... the days when nothing you do is right. Where the very act of choosing which clothes to wear is fraught with danger and can lead to a heap of clothes on the floor for no apparent reason. Isn't that the favourite shirt? And the most-loved trousers? Not today apparently. By the time the family is actually herded downstairs for breakfast, you can guarantee tears have been shed, and "No! I will not!" has been yelled at me more than once. And we haven't even got close to (a) choosing breakfast and (b) getting everyone to sit down to eat it without wandering off halfway through a piece of toast because "I just have to do this..." And by the time the rogue wanderer has returned to the table and is prepared to consider the drink that Daddy had been dispatched to acquire, that drink is no longer acceptable because it's the wrong temperature. Really.
... the days where everything you suggest is just plain wrong. Play a game? Nope, not that game, not that one either. Build a den? Nope, no dens today. Reading? Doesn't want to. The only acceptable activity is apparently going to the park. Why would I want to go to the park? It's cold and wet and muddy and foul outside, but it would appear that we absolutely must leave the warmth and comfort of the house and all the toys and books and games today. Inexplicable.
... the days when the bliss of bathtime and bedtime awaits, and there's something lovely and warm and comforting to look forward to, where you know there'll be cuddles and snuggles and love and it'll all be OK. And then there's water on the bathroom floor, and apparently it's all my fault despite the fact I genuinely have no idea how the water got there, but nonetheless there's no calm or tranquility, just more yelling.
... the days when I'm tucked up warm in bed, and can only hope that Mummy is going to be sensible and go to bed early so she won't be so over-tired again tomorrow.