I hope you know that one of the core missions of this blog is to make any readers that have kids feel wildly inferior as parents. I'm well aware that I put on a pretty impressive show.
Just so we're all clear.
Last week I was in a spiraly funk. Antepartum depression? No. Just the subconscious dread and fear and dread and anxiety and dread that comes with the joyful two months of every year that Simon works nights. I know. I need to grow up. I thought maybe this would be the month that I would turn over a freshly fallen golden with the promise of faltumn leaf and maybe it wouldn't be so bad. I just needed to suck it up, take a Unisom, and sleep like a normal human being. That's all.
Then Sunday afternoon rolled around and Simon left for his first shift of the rotation. And here is where I am tempted to type "and shift hit the fan" -- but I won't. I won't do it.
Sebastian is currently a super sick little lamb with a super sick little nose. He woke up with a very impressive dried snot mustache AND beard the other morning. I couldn't stop staring while trying to chip away at the (angry!!! wipe his nose and risk death by scream and flail) patient and didn't understand why Simon wasn't more fascinated with the multiple photos I thoughtfully took of the cement mask before I finally chiseled it off in it's glorious entirety.
Casper and Egg Yolk making peace after a fight to the almost death over a nose wipe.
I took the evening into my own capable hands and took the kids to the store in order to:
a. rectify the egg and banana shortage our kitchen was suffering
b. kill time before I could put the kids to sleep
c. kill time before I could put the kids to sleep
We got 7.6 steps out the door before Sebastian
(who walks exactly like he just dismounted a horse after an 89 day ride)
nose dove right into the walkway and gave himself a top of the nose bleed. He let the obligatory silence of "will he or won't he scream?!" pass before he screeeeeeeeamed. Julia laughed because she is a jerk and ran straight into the street for the first time ever while I surveyed the injured and decided that nose wipe sessions were going to go from "Ordinary Time fun" to "Christmas morning fun". What's that I smelled? Fresh fortuity.
The ultra urgent grocery run was mostly uneventful until I got in line to pay and grabbed the hot dogs from Julia's hand to find that she had chewed through the package. One dog in a million slobbery bits covered in bite marked plastic? No problem.
Julia was in a chatty mood and named every single human she remembers ever coming in contact with for the unenthused cashier, "basher, mommy, daddy, nana, paul, mommy, daddy, dora, diego, boots, daddy, basher, Julia" which, to an untrained ear, sounds an awful lot like, "aksajdsalksjd alksjdakljdsald alksjklajsiwejadksdj" (gibberish with a speech impediment).
We came home from the trip meant to bridge the time gap until bedtime and I pulled a smartymom and let the kids stay up until an atrocious hour ...
Moobs Jr. ignores toddler Einstein's desperate pleas, "neckwace OFFFF"
I thought guarding and protect my cowardly heart from intruders would result in good nights of sleep for the shorts but my plan backfired in every single way possible at 1am (Sebastian), 2am (Sebastian's altar ego "thrasher" and Julia), 3am (just Julia), 3:43am (Julia and her emergent need for a Band-Aid), and for the day at 5:10 in the am (cock-a-smile Sebastian).
Aaaaaaaaaand why oh why on God's greenest earth I ever let the idea of this month consume my entire being is completely beyond me because seriously? so far - so very good.
for $4.99 that have been a lifesaver because he doesn't howl like an infant hyena after 4 minutes of circulation killing wear and we can take him out in public again without him looking barefoot and trash-ay.
