I had a moment just like this just the other day....
I had this brilliant idea over Christmas break to get some crafty things for my kids to keep them busy... I had it all planned to perfection... they were to paint the little wooden plaques I bought them, let them dry over night, then decorate them to completion the next day. So, we got out the paint. One color per kid... then they decide to trade. Ok, not what I had imagined, but whatever, it's theirs, right? I turn my back for just a few minutes, in the same room even, and then the uncontrollable giggling starts. You know the kind. It's the kind that makes you really not want to see what's going on but you have to or it'll just get worse. I went over to see what they were doing and they had painted their plaques... and the table.... and their hands.... and their arms... and the chair.... and the carpet. I was so furious, I couldn't even think about being calm. I commanded them in a rather loud voice to go and wash their hands and "if I find paint on ONE thing...". I then proceded to quickly grab a wet washcloth to address the carpet issue. It's not coming out. I storm back into the kitchen and grab my concoction of bleach water for carpet stain emergencies... When I go to spray it, it doesn't come out. The sprayer needs to be held upright (because heaven forbid you should have to tilt the thing down to spray something on a horizontal surface) so in order for any to come out, I have to first spray everything in front of me, then hope there's enough in the tube for the targeted area. This, of course, does nothing for my already lost temper... so I begin to beat my table with the bleach bottle. The spray nozzle completely breaks off. Bleach water everywhere. In my hair. On my clothes. And, yes, on the carpet. At this point, I totally lose it. I'm beyond angry. I'm in tears and so frustrated I really don't know what to think or what to be mad at more. When my kids come back upstairs, I very firmly told them to stay downstairs till Dad gets home. No argument. They just turn around and retreat to safety. Right before Dad got home, I hear footsteps on the stairs. By now I'm ok and feeling guilty for having lost it so badly. I hear a meek little voice asking if Daddy's home yet. Not exactly my mother of the year moment, but really? My kids are 5 and 7... don't they know they're supposed to NOT have fun when painting? Geesh.
"I have been driven many times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go."
-Abraham Lincoln
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