I took the girls out on a trip to the swimming pool at the weekend, followed by a trip to our favourite cafe.
We had an amazing time, in fact we had a perfect time. So much so that as we sat enjoying our perfect desserts, after our perfect lunch I thought to myself that maybe, just maybe I didn't completely suck at this parenting lark.
The Universe is quick to punish arrogance of this magnitude.
Come Monday I was back to my usual position as working mama who gets to walk through the door just as the witching hour is really cranking up a notch and referee between over tired children.
As I sat on the sofa listening to Alfie beat Olive over the head with a balloon, and trimming Esme's nails, I felt my patience pick up speed on the downhill course towards me utterly losing my shit.
Despite having been asked repeatedly to stop, Alfie was determined and so after the last nail was trimmed I vaulted over the back of the sofa to confiscate the balloon.
I scuffed my toe on the way over and I knew as soon as I landed something was wrong because it felt like my little toe wasn't there and more.
What would maybe be a more accurate description would be to say it was no longer in the right place or, in fact, the right shape.
I told Keith I thought I needed to go to the emergency room and he started laughing.
Because he is an asshat.
Sorry husband, I love you, but laugh in my face when I'm screaming at you that I need a doctor makes you an asshat.
Extra asshat points for suggesting I "just pop it back in" myself while still laughing.
So anyway, long story short is that I somehow managed to dislocate AND break my toe on the back of the sofa, because I couldn't just calmly deal with Alfie's overtired antics like any sane parent would have done.
Clearly I, too, am an asshat.