I’m sick. I’ve got it all; sore throat, stiff neck, body aches and a funny feeling in my ears akin to vibration whenever my little darlings scream their shrill shrieks as they run from room to room and tear the house apart.
I can’t stop them. I’m down.
Michael sometimes works on Saturdays, and today is one of those Saturdays.
After being woken up by Madeleine calling me from her crib Mommy, can you get me out of here?! Mommy?! I shuffled in to get her and plopped her on the couch. I had the forethought to get two cups of Cheerios ready for both kids, as I knew Luke would wake up soon. I dove into the couch and fell asleep as she watched Octonauts.
The next thing I knew, Luke had taken a running start from the hall and jumped on top of me, as Madeleine was touching my nose with hers, “Mommy, can you make breakfast? Mommy? Can you?”
I once heard someone’s husband say his wife was The Command Center. If she was down, everything went to crap.
That’s pretty much the deal here today. There’s stuff everywhere. Utter disorder. The kids are standing on the arm of the couch and dive-bombing into the cushions. They’re slapping each other for sport. I better intervene.