Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Smells like a Monday.

Note to self. Print and re-read previous post on mornings like today to remember that I do, in fact love my children and do not wish to see their smiling mugs on the side of a milk carton.

Lucas refuses to get out of bed because of the newly set mouse trap behind his dresser. (Holy crap! Any second, it's going to start snapping like a maniacal beast and come scurrying across the floor aiming for toes, better stay in bed today!)

Brett kicks Lucas under the table because he's eating too loudly, prompting a scuffle, and several mumbled insults.

Emma is slumped grumpily over her bowl of cereal, getting milk and random Rice Krispies in her hair.

Mike forgets to unload the dishwasher, but does remember to leave every light on, and to put the telltale dent in the couch where he sat for a half hour, narrowly making the bus on time.

Evan wakes up soaked and screaming, then throws his breakfast on the floor because it wasn't what his two-year-old-schizophrenic brain had in mind.

And Elle wakes up to eat, reminding me again, that vodka is off limits.

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