Some days

my precociously exasperating Toddler drives me to the brink of madness and back again. Some days I tightly grasp the edges of my sanity, watching the minutes tick agonizingly by as bed time creeps ever closer. Some days I feel as though I can no longer maneuver the parenting plane without a constant co-pilot. Thankfully, ‘some’ days are far out-numbered by ‘most’ days.

Most days my delectable bundle of energy and curiosity loves his pencils and songs about the Number Five.

Some days I find my usually lighthearted Boy brooding with his head buried in books filled with tales of dragons and brave knights. Some days he’ll cop a ‘tude over the Xbox and no amount of stupid mother tricks cracks his smile.

But most days he compromises. I allow him control over his hair while he completes his work and unloads the dishwasher with minimal groaning. Most days the dirty laundry basket is emptied without my asking. Most days I’m able to find his unbearable tickle spot and steal a kiss.

Some days I want to stuff this child into a box, wrap it with duct tape and send it priority mail to Connecticut. Some days I scream into my pillow from the overwhelming frustration and denial of knowing she’s EXACTLY LIKE ME.

But most days I kiss her plum-flavored cheeks and marvel at the young lady she’s blossoming into. Most days I want to bottle her just as she is and keep her in my pocket. I’m besieged with panic just thinking about her stepping out onto her own. Most days she grabs the globe and finds the most obscure island in the most remote body of water in an effort to stump me. Most days she does stump me – in all senses of the word.

And then some days I just sit around while guinea pigs climb all over me