In pursuit of a vodka and cranberry
Dude, what a YAWNER of a weekend. I hate that. I do not do well with No Plans. I usually have to resort to spending money, but I couldn't even do THAT as 1) austerity measures are in place and 2) when I tried to IGNORE the austerity measures, the lamp I wanted was out of stock!
I was chirpily informed that I could drive a half hour away to a store where three were in stock, or I could wait until Tuesday when new stock arrives. OKAY THEN.
The boredom escalated this afternoon when, faced with three children in variable stages of Snotty-Nosed, Smartassery, and General Whinypants, we made cookies. So long, Low Carb Diet! All I've eaten today is oatmeal raisin cookie dough and the deep fried tofu in the stirfry Phillip made for dinner.
CAN WE HAVE A TASTE? JUST ONE TASTE? WE ONLY NEED ONE TASTE, MOMMY. CAN I GET A SPOON? WE NEED A SPOON FOR A TASTE. HOW ABOUT THAT TASTE? CAN WE HAVE A TASTE PLEEEEASE? OKAY, IN A MINUTE? WHEN YOU'RE ALL DONE, MOMMY? CAN WE HAVE A TASTE WHEN YOU'RE ALL DONE? WHAT ABOUT NOW, MOMMY? CAN WE HAVE A TASTE NOW? NOW? HOW ABOUT NOW?
Anyway, I couldn't really do much today anyway because we have a Sick Baby in the house. Sick babies are the saddest. Phillip and I were just staring at her in DISMAY this afternoon. The dribbly mouth, the oozing nose, the red-rimmed eyes, the hacking like a ninety-three-year-old smoker. No fever and I don't really have the Panicky Mom Spideysense about it, but I'm going to call the doctor anyway. My Panicky Mom Spideysense doesn't really work with actual illness anyway. I'm totally the mom giving her kids slurps of Tylenol and barking at them to stop whining when they have, like, double ear infections.
I finally got her to sleep (despite the swaddle busting - when do we put babies to sleep unswaddled again? Do I really have to deal with that? Now that she has just turned into an Awesome Sleeper?) and now I am waiting for Phillip to come upstairs and mix me a drink. ORDINARILY I would have WINE, but wine has been banished until Easter. Where IS Phillip? Is he avoiding me and this giant laundry basket staring me down? Doesn't he know I need a restorative cocktail? I NEED A FOOTMAN!