At around 2:30 p.m. ...

I wanted a beer.

Anything. Almost called my girlfriend next door to bring over a bottle of her red wine. Oh, it was tempting. And I would not have been judged. She might have brought me over two bottles. She has a 4-year-old, too.

I sent Jenna upstairs to wash her face, and for an hour and a half, she refused. For 90 minutes, she screamed that she didn't want to. I told her to stay upstairs until she did. She never did wash her face, but she did fall asleep.

During the rampage, though, I had two ladies walk through the house -- ladies who are going to clean our base house for final inspection next week before we move to Montgomery. I asked as they were leaving if they wanted to bring Jenna. They laughed.

Several minutes later, the moving company called to discuss what big items we had for them to pack. I could barely talk. I was nearly in tears. You could hear Jenna upstairs screaming that she wanted Mommy NOOOOOOOOOWWW, that she didn't want to wash her face. Over and over again. Woman! Don't cry on the phone with the moving company! I thought to myself. But I was so desperate to talk it out that I wanted to cry, "Can I just talk to you about this a little bit, Mr. Mover Man?"

I. Even. Almost. Called. My. Husband. To. Help. Me.

But for crying out loud! I'm 36 years old!! She's FOUR!!! How does a 4-year-old beat you down like this?!

My head was spinning, frustration mounted. Headache was approaching. I honestly did not know how to handle this. I called up to Jenna several times to just wash her face. That's all I was asking. Seriously, it's not asking for much.

I don't know how me being a stay-at-home-mom is helping Jenna today. On days like this, I honestly don't know what difference I'm making in her life. None, in those 90 minutes, unless she caught on to the I'm-not-giving-in-to-your-tirade way of parenting.

I am so tired.

And sober.