I slept in today until 9:30 or so. That means the kids were watching Netflix. I woke up a failure. Yes, I have a cold that has knocked me out except for when I'm supposed to be sleeping so I went to bed at 1:00 last night, but 9:30 never seems justifiable.
We ate lunch at 2. And before that, I had to run to Wal-Mart because there was no food for lunch, so I threw on something clean, which was a red shirt that is a little too tight an a pair of jeans that were a little too big. It was the kind of mismatched outfit that, if one is not careful and gets distracted, the shirt may creep up and the pants might sag down and some belly might show. This might be cute on some people, but not with this for times prego marshmallow-bellied mama. And when one goes shopping with Brooke, one gets distracted. Fail.
We had spaghetti with red sauce, and it sounded like a great idea for Summer to make her famous garlic bread, but the bread turned out to be moldy.
They fought. I mentally escaped to a land where no children existed. I didn't make them do their work because I didn't want to deal with it. Then, I got bitter. Then they got bitter.
I stopped reading in the middle of the bedtime book because the kept interrupting me with tattles. Max got no book. Bedtime was cold.
And after I had settled into my alone time, my youngest daughter exits her room (dangerous move), comes to hug me, and says, "Well, this was a good day. Goodnight."
I don't know if she meant it or if she just said it to make me feel better, but it worked. It ended well.