I feel like this picture tells such a perfect story.

1. They have crazy sleep schedules and are often awake at 3 am.

2. They throw totally epic tantrums over minor things.

3. People are always shoving cameras in their faces and bossing them around.

4. They wear tiny clothes.

5. They can exist all day on a couple of crackers and one slice of cheese.

6. It’s pretty funny when they fall down.

7. They can be best friends with someone after knowing them for 5 minutes, but lose interest almost as fast.

8. Their outfits would be totally ridiculous on a regular person but are fabulous on them.

9. They have no real concept of money, like how much a gallon of milk or a flight to New York City costs.

10. They’ve been know to put stuff up their nose.

Caroline is two and a half, Evan is four and a quarter and I am going absolutely bananas. B A N A N A S.

This morning at the aquarium Evan thought it would be fun to get into a pretend-slap-fight with a little girl trying to look at the turtles. I think it maybe started as hand-holding but quickly turned into him acting like a rabid raccoon trying to catch a fish. He flailed his hands around and screeched and basically scared the poor child to death in the 4.6 seconds it took me to lunge across the aisle and grab him bodily.

“NO!” I said. “WE DO NOT HIT.” I said. “APOLOGIZE RIGHT NOW.” I said. “I’m so, so sorry,” I said to the girl’s grandmother, who looked like she might start slapping me. “I’m so, so sorry,” I said to the little girl, who was crying big scared tears. “YOU ARE IN TIME OUT.” I said to Evan, who put his hand on his hip and said “Fine. I want a marshmallow.”

I think I blacked out. I’m allergic to sass and that was just too much. Kids need a warning like at the end of a prescription drug commercial: Children may cause blurred vision, dizziness, fits of rage, a high screechy voice, hearing loss, the inability to speak coherent sentences, hallucinations, unconsciousness and wishing for a quick death.

Right now, my children are the reason so many people hate children. They are incredibly, ear-splittingly loud and my only recourse has been to becoming slightly deaf. I can be standing right next to them while they shout “MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MY BUG BITE ITCHES SO I ITCHED IT AND NOW I AM BLEEDING MY BLOOD MOMMY LOOK” and I just carry on my conversation slightly louder. Our respective volumes with raise proportionately until everyone within a 2 mile radius is checking themselves for exposed wounds to avoid contamination and I am shouting to my friend that Yes, my vacation was lovely but it would have been slightly more so without my children DO YOU THINK IT’S TOO EARLY FOR A DRINK? We’re awful.

When we are in public restrooms, Evan usually narrates everything going on in our stall while Caroline tries to climb under the partitions to join other bathroom visitors to discuss why they are there. I am the one hissing “We. Do. Not. Need. To. Talk. About. Your. Poop. Or. My. Poop. Or. Any. Poop. CAROLINE NOOOOOOO!” They like to check our the reverb in new bathrooms by shouting “ECHO ECHO ECHO” as loudly as possible. We’re horrible.

At the store, Caroline hates the shopping cart but also walking and also being carried. She is very disappointed levitation or teleportaion are not currently options and will let everyone know about her displeasure. If she sees someone she knows, she will insist on riding in THEIR shopping cart because it is blue or red or green or wet or dry or better for some other reason. When I tell her they are leaving and she needs to ride in any of the 4 available seats in my cart she will cry like I am ripping out her toenails while hitting me in the face (true, actual story that happened Tuesday). We’re the worst.

My children run away. They shout. They throw tantrums. They bump into people in public. They touch strangers. They act like I am kidnapping them. They refuse all my requests. They spill things. They insist on opening food in the grocery store before I pay for it and I give in because even though I think people who do that are on par with people who steal all the change from Children’s Charity jars or intentionally take up two parking spaces at the mall it is better to just give in than endure the disasters that refusal will bring. I AM SOMEONE I HATE.

A few short months ago I was gushing about how adorable and fun my kids were together and as siblings, and now I am one car ride away from dropping them off at the firehouse. It’s all a phase. One day I’ll look back on this age fondly. This too shall pass. I repeat all that to myself constantly, muttering like a crazy person to keep from becoming an actual crazy person. I love my children dearly because they are my children, but oh my God are there awful right now.

I apologize to everyone without children for our very presence in your general vicinity and to everyone with children for all the dirty looks the childless give you just for breathing the same air they are. That’s my bad. This too shall pass.

Thank you to everyone for the kind words last week after I vomited emotions all over the place. I promise next time I’ll try to find a  bucket or something instead. It’s so great to have a support system that will both sympathize with me and remind me that I’m an awesome mom doing a great job when I’m having a bad day. I was planning to write thoughtful, personal replies to each one of you, well, I didn’t. Please feel free to send me hate email. I could even cry a little if you want, I’m in that kind of place these days.

