Ok...figuratively and literally. difficult child has been...well, a difficult child. I was snarfly this morning and I guess I was breathing through my mouth some. difficult child is getting snotting and looking at me and asking, "WHAT??? What did I do???" Ummmm...I'm just *breathing*. Geeeeeeeezzzzzzzzz. One minute she'd be fine and the next she was jumping down my throat. Whatever. Nothing new. been there done that. You know the drill. As she was getting the gallon of chocolate milk out of the fridge tonight, the lid popped off and some of it spilled. She's yelling at me about who left the lid off. Apparently it was my fault even though I don't drink it. But, I kept my calm. But, then..... She grabbed a towel to clean it up. Not a paper towel; a *kitchen towel*. That's the ant. That's what just pushed me completely over the edge. I didn't say anything because....well, just because. But, I wanted to explode. Because now I have to wash that stupid towel or it's going to stink; whereas a paper towel would have just been thrown out and done with. And it just annoyed me to no freaking end. Does she not think? No, because she was annoyed that *someone* didn't put the lid on the milk right so then she doesn't have to think about anyone else. And then, when she was done cleaning it up, she just threw the towel on the floor in front of the laundry room. I know. Such a silly thing to lose your mind over, but it took all of my self control to not explode. Instead, I went outside. And I breathed. And no one accused me of breathing wrong.