My son sprinted out of his classroom today wearing a green paper crown festooned with paper blossoms, insects and frogs. He carried a miniature floral arrangement in both hands, colorful dyed daisies arranged in a decorated milk carton.

"It's MAY DAY!" he announced. He skidded to a halt in front of me, and thrust the flowers at me, beaming. The paper crown settled low on his forehead, and pushed his ears out comically. I admired the flowers and crown, and we made our way back to the car, with my oldest daughter dragging her feet behind us, and my youngest strapped against her will into the stroller, which I pushed with the front wheels in the air, preventing her from wedging her feet against the wheels to impede our progress.

The bickering started up almost immediately, and I was tempted to leap into the driver's seat and roar off into the sunset, but instead, I helped buckle, loaded backpacks, carefully placed the flowers and crown in a safe spot for the trip home, and then went to my happy place.

My happy place is great. All the cars have those soundproof glass barriers between the front and back seats, and no one messes with my mojo.

By the time we got home, and I got everyone through with homework and dinner, I was feeling better. I don't know what the heck is wrong with me right now. Here it was May Day, and instead of manufacturing a May Pole for the kids to dance around, I was unclogging the bathroom sink. The sink that they poured about two cups of clumping cat litter down. Because they thought it would be a fun science project.

My son refused to speak to my husband on the phone tonight. He muttered a couple of phrases, but was really rude. I tried to get through to him that it hurts our feelings - but he was unmoved. Likewise, the cat litter in the sink? Unmoved. I will be taking the pipes apart as soon as I get the preschool drop-off handled.

I'm looking at the cheery little floral arrangement that my son was so happy to place in my hands. As I kissed him goodnight, he told me that he's got a great new nickname for me. "Big Sweetcheeks." He is very proud of this nickname, and I gave him an extra kiss before I retreated to the hallway to laugh like a loon.

Why does this stuff have to be so hard sometimes? There are so many beautiful moments in my days, but there's been so many destructo rampages that I'm constantly on my knees, cleaning up spills while praying for a day free from tantrums or whining.

It's probably good I didn't make a May Pole, because I might have tricked the kids into lashing themselves to it like prisoners to a mast, all while singing a happy song.