You know how some days, your kitchen ceiling starts raining at 7 a.m., and you end up having to call the fire department who come and break in your neighbours doors to find out why there's a growing sea in your apartment, and your kids are freaking out, and you are freaking out because, tough femme though you are, you have no earthly idea what to do when water starts pouring out of your light fixtures, and at that moment, you realize that you are completely alone in this, and you spend the morning using every towel, blanket and sheet you own trying in vain to mop up the mess while simultaneously watching your kids, and then have to drag them around replacing rugs that got ruined so you bribe them with ice cream at Ikea but they act out anyways, and then when it comes time to trade-off with your ex, your Boy-o freaks out completely and even though he's been asking when he gets to see Mommy all week, begs you to let him stay with you and he's crying and screaming and you can't reason with him and end up having to close the door on him while your ex takes him to the car because you don't know what else to do and then you go inside and close your apartment door and cry because you just got your ass kicked by Saturday and shut the door in the face of your hysterical child who was reaching for you?

I fucking hate those days.