2 weeks.

Mia is mad at me from yesterday when I wouldn’t let her take home a flea-ridden, stray cat from the park. Merrick is pissed because I won’t name the baby “Velveeta”, though it is, according to him, a name so hauntingly beautiful, we’d be idiots to pass it up.

I feel so, so, sorry for his future wife. And a cat, seriously? Do my children not realize how hard it is for me to wake up in the morning and not kill the pets we do have? Not a day goes by that I don’t at least think about cooking Noah in a stew for dinner.

Summer is almost over.

2 weeks.

Honestly I’ve loved having the kids home, as I do every year. But this time…it seems like they’ve just gone berserk. The noise and intensity of their play is beyond my overall comprehension.

Mia is almost 10 and has always been fairly talkative–but lately she has been annihilating my brains out with constant chatter. After my quiet, moody, Cheyenne, I admit I don’t really know how to handle this besides stare at her and try to keep up. She talks so fast and she talks so much about any random thing that pops into her head, all while hopping up and down on one foot, or spinning, or doing a handstand. Conversations with her are mind-boggling and nonsensical–I thought I pretty much had the market cornered in that area, but Mia just puts me to shame.

So far I’ve had one daughter who I practically had to beg to talk to me, and one daughter who won’t stop talking to me (or to thin air; I don’t think it really matters to her.) Funny how 2 children from the same woman can be so insanely different.


Remember these days? Pre-K and 7th grade. I die.

Remember these days? Pre-K and 7th grade. I die.


And Merrick? Well, he just runs around roaring.


Throw back to Merrick's early years: the adorableness...I just...it's too...I can't even.

Throw back to Merrick’s early years: the adorableness…I just…it’s too…I can’t even.


Literally, roaring. Not really sure what to make of this. MRSA side effect perhaps?

And, oh yes–the MRSA: it’s looking awesome. The redness is gone, the lump on his belly is way down, the drainage is almost non-existant. Whatever miracle drug our pediatrician is having him take is doing the job. And I kinda like to think I have a little bit to do with it–my doctoring skills are not to be denied. I’m not getting cocky with this infection–but I am handling it like a total boss. Yesterday I purchased so many cleaning supplies that the store probably suspects me of murder. And they would be right–I am straight killin’ it up in here, with cotton balls and bleach, and vinegar, and spray-bottles, and gauze.

In your face, superbug!

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

You must be logged in to post a comment.

%d bloggers like this: