I know why the crazed mom leaves

Okay. My mom keeps telling me that I should blog all this, so here is goes.
Obviously, I love my kids. We have some fun times together. But lately I have begun to understand why some moms just up and leave their kids. I never understood it. How could a perfect mom just leave these little beings? The secret is that they are not leaving an infant, they are leaving that special age that can be a living nightmare. I know this now.
For example, yesterday was Sunday. That special day when you work really hard to make your family look normal for three hours. Only that is not what happened for us. Jared was gone on a business trip. I had spent the night waking up frequently with the baby who was dealing with a stuffy nose, a five-year old who needed his water bottle filled and a three year old who needed his blankets fixed. On the trip to fill the water bottle I had even been yelled at to fix the nightlight and how dare I say it was right there. You would think that I could sleep in. On school days I can't drag them out of bed at 7:30, but Sunday, after a long night, they woke up at 7 and demanded breakfast. I put them off for a few minutes, but reluctantly climbed out of bed after the 4th interruption.
The day went as it normally does. They played. Being a good mom, I tried to limit the number of toys out at a time. Then they built a fort out of every blanket in the house (the ones on their beds especially) and my kitchen chairs. I actually have no problem with that. While they were down playing, I went upstairs to get ready for church. And that was my mistake. While I was getting ready, they were doing whatever they wanted. A fort hides all sorts of toys inside. It also hides the large (42 count) box of fruit snacks from the top shelf of the pantry. When later confronted about their indiscriminate consumption of fruit snacks, they all pointed fingers and claimed it was not their fault. Now, I know I have mommy brain, but I am quite sure that those fruit snacks did not jump down and run into their open mouths. But oh well, it is over and done. They won't get any fruit snacks at church. They are, once again, told to stay out of the pantry. And by told, I mean in my most wicked witch voice.
Then we are off to church. In our ward, the coveted benches are reserved long in advance. Leaving those of us with young children soft chairs if we can arrive on time or those hard, bane of every parent, metal chairs if we arrive during opening song. We were lucky, we arrived a little early and got a row of soft chairs, and it was even long enough to accommodate the whole family. I left my diaper bag and a blanket on the row and tried to drag my children out to get pictures from the library and set up for sharingtime. You would think that would be an easy task. I guess not. The five year old freaked out because I was leaving the things behind and someone might take them. I was more worried about someone taking the last row of soft chairs. The people sitting nearby were kind enough to watch our stuff and we took care of our errands.
Why is it that other families, even much larger families, all seem to have everything under control? Their kids are sitting quietly, not complaining they are bored and singing during the talks (at 7 years old). Their kids are not shouting or fake crying loudly. At first the baby is content to crawl around, but after being kicked by the 3 year old he is a little less content. Right about the time the first sacrament prayer is said he realizes he is tired and hungry. His cries reach a fever pitch while I am struggling with the 3 year old who insists of bugging the other two. Pulling one out means a whole entourage following me into the hall way. Finally, I admit that we are doing more to disrupt the reverence by trying to stay than if we left. I grab the two youngest and leave. The door opens again right behind me and the two oldest, who follow, are peaking through a crack. I send them back to their chairs, hoping fervently that they are reverent. Of course, once we are in the foyer, I have perfect, quiet angels.
We try again. this time I get the baby to sleep. The kids are good enough and we make it through one talk. Then the 3 year old demands attention, the baby wakes up on being put down and the 7 year old is drawing pictures in her church notebook that make her laugh out loud. The three year old crawls off down the aisle, encouraged by the 7 year old trying to drag him back. I insist that she ignore him, but I am scared because this kid knows no fear. He will (and has) leave the church and wander in the parking lot. But chasing him makes him run that much faster and right now he is playing a game I can't win. Luckily, his former teacher grabs him and holds him for the remainder of the meeting (five minutes).
Then it is off to Primary. I am a counselor. My son is that child that when we are gone, everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief. Even the criers have settled down by this time of the year. Not my child. He insists on continually gong back to hug his siblings or laying on the floor or running up by me or anything he can do. Now, I don't expect him to sit with his feet flat on the floor and arms folded, but I do expect him to not hit his teacher, knock over other chairs or  make really loud noises. Meanwhile, the baby, who I have gone out to feed, is burping up milk all over us as I try to teach and his nose is dripping with snot. Loads of fun.
Then we return home, pick up the blankets, have a delicious dinner of mac and cheese and try to make it until bedtime. After an aborted attempt at reading scriptures, they are (finally) tucked into bed. I come downstairs to find that in his search for the perfect car, both church bags have been dumped out and spread all over the kitchen. I gave up.
Now I know what you are thinking. If I just disciplined the 3 year old better he would act better, but I do try. I have spanked, cajoled, tried to reward good behavior, put him in time out, taken away privileges, all to no avail. He is like the girl with the curl in the middle of her forehead. When he is good he is the sweetest little thing on the planet, his big brown eyes fill with love. But when he is bad....