Looks to me like a fine day for a nervous breakdown.

You know how sometimes you're just standing in the middle of the kitchen, water on the stove boiling over, baby screaming at the top of his lungs while he attempts to open the fridge for the forty-seventh time to get into that can of shortening (again), pre-tween shouting how she can't possibly throw her dirty clothes into the laundry because her hands still hurt from horseback riding four days ago, the teen entering her second hour of showering with accompanied ghetto music blaring from down the hall, and you're imagining how peaceful the thinking gardens might be at the state mental hospital?

No? Just me?

Never mind.