Grow where you're planted

     I pull my sweatshirt up over my head not sure if  I want to laugh or cry. The words" that's it, Mom's checking out I'm done," coming out of my mouth.        It's 5:30 pm the kids are arguing for what feels like the millionth time in the last two hours. Sitting at the supper table, or in their case doing everything but actually sitting. Most of the food that should be going into their mouths was now on the floor. My clothes that started out clean covered in evidence of the day's events, hair now all over the place, and my mascara worn off and smudged.                     My hopes of a civilized meal as a family are going down the toilet real fast. We have roughly 6 weeks left of having time together in the evenings before spring harvest, and then they will be few and far between.       My husband reaches over grabs the strings of my hoodie and pulls them tight so my head is no longer visible at all. Immediately all three kids start giggling uncontrolla