Dear People, I'm sorry, Love, Me.

To the child who poured juice on the kitchen floor and then had the audacity to ask for more juice two minutes later... I'm sorry I yelled at you to clean it up and told you that you will never have juice again. I lied. You will have juice tomorrow.

To the lovely patrons of Wal Mart who see me carrying a huge chunk o' baby in a front carrier and hauling two rowdy toddlers in the cart... I'm sorry I didn't scream obscenities at my kids so I can fit in with all the other stressed mommies at Wal Mart. I only muttered them under my breath.

To the child who slapped her older brother just because he breathed her air... I'm sorry I said "Hands are for hugging, not hitting". It's corny and I apologize.

To the guy who lives with me... I'm sorry I don't cook dinner for you when you work but you are welcome to have the crap the kids eat.

To the littlest child of mine... I'm sorry I keep leaving the room and making you emit the ear-piercing, gut-wrenching, shriek of despair, but, honestly kid, what the crap? I'm coming right back and I don't play this whole separation anxiety game. Get. over. it.

To the old couple leaving the YMCA at the same time as me and my chickadees... I'm sorry you had to witness my two-year-old scream "Jackson Wobert Wolfe, You go to time out! You vewy bad!" as I tried to get him to makes his legs work and walk to the car. Yes, she's cute. Yes, I wish he would actually listen to her and go to time out.

To all the congregation at church who saw my daughter's underpants because she wanted to lay down on the steps instead of sing the VBS song... I'm sorry they weren't a prettier color.

To everyone who gets to witness us living this crazy life... I'm sorry if we're loud, distracted, and can't have a normal conversation without needing to take a kid to the potty. Talk fast, get to the point, or come with us to the bathroom.