING.