Over the course of the late afternoon, I found myself getting increasingly frustrated with the kids; they weren't listening to me at all. Chores were...a chore to get done. I was reminding and cajoling and threatening. They were giggling, screaming, and avoiding me.
By the time I served them dinner, I was also dishing out quite a rampage of disapproval over their behavior. I huffed off to the shower after pretty much reading them the riot act and making it clear that my grumpiness was entirely their fault.
After my shower, after I was dressed in "church clothes" and nearly ready to walk out the door, I was standing at the bathroom mirror, doing my hair and issuing final orders for everyone's good behavior while I was gone.
My ten year old son stood in the hallway looking at me for a minute and said: "You look too pretty to be grumpy."
Maybe it really is better to look good than to feel good.
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