6:27 a.m. Wake up with Trot standing beside my bed, hollering he wants some cheese.
6:45 a.m. After falling back asleep, wake up to Rakes yelling from the living room that he wanted some cereal while Ciera yells over him that she's making cinnamon rolls.
7:30 a.m. Desperately try to fall back asleep. FAIL due to the game of extreme floor hockey/tackle the man with the ball that has broken out in my foyer.
8:45 a.m. Give up on the sleep thing and get in the shower.
9:15 a.m. Get the boys ready for church, jump on the computer for a few minutes, then corral all the kids into the man van. Ang, down with a bad back, stays behind to clean up the coffee the boys spilled off the kitchen floor. And no, neither Ang or myself drink coffee. Long story.
10:00 a.m to 12:30 p.m. Attempt to teach the 2-3 year olds at church, including Trot, about giving. Based on the number of fights that broke out I'm going to go out on a limb and say the message didn't exactly sink in.
12:30 to 1:30. Ate lunch while trying to watch the Red Sox pre-game show. However, multiple interruptions due to spilled drinks, dropped food, and one instance of X-Men related defiance later I can't tell you anything about what I watched. Except Tom Carron looks REALLY awkward with facial hair and Brian Daubauch looks ready to be the next subject on A&E's "Intervention".
1:30 to 5:10 p.m. Watched the game, surfed the web on my phone, found moldy strawberries under the chair in the play room and threatened to send Rakes to reform school on 3 separate occasions. Mixed in with all this was the monthly pastime of Ang and I arguing about paying the bills with her crying, me ranting, and Rakes in the background using the Nordic Track as a punching bag.
From that point until now it's a blur; I found 3 Gogurts and a pair of scissors behind the tool bench in the play room, Ciera tried to convince me her glass of Sprite was in fact water, and Trot pooped in his pants and subsequently on the carpet leading into my bedroom. Figure in Rakes melting down when I wouldn't let him take his permanent markers in the living room and the fact the Red Sox lost 6-4 and it's actually a minor miracle I'm upright and able to type right now.
Tomorrow doesn't get any easier; Ang has an appointment with the chiropractor at 9, followed by a job interview at 11, which means I'm in charge for roughly 4 hours with Rakes in pre-school, Trot at home, and the Red Sox headed to New York for two games with the Skanks.
I've been hearing good things about electro-shock therapy lately.
Maybe I should give it a whirl.
All That Dunbar-ian Stuff Again
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