And It’s Only Tuesday.

God, please forgive the socially inept Nazis

teenage drama queens

humble-bragging, money-hugging secondhanders

caring, hardworking, beautiful people that run my husband’s company.

For they know not what they do.

I’m thankful for Caleb’s job. I’m thankful for Caleb’s job.

Moving on.

Merrick has this egg, see. He got it from a friend’s chicken coop on Sunday, so he is convinced it had a baby chicken in it. He initially put it in the fridge, so it would hatch; I put it on top of the dryer so that he’d be more likely to forget about it. He didn’t. Every morning he has lovingly cradled the egg and said to it, “So egg. How was your sleep?”

And today he broke it. Everywhere.

I think it was for the best. That boy would’ve kept loving on that egg every day until it hatched. It wasn’t until the egg was cracked all to hell that he could understand that there was no fluffy yellow chick–only sticky yellow goo.

I keep thinking that it might be the same way with a lot of things in life–for example, and this is just off the top of my head–certain jobs with certain companies. You stay with it until you crack (or get laid off, or crack and get laid off, or get laid off and subsequently crack) and only then do you realize that nothing good was going to come out of it. No matter how much energy and love and life you throw at something, sometimes there’s just no happy ending, no commission, no retirement, no job security, and no fluffy yellow chicks. And if there were fluffy yellow chicks, they’d probably have herpes.

I think we’d be better off raising our own chickens. We may or may not have to resort to that one day in the not-so-distant future.

At least it would make Merrick happy.

Not that he doesn’t have a lot to be happy about now. He’s got Mom and Dad to wait on him hand-and-foot 24 hours a day, seven days a week. I’m so tired. What the heck is so difficult about sleeping for my kids? Music? Check. Light? Check. Fan on? Check. Soft covers, cool pillow, zillion stuffed animals? Double-check. I wonder what it feels like to sleep for just 5 consecutive hours, just once.

I also wonder what the kids would do if Caleb and I busted up in their rooms at 3:00 in the morning, waking them from a sound sleep with a giant big-growly-monster-grizzly-bear “RARRRRRRRRRR!!!!”

Well, I thought it was funny.

Don’t worry–I would never actually do that.

Because they’d probably never sleep again.

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About Toni

Mom. Wife. Artist. I take care of the kids and pretend to clean sometimes. I can cook spagetti and I have never been arrested. View all posts by Toni

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