Why I'm not a stay at home mom, part VII

We get home from the dentist, the boys get in a falling-down fist-fight over who is going to get the mail for me. B1's pants rip, B2 gets sent to a time out. I serve snacks, realize it hasn't been long enough since the fluoride treatment, and retract snacks to much kvetching. I step out to empty out the roomba dustbin, and get locked out of the house by B2 helpfully releasing the hounds. Tromp around in my dress shoes in the needs-to-be-raked yard until I can figure out which window has a kid behind it, and start banging. 

B1 and I have a shouted conversation through the door about how yes, he isn't supposed to let  anyone in without me, but it *is* me, so he can let me in, even though I specifically told him not to let anyone in who claims to be his mother. I'm ready to compromise and walk back to the  doorwall so that he can get visual confirmation of my motherhood credentials when he caves and opens the door.  B2, in the meantime, has made a massive mess which requires major hazmat cleanup, so I handle that and get him in the shower where he is pruning up nicely now while I finish my lukewarm tea.  I've been away from the office for 3 hours and feel like I've scheduled a board meeting, adjudicated a war crime trial, negotiated my way across a picket line, and cleaned up a hazardous waste spill - when really all I did was set up a kid's birthday party, handle two rowdy boys, dealt with a lock-out, and sterilized a bathroom. It was definitely not on the agenda to clean a toilet today. Photo by Mecredis.