Fake it.

This post is for all you moody mamas and papas. Knock it off. You're adults. You're too old to leave the house with a sour puss on because your kid crapped in your coffee.

What am I ranting about? I'm tired of being met by moodiness. Just like a baby, I crave consistency. If I can venture out into the world every day, having just experienced World War III in my home, see you and still greet you with a smile, you can return the favor.

Take today, for example. Before school, the kids had a heated argument about the size of Kaila's underpants. No shit. She insisted her briefs were a size six. Madan called repeated bullshit. Finally, when I could take no more, I stormed upstairs ready to go postal on the panty problem. Instead, I discovered Kaila, naked and holding her underwear, chasing Madan around while screaming, "THEY ARE A SIZE SIX. SEE? SEE? MADAN! MADANNNNNNNNNNNNNN!"

So despite the horror movie that unfolds in this house each morning, I emerge happy. It's hard to say bad things about a happy person. Only people who club harp seals piss on happy. However, I can count the number of times I've cheerfully said hello to a mom or dad only to be met with a scowl or a terse acknowledgement. It leaves me wondering, "what the hell did I do to you to deserve that?" Sometimes I can actually think of a real reason but most of the time, I'm left in logic limbo.

Moodiness is for two-year olds. It's for those who can't express themselves. Sure, it's also for PMS and a few other exceptions, but I've managed to remain chipper even while retching during stomach flu. You can schyst your way through anything if you try.

So, for all you moody moms and dads, if I truly haven't pissed you off in any way, when you see me, fake it. Otherwise, I'm going to get a complex.