I'm tired. I realize this is breaking news.
My house looks like a bomb went off. Twice.
I am catching up from a weekend of a murderous combination of allergies, not sleeping, and no coffee.
I would bet money Jimmy goes through more clothes than the resident blow out and projectile vomit expert. This makes for plenty of laundry that isn't mine. Have I ever mentioned how much I loooove laundry?
I am one wrong move away from shredding the sewing pattern that's littering my living room floor. I understand basics, not complicated, symbol-ridden pictures written in a foreign language.
Pumpkin patch and birthday plans are at the top of the agenda. That, and editing a bazillion and one pictures.
I get sidetracked with online shopping (oh, smocked dresses and Christmas things). Oh, and with redirecting the nearly three year old (!!!) and feeding the baby that freaks out if she hasn't seen some sort of nipple in twenty minutes.
The weather forecaster today forgot to mention sideways rain, which is unfortunate because we would have planned a movie date. Instead, laundry beckons. So do the dishes, the toilets, and the Toys R Us-impersonating living room.