Yesterday I felt a little off. Then I realized it was because my Frank Sinatra itunes playlist had morphed into his Christmas album and I was Jingle Belling my way through sweeping the floor.
David got home at 1 something last night. I tried to stay up till he got home (I think you should make a point of going to bed with your spouse and waking up together) but I couldn't do it. I conked out at 12:30. Sorry, honey!
In other news, I don't know how he is even alive.
But thankfully the big deadline is getting close. Phew. Because I've reached the point where I actually discovered that eating brown sugar straight out of the bag gives me heartburn. (I think this means I'm officially dwindling somewhere between pathetic and desperate).
Today has not done much to help. This afternoon I got a call from Michael's school saying he had an upset stomach. Of course this happened 15 minutes after I put my toddlers down for a nap, so I had to call my super awesome neighbor (thanks Julianne!) to come sit in my house for ten minutes while I went on my rescue mission. Which, it turns out, was completely unnecessary, seeing as Michael declared himself miraculously healed five minutes after we got home and wanted to play wii. I banished him to his room for two hours.
To fill the void, Matthew only slept for an hour and then woke up. So much for my peace and quiet. So much for my sanity.
Then, while I was mowing the lawn, Leah tried to kill herself when she went flying into the street on her scooter (following her bad example of an older brother) and nearly got hit by a car. After I saved her and re-started the mower, Matthew pooped in his underwear.
The bedtime routine just stretched out into an hour because Matthew and Leah both declared a desperate need to avail themselves of the facilities after they were already in bed. Leah performed. Matthew did not. Instead he engaged in a giggle war with Leah that would have been darling if I had not been hanging onto my patience by a fingernail. Instead I found myself exclaiming, "Matthew, either poop or get off the pot!!"
Then I felt off again because I had just used a common metaphor in a completely literal context.
David says not to expect him until 1 or so tonight, and I just saw on Facebook that Cadbury now makes "SCream" eggs for Halloween. Knowing that they exist and that I can't get to them is killing me.
I could use a good scream.