I’m writing this post at 6:00 in the morning, but it probably won’t go up until later tonight. I’ve only got a minute and I reeeeeeeeeeally need to unload my crowded mind. So here I go:
Right now, things are so busy that I feel like I’m only experiencing things in tiny snippets before I have to rush off to the next bullet point in my hectic schedule. Thank God there’s an end in sight–and that end is called Christmas break.
I had pretty awful day yesterday. Between things at school that are completely beyond my control and the screaming wolverine that seems to have taken up residence in Boo’s room, I didn’t get much work done. And I need to be working nonstop right now if I want to keep my head above water. For some reason, Boo seems to sense this, because as soon as I tell him he needs to go play in his bedroom so Mommy can get some work done (read: type something without having little fingers insert things that look like aslkjsdlkjj in the middle of words), he dissolves into a puddle of pathetic squeals and yelps and bloody screaming that is surely going to bring DHS down on my shoulders.
And now the little monkey knows how to work door knobs. And locks.
That little bit of sanity I was hanging on to? Yeah, It went up in a tiny puff of smoke that smelled oddly like burning feathers. I’m pretty sure that was my guardian angel saying, “Forget it, lady. God doesn’t let us wear industrial strength ear plugs on the job, and my insurance doesn’t cover hearing damage. You’re on your bleeding own for the moment.”
For some reason, I imagine my angel sounds like a guy you would buy fish and chips from a stall on the side of the road in North London, all round vowels and “Pip pip, cheerio, Govnuh,” and that kind of accent that makes my own sound like I’m crunching on gravel while I talk.
But that’s beside the point. If there was really a point to begin with. I’ve got exactly seven minutes to spare before I rush off to my next bullet point (which is known in the common world as a ‘shower’ because I’ve not reached the point where smelling like the inside of a subway car when I go out in public is acceptable) so I’ll just leave you with this little vingette:
Last night, I brought Boo into our ginormous–and I do mean GINORMOUS, this thing could sleep a family of four comfortably–new bed after he spent an HOUR throwing a fit because he didn’t want to go to sleep. That meant I had to table my own plans to get some writing down for Charm (S0rry, Kate! It’s coming to you soon-ish) and go to bed.
At 8:00 PM. Hrmm.
When he finally stopped wimpering and settled into a pattern of alternatively petting my head and asking me, “Juice, peeeeeeeeeeeas?” he finally fell into a fitful sleep.
I guess all the wailing had left him with a bit of congestion, because every time he inhaled, he snored like a steam engine barreling down the track toward me. Not the most restful thing in the world. Eventually, I was able to tune it out and fall asleep, only to woken up by talking.
I’ll be damned if Boo wasn’t carrying on an entire conversation with me IN HIS SLEEP. Just like HIS FATHER. Gah. His eyes were completely closed while he talked about puppies and kitties and Where Daddy? I can only imagine that he was dreaming we were back at the Gentry zoo and chasing around birds and wallabies and two humped man beasts and such. Every once in a while, he’d sigh happily–which I guess translates to, “I caught one, Mommy!”–and roll around so that he was taking up the entire top half of the bed.
After a few hours of being elbowed in the back of the head and alternatively kicked in the kidneys, I moved him back to his crib.
So if you get a message from the hospital tomorrow saying I’ve been admitted because I’m peeing blood, you’ll know why.
Thanks, Boo. Mommy loves you.