I did not have a good night's sleep last night. Something about an aching back. Oh, and nightmares that bad guys were chasing my children in a hotel, and I was trying to hide them in a huge basket of laundry, but they kept giggling and giving away our position.
Something like that.
I ignored the alarm clock and did not do yoga, read my scriptures OR take a shower. The three things that generally start my day off well.
Instead I woke up to "MOOOOO-OOOOM! GIVE ME CEREAL" and a quarter cup of milk in the fridge.
We opted for Cream of Wheat made with water.
I HATE Cream of Wheat made with water.
("We don't say hate, Mom!")
Little Prince was late to school because he refused to tie his shoes. And I was told off because we don't own any "crazy socks" for Spirit Week. Apologies, oh Spirit Week Gods.
Ouro Branco bawled buckets on the floor from 7:50 to 8:40. I don't know why. But he did it right in front of the dishwasher, making it impossible to empty. I get crabby when I can't empty the dishwasher.
Mr. Squishy threw the 1/4-cup-of-milk-that-was-left across my newly washed floor (courtesy of My Man), and then promptly got into a food fight with Cream of Wheat. The Cream of Wheat won.
We went to the store. Funny, I know. But don't forget they have child care there.
I spent a blissful hour shopping alone for the 29 people who will soon be coming to my house. We have lots of chip dip now.
We only had a minor scene in getting Ouro Branco away from the puzzles in the Cubhouse. Just kicking and screaming and thrashing around - no big deal.
In putting away the groceries, I thought now would be a good time to clean out the fridge. The cottage cheese was beginning to hit that adolescent stage - rebellion and acne all over the place. And why not push the "self-clean" button on the oven? It's not like I have to DO anything, right? Right? ...
Oh, yeah. Except cook that now-exploding-over-the-top sourdough bread that I left to rise while we were gone. It's for neighbor gifts. Now it will have to wait four hours and twenty minutes for the oven to finish. I hope I don't poison my neighbors with noxious oven cleaner sourdough bread.
Then a shelf in the fridge door collapses. I don't know why. Just to spice things up, I guess.
Mayonnaise and minced garlic all over the for-at-least-a-few-minutes-clean fridge. And rug. And me.
*One hour interlude while I clean up the garlic-and-mayonnaise mess. I have a hankering to eat chicken garlic alfredo.*
*In the meantime, Ouro Branco takes exactly one bite out of each and every strawberry that was meant for a fruit basket gift, and Mr. Squishy empties every bowl, pot, pan, and piece of Tupperware all over the kitchen floor, and fills them with rocks from the backyard.*
Putting Mr. Squishy to bed. Might as well make up the guest bed while I'm at it, right? Might as well put away his laundry, right? Might as well organize his drawers and sift through all the six-month onesies that don't fit anymore, right? ... And I expect the children to NOT destroy the basement while I'm at it, riiiiiiiight?
It should be known that a minimal amount of peanut butter balls were crammed into my mouth this morning.
No children were harmed in the making of this post. Yet.