Tales of a 5th grade something

I've spent 36 good years on this planet and had my share of bad days. But for the first time I have had the real definition of a bad day laid out for me by a pre-adolescent fifth grade girl. She happens to be my own flesh and blood, and her distorted view of reality at this age might possibly represent a legitimate benefit of having kept a journal through those ridiculous years in my life. I can look back and verify in my own handwriting that even I, the epitome of all things rational and balanced (shut up, it could happen), had days where the uncurling of a hair strand seemed like reason enough to end my life.

But just in case my journals aren't enough, I have my daughter to remind me. In the event that you are also in need of a reminder and don't happen to have a ten-year-old girl handy, allow me to enlighten you. If you have had the "worst day of [your] entire life" you may have faced a little snow on the walk to the car, had to run an errand with your mother after school, then come home only to be told that you had to have your homework done before you could play with friends (a rule that has existed in our family since like, Adam and Eve), and after crying about a world gone mad you finally came down to the table to work on your homework and hit your elbow on the table.

Good heavens, is there no mercy??!!!

Thirty minutes later she was done with her homework, came to give me a hug and annnounced that I was "the best mom ever", then went bouncing over to her friend's house.

Isn't there supposed to be a medication for this?