Yesterday was our first back to reality day where we had school, did more and more laundry (and I already did so much!), and tried to stay afloat of It All. I shouldn't say we. I should say me. Because my kids weren't all that much help.
My main effort was keeping them on task and tracking Mark down (twice) while he was supposed to be cleaning his room. The first time he'd escaped into the woods with Holden of triplet fame and the second time he was asleep under his covers. Some people will do anything to get out of cleaning their room.
So last night they all three got a lecture for not doing their work in a timely fashion. I was mad and frustrated and tired out and they all knew it.
Meanwhile Adam and I are nurturing a hulu addiction which is being exacerbated by our discovery of Neal Patrick Harris in Dr. Horrible's sing a long Blog.
We stayed up way too late.
And this morning I woke up to the melodious strains of practicing the piano. Well before I wanted to get up.
Braeden was playing (loudly) The Music of the Night from Phantom of the Opera, which is wholly inappropriate at 6:30 in the morning when your mother stayed up too late because it is not called The Music of 6:30 in the Morning. No it is not.
When I groggily staggered forth, Braeden greeted me with a huge grin because he knew that I'd be so very happy with him.
So I forced myself to smile. But I didn't want to.
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