Hooray for America. And for not having my head in a toilet.

Lordy, it's been one thing after another here at Chez Bitchy. And the icing on the cake was when I was preparing for our election night party and began barfing. SERIOUSLY. I ended up huddled on the couch, having told the guests not to come, shaking and sipping water, and crying every time Obama won another state.

So, please let me just say that I fucking LOVE my country. I am a witness to history, and I will tell my grandchildren about this day - including the part about the barfing. Because I feel the need to share that with everybody.

Today I am attempting to recover from whatever crawled in my gut and died, but my youngest seems to think that's a self-indulgent way to spend my time. She got all in a twist earlier this morning because she had somehow gotten her arm out of her shirt and wasn't pleased. So she came over to me with her usual words of complaint when she can't make something work the way she wants: "It'th thtuck!" Only she wouldn't let me fix it. She was upset, and wanted help, but wouldn't accept help. And somehow this situation just escalated into the biggest tantrum I have ever seen. She was knocking over chairs, throwing every thing she could get her hands on, and I finally carried her, kicking and screaming, to her room where I thought there were fewer dangers for her. And it just went on and on and on, until finally she was starting to bite things (not me, thank god) and I was getting scared and decided to just leave the room for a minute to check on her older sister. The baby followed me out, still screeching, but by the time we got to the kitchen she saw one of her bottles and asked for one, and she finally quieted down on my lap and we read books and tried to forget what had just happened.

This really shook me up, because I have never seen anything like it before. My older daughter never had tantrums like this - hardly ever had them at all, really - and Devon is usually such a happy little girl. My husband emerged from his home office upstairs after it was all over and I fell apart crying as I told him about it, and he told me a story about some kid he had heard of who used to throw rocks at her parents whenever they told her it was time to leave the playground. "This is all perfectly normal," he said. You weren't there, buddy. SHE WAS GREEN.

Now she and her sister are happily playing with an empty box. But every time she babbles at Harper, I imagine she's saying. "Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."