The thing is though…I’m not really an awesome mom and I don’t think I’m doing a great job. I don’t mean that in a cute “OMG I’m so fat!” fishing for compliments sort of way – I mean I am impatient and frustrated and uninvolved and feel like I struggle with good parenting more than anyone else around me. I raise my voice far more than I should, and I often let it get beyond just voice-raising to yelling. I swat Little Evan’s hands instead of firmly redirecting his attention. I spend a LOT of time online – something that’s gotten totally out of control since I’ve become a recluse who never leaves her house – instead of letting him interact with other kids and burn off his energy. Sometimes when he’s crying for no reason I give up trying to comfort him a lot sooner than I should. I make a lot of excuses not to sit on the floor and play with him (I’m too busy! I’m too pregnant! I’m too tired! I’m too sick!) but get annoyed when he tries to climb on me on the couch. And poor baby Caroline had to throw a huge fit for the past two days to get me to hold her for longer than it took to nurse. It’s just so much easier to put her in a swing and let her sleep all day while I deal with Little Evan instead of give her the attention and cuddles she deserves.

Sometimes I imagine there’s are secret Dr. Phil Family-style cameras in my house watching me spend the day parenting and more days than not I would be embarrassed to let anyone see the video. I can just picture myself sitting across from Dr. Phil himself and all he’s doing is shaking his head in disappointment. I’m being imaginary shamed by a fake TV doctor and he’s RIGHT.

SO. Instead of resolving to make dinner every night or finish two loads of laundry a day or always wear make-up or lose weight, my goal for 2011 is to be a better mom. More patient, more involved, more fun, more cuddly, and more like the mom my kids deserve. Part of that resolution includes taking better care of myself (no more ignoring symptoms and putting off appointments) because it’s so so much harder to be calm and rational in the face of a screaming toddler when your head feels like it’s going to explode and you can barely sit up. But the ultimate goal is for all of us – the whole family of four – to be happier, calmer and more loving. Because I DO love my kids and I never ever want them to doubt it for even a second. 2011 is the year I become the awesome mom I know I can be.

And then I’m going to punch imaginary Dr. Phil in his face.

So you know babies? Sometimes I think they can be real jerks. Not jerks like parking in the “Customers with Infants” parking spots even when you clearly do not even have a car seat jerks or throwing your trash on the ground when there’s a trash can right there jerks or driving down the shoulder of the highway in traffic and then flipping me off when I don’t let you cut in jerks. Those kinds of jerks are doing it on purpose. Because they are jerks. But babies, babies just think they’re being funny. For example, mine thinks it’s really hilarious to hit me in the face with stuff. Spoons, sippy cups, his hands. HILARIOUS. As far as I know I’ve never reinforced this behavior in any way – you don’t much feel like laughing when you’ve just taken a spatula to the eye – but no matter how many firm, purposeful “NO”‘s I say he keeps doing it. Jerk.

Baby Evan also likes to play a game called “Let’s do the total opposite of the thing my mommy just said I always do”. So, for example, if I have just finished telling my friends how he’s really started to understand the sign for and word “Stop!” when he’s being naughty, he will immediately throw toys or bite me (did I mention the biting?) or yank the curtains right off the wall, no matter how many times I say “STOP! MAKE WISE CHOICES!” Or I’ll explain how we’ve FINALLY been making progress in the solid food department and Baby Evan ate a whole mini-pretzel just this morning so he would love it if you shared your baby’s snack with him. And then he spits soggy, half chewed Goldfish all over someone’s Vera Bradley diaper bag. Jerk.

Of course, then there’s the opposite baby, the one who screams and thrashes in his car seat, tries to throw himself out of my arms onto the parking lot pavement and kicks me while I buckle him into the shopping cart, only to be the SMILIEST, HAPPIEST, FRIENDLIEST baby even in the History Of The World while I do the grocery shopping. By the time I’m pushing him through the dairy aisle he’s made four new friends and all of them have said “Oh what a goooood baby you are. Is he always such a gooooood baby?” Of course I say yes. They don’t really want to hear about the screaming. Because then I’d look like a jerk.

There’s a chance I’m being unreasonable and childish and a Terrible Mother for saying these things. Maybe. But you didn’t have to clean crap off of EVERYTHING when Baby Evan has a poopsplosion yesterday and then rolled around in it. On the carpet. Laughing. Jerk.