I bought a deck of cards that had positions and breathing exercises on them and set out to find inner peace. It'd have to be internal, 'cause there's no external peace at my house. Not with a 4 year old, a 2 year old and assorted weenie dogs running amok, not to mention telemarketers calling, assorted neighbors stopping by and at least one TV blaring at all times. Yep, I was going to have tranquility at last…maybe I should have tried for tranquilizers instead.

I turned on cartoons for the kids and started my yoga. Yes, I had to do it in the living room - I don't even get to go to the bathroom by myself anymore. I was doing all right until I got into the plank position. That's when you get down on all fours and raise one arm and the opposite leg, while trying not to fall over. I was wobbling badly enough, but then Tyler tried to climb onto my raised arm while Logan began bouncing on my leg. Inner peace turned into inner pain and I decided to call it a day.

Next I tried meditation. I should have gone with medication. All the books and websites I read said to allow my mind to go blank and if any thoughts dared to intrude, to ignore them and breathe deeply. Uh huh. Whoever wrote that never tried to meditate with small children in the house. Every time I closed my eyes, I'd either doze off or snap them open seconds later because it was too quiet. Quiet preschoolers are a bad thing; usually they're either playing with the toiler plunger or daring each other to do shots of Tabasco. It's hard to relax when images of a house in total chaos are running through your head.

I tried chanting, but I knew it was doomed from the beginning. I'd start off saying "Om, I am relaxed and calm" but soon I was saying "Om, leave Mommy alone…Om, I will get juice in a few minutes…Om, come on guys, give me a minute…" That kind of ruins the effect. Maybe I should have chanted something else, like "Om, fourteen more years and the oldest is off to college…" My husband doesn't understand why I'm stressed. Easy for him to say, he gets to eat lunch without kids mooching. He doesn't have to spend the day shouting classic Mom-isms at ear-splitting decibels, like "Stop hitting your brother…Stop taking off your diaper…Get away from my laptop with that Popsicle in your hand…" By the time he gets home from work, I'm ready to list the kids on Ebay. Unfortunately, my mother in law shops on Ebay and I know she'd buy 'em back.

The day doesn't start off too badly. I get Bud off to work, grab a mug of tea and crawl back in bed with my laptop to check my email and watch "Buffy The Vampire Slayer". I get some writing done and feel at peace with the world. It's not bad when the kids get up; we do a little yoga during "Sesame Street" and have breakfast. It's about 10:30 when things start going crazy and by the time Bud gets home at 4:30, my hair is standing on end.

Him: How was your day?
Me: ACK!
Him: Why do you let the kids get to you? Do what I do and tune them out.
Me: If I tune them out, they'll unleash their supernatural powers and destroy the world.
Him: You've been watching "Buffy" again, haven't you?

I'd like to think things will get better when they're older. I'd also like to think Ricky Martin is my pool boy. It is going to get a little better because they're not always going to be in diapers (are they?) and soon my youngest will be able to defend himself against big brother. Or will it get better? When they're older, they'll want their turns on the computer and they'll listen to music that sounds like glass shards poured down a chalkboard. They'll want my car keys and money, and they'll complain about being fodder for Mom's columns. They won't want to pick up their stuff or make their own snacks. Or worse, they'll take over my tiny kitchen and I'll never get another food article written!

Om, sixteen more years and they're both off to college.