On the twelfth straight day of solo parenting, I’m feeling like I have used up just about all of my patience and good cheer. I’m a bitter, withered, underslept shell of a human being and I’ve still got four more nights to go. Tonight, in a effort to avoid washing dishes, I drove the kids to a restaurant despite their behavior indicating that it was going to be anything but a pleasant dining experience. When I opened up the van and started getting them out, Anna started spitting on her shirt. I snapped. I buckled Tara back into her seat and drove back home despite Anna’s wailing. I just could not stomach trying to manage their behavior any longer. In retrospect I know Anna’s nose has been bothering her today and agitating her; tomorrow I’ll be more liberal with the Benadryl and hope for the best.