If I had to live through today, so does everyone else.

I'm not usually one to refer to a day as a "hard day."

In my opinion they each have their challenges and graces. There aren't many full days of my life that I can just discount as crappy and wish to never live again. Most of them have some redeeming moments.

Today, however, does not.

This was a hard day.

J has perfected the art of puking into his plate when his parents enter the room. When I tell him to stop gagging and chew, he does, but only if no one else is around. If Mommy or Daddy are there he ignores me, continues gagging and loses everything he may have eaten up until that point.

Oh, I'm sorry, was that too graphic for you?

WELL TRY EATING BREAKFAST WHILE THIS IS GOING ON.

So that was breakfast.

And the baby had his last class at the library which might have been the closest thing to a normal activity that we had today except that I didn't take any lady products with me and GUESS WHAT I NEEDED HALFWAY THROUGH THE CLASS.

So, I had to just breathe through that one and we got home and he went to sleep and I sat down and then remembered that I hadn't been home all morning and there were breakfast dishes in the sink and laundry in the dryer and I have a list of things I want done or packed up for tomorrow. So I started on that and R got home all too quickly.

And then the baby woke up early and at first I wasn't sure why but then I did.

Because shortly after he woke up his stomach revolted and his rear end has been on fire ALL DAY. Every hour on the hour he starts pulling at his diaper yelling, "Poopoo! Poopoo! NOOOOOOOOOOO!" And when I change him there's not much in there, just enough to burn his poor hiney bright red and make him scream when I try to clean it off.

I had to stand him under warm water and just rinse it the last few times because I felt so bad trying to wipe his butt.

So while that was going on every 45 to 60 minutes, J got home and started asking for food and then R got home and started asking for food and then -- OH THEN IT GOT REALLY GOOD.

Remember when we were in school and it was fire drill day and you were sitting in class and everything was normal and then all of a sudden you were partially deaf and you were thinking, why am I always seated right next to the alarm on this day?

That's what it felt like right around 4:30 in this house today. I mean, it was already pretty hectic and noisy but when they coordinate so that noises are coming at you from every direction in every possible octave at the highest achievable decibal level it really is something mind-blowing.

My mind was blown.

Then it was time to make dinner.

I've never cooked "dark meat" chicken before. It's the chicken thighs that have been deboned and honestly, I don't know why this is considered food. I find chicken thighs pretty revolting to begin with but when you turn them into floppy, fatty blobs of "meat" I just don't see how this is appetizing.

But that's not the point.

I've never cooked dark chicken and so I've also never smelled it. IT STINKS. I opened the package and almost threw it all away. But it didn't smell rotten. It just smelled awful.

Is that what animal carcass smells like?

I haven't been eating a lot of meat in the recent months, less and less as times goes by. I've had only chicken and some turkey on Thanksgiving, but after tonight I think I am leaning closer to full-fledged vegetarian.

I doused it in spices, all the while replaying that episode of Seinfield where George's dad tells about spicing the rancid meat during the war and making an entire mess hall of soldiers sick. I was picturing my kids taking two bites and then doubling over in pain and vomitting all over the kitchen when I called my mom to ask her if dark chicken is supposed to smell like the worst thing on earth and, more importantly, why anyone eats it.

After we decided that it was ok, I had to chase the kids out of the kitchen and away from any potential snacks. I changed the baby and smothered his hiney butt in cream and powder and ointment. I checked on dinner. I changed the baby. I told them no snacks. I changed the baby.

You see where this is going? For an hour.

Skip to dinner.

R tasted the chicken and said it was so yummy she could eat without mayo. This is a huge compliment. I fed the baby only rice and kept asking him to describe the goings on in his diaper. All was quiet in the Pampers.

J ate his rice and then began practicing his most annoying behavior. I think he must have entered a contest or something because he pulled out all the stops. Bouncing, getting out of his chair, gagging, spitting his food out, crying, you name it.

His response to time outs lately has been to snap into action and gobble down his food.

Not so tonight, my friends. Not so.

After two tries I put him to bed. He was tired. I have things going on. The baby was screaming again. Bed time for J!

He washed up, brushed his teeth and went to sleep.

I think he knew as well as I that he had no fight left in him.

While he was lying in bed drifting off but still whining, the baby was half nude on his changing table cursing my name while I dabbed ointment on his bright pink rear end, R discovered a fallen Saltine in the hallway.

Rather than summon the dog as is habit, but we have been scolded by the vet for doing recently, she was a good girl and she went downstairs to get the dustbuster. I left the baby's butt to air dry a bit and went to tell J to zip it. I got back to the baby's room in time to hear R return with the vacuum, clean up the mess and then drop the dustbuster and spill everything inside it onto the hallway floor.

Everything, including the Saltine she'd just picked up, three tons of baby powder (I might be exaggerating) and a few dead critters from my neck of the woods.

"Sorry Kimmy!"

"I know, I know. You are trying to help me. I appreciate it."

I sent her to watch the baby on the changing table while I took care of the grossness. J fell asleep.

We let the baby down to run around diaper-less in his room for a while. I rolled up his rug and closed the door so that any drippings would land on the exposed wood and be dealt with immediately.

The first pee I missed, but it was small. I noticed it after he stepped in it a few times and tracked it all over the room.

The second one was slightly more intentional. He sat down on a vinyl playmat R had brought into the room, peed and then cried happily, "Mess! Mess!" And splashed joyfully.

The third one (IN FORTY MINUTES, MIND YOU) was a river. There was motive, intent and passion behind it. I saw the puddle only for a fraction of a second before my hand moved on its own accord, siezed the baby and removed him from the vicinity, even while he began to smile and chant, "MESS! MESS! MESS!"

He seemed to be feeling better and I seemed to be losing my very last precious marble (and I NEED my marbles, I really do) so I cleaned him up, dressed him for bed and ditched him for the night.

But wait, there's more.

R, my right hand, my sweet helper, turned against me.

There was stomping and throwing of oneself onto the bed in anger. A surge of tears and a long moment of defiance before Kimmy won. And win I did.

She was calm again as we tucked her into bed and then, thank goodness for God's timing, E got home. I ran away the way I used to clock out after my retail jobs. Quick like a bunny, a band-aid. Make like a tree and get the heck out of there!

The best part of all of this, the real punch line to the entire day?

T was supposed to be home at 4.