The kids eat boxed macaroni and cheese, cupcakes, and/or ice cream for dinner.
The laundry remains unfolded.
The oldest son asks you to get an x-ray every time you touch your gigantic goose egg.
And you, as the mom, are kind of spacey and cranky all day.
For my readers who want the gory details, I will spill. Colby has recently started throwing things down the second-floor balcony to the first floor below. It is hilarious.
(According to him.)
I was down below this morning, sorting laundry, while Mr. C was playing with his Geo-Trax train upstairs. I had a little flash when I thought, “It would really bite if he chucked something off there and it hit me.”
(Don’t ignore those little flashes. They might save you a whopper of a headache.)
Less than a minute later, the Geo-Trax engine clocked me in the head hard enough to bring me to my knees.
(Colby laughed. He didn’t see it hit me, he just heard it hit the floor.)
If this post makes absolutely no sense, please call me and make me go to the doctor.
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