Normal again.. whatever that is

Have you ever had one of those days when you are feeling guilty because you were maybe a teeny tiny bit hard on your kids. Maybe you should have been a little more soft with your words or kind with your actions.. discussing an issue, like the good parents do, may have been the more appropriate action and would have possibly worked better than barking out orders like some cracked out dill Sargent? Your kids look at you like something is terribly wrong as the little one scream "release the Crackin!" and runs back to his room for shelter. Yes.. one of those days.
 You leave the house in a huff of insanity that doesn't clear out of your head until you sing "Call me maybe" at the top of your lungs on the way to work. You feel better after that and you think "Why couldn't she be my daughter, than when my days go like this, she could just follow me around signing this awesome song!"
You spend the morning going back and forth between the kids, the dog and your husband, trying to find the right individual to blame. About noon you cry.. because it couldn't possibly be your fault.. could it?
About an hour before you go home you finally realize and accept responsibility for all the emotional damage you caused. And you are proud of yourself for all the progress you have made in such a short time frame. :) Your husband is so wrong.. there is NO WAY you need a professional therapist.
 Quitting time brings a new awakening. You are smiling as you walk up the sidewalk to your house. You vow that tonight things will be different..you will apologize to your offspring, beg forgiveness and begin your new life as a better mother.
So you walk up to your home, grab the doorknob, take a deep, big breath of new beginnings and you open the the door   ...
WHAM! An indescribable smell hits you like a sledge hammer and you suspect it is the 12 year old that has not moved from the couch today and is covered in the remnants of EVERYTHING you had in the refrigerator .. than you notice the obstacle course of legos, barbie parts and pieces of discarded lunch that litter the living room floor. Yes, the floor that was actually visible when you left today.
Two basement rats ages 8 and 5 come crawling up from their video game reality hissing and shielding their eyes from the sun light with obvious brain damage from over exposure to Mario Kart and the dog has piggy tails and wearing eye shadow and a tutu.
A little smirk of validation crosses your mouth just before you yell..
"THE GENERAL IS HOME AND SHE IS NOT HAPPY!"....and everything is normal again :)