Mommy Successes, Wait, No; Failures, Wait, No, What?

Ever have one of those days where all those lovely mommy ideals, those beautiful successes actually happen, and you suddenly realize that maybe they weren't successes at all? Have any idea what I'm talking about?
Let me back up...

I have been trying to get Isla to be potty trained for months and months. She has had nothing to do with it, until last week. She is now in full time panties mode, except at night. I thought that would be great. And, truly, it is. Really. But, there are some days where I think, oh goodness, I just want to put a diaper back on her! Asking her if she has to go potty every 20 minutes can get old pretty fast. Driving anywhere, being anywhere, I feel like my blood pressure must be through the roof because I'm worried she will have an accident in the middle of home depot or in her Sunday school room, or in the car seat. And, when she does say yes to the most-asked-question of the day, I have seriously .5 seconds to get her to a toilet. This is completely impossible, especially when I am trying to hold her hand, hold the baby, holler for Sahara to run, and lug a twenty pound diaper bag filled with four hundred pairs of panties and sixty different outfits for each child. Like I said, impossible. At home, it's a bit better, but why is it that she has to go as soon as I sit down to feed the baby? And, as much as the tiny potty has helped her start her potty training, it's no good when she decides to dump the contents of it, herself into the big potty. Gets kinda messy, if you know what I mean. See, success=fail.

Another example? Finally painting the laundry room that has needed a coat of paint for three years. How can this be a fail, you ask? Easy. The house that you stayed up til 2am cleaning, (because, let's face it, that's the only time you have to actually get any cleaning done, with the satisfaction of keeping it clean for more than thirty minutes, and waking up to a clean home, which, I don't know about you, but my mood is completely based upon the cleanliness/filthiness of my home), is a complete disaster, because you spent three hours painting, not going right behind the children and putting everything back after they play with it for five minutes. Success=fail.

Or, when I decided that I really needed to start pumping and keeping bags of milk in the freezer in case we spontaneously wanted to go out on a date, (this only happens probably three times a year-that's when I've lost my mind, and Ja notices that I might eat one of the children if I don't get alone time). Or, I think I need some milk frozen in case something happens to one of the girls so that I can't be with the baby for a few hours. Or, God forbid something happens to me that I can't feed him anymore-is it just me that thinks these horrible scenarios, or is that every mother that suddenly realizes that horrible things happen all the time and we must prepare for every imaginable thing that might occur, most likely, never? So, I pump and pump and build up quite a supply, feel great about the mother that I am, and then when I go to give him a bottle, I realize he doesn't know how to take a bottle. He hates it, screams, can't figure out how to get the milk out, gets frustrated, and now I have a ton of milk and will have to either teach him how to suck on a bottle, or use it all on baby oatmeal. Success=fail.

One last success, fail. Whatever you want to call it. A haircut. Yep, finally spent money on my hair, thinking that it would make me feel so much better as a mother, wife, woman. It turned out great. Looks good. Success, right? Wrong. Realized that it still has to go up in a bun or it gets ripped out by tiny fingers on a very cute baby. Having hair wrapped around a baby finger is something that every mother dreads. Who wants to tell their child that their finger had to be cut off because your hair cut off the circulation to it? Plus, it hurts like the dickens when a full handful of hair gets ripped out of your head. It hurts and the number of bald spots I now have, is quite embarrassing. So up in a messy bun, it goes. Success=fail.

Next success/fail that I fear is coming soon: Sahara learning how to read, and then realizing just how many parts of a book I skip at bedtime. Now tell me, it's not just me, right?