Pierce woke up very much on the wrong side of the crib this morning. (Figure of speech, of course. Literally, he’d have been out the window and on the driveway if he’d gotten out that way. And while I may have been tempted… no.) He cried, refused breakfast, and clung to me and sobbed for two hours.
The popcorn mess from Sunday night’s tradition remains.
The chicken dinner remains are scattered about the kitchen.
The diaper pail is overflowing.
There’s 3-4 loads of laundry besides diapers waiting for me.
One dear child has a report due tomorrow. She hasn’t started it yet.
You risk being stuck to the kitchen floor if you stop moving.
One dear child peed the bed. Another just peed her pants.
So, I did what anyone would do. I put the baby to bed, washed up the dishes, and made myself a few eggs-in-a-hole. There’s no way that much butter can’t brighten this day.