Sunday

I awake with a slight hangover headache.

My best friend from college is visiting me, and we had a late dinner the night before.  But the evening was cut short a bit, as she started feeling queasy around 11:00pm.  Was it the alcohol, or the stomach flu that her daughter had been enduring for the past couple of days?

I see her in the kitchen and she confirms the latter (and most unfortunate of the two options).

I give her my condolences and offer gatorade.  She accepts, and then I realize we have no gatorade.

I ask her if she wants a banana.  She accepts again, and I give her a spotted brown version.

She leaves to drive home to Philly.

We lysol the crap out of our house (we know this routine all too well.).

My husband and I both start to experience psychosomatic nausea.

We take the kids to Barnes & Noble.  Braden is screaming as we walk in that no, he doesn't want the book store, he wants the toy store.  I tell him that he had better calm down or he will get no store at all, and we will be going to the book store today.

Ten minutes later, we are at the toy store.

We eat lunch at a deli.  I realize that I have a hefty appetite which makes the psychosomatic nausea seem all the more psychosomatic.  (For God's sake, please knock on wood).

We come home and put the boys down for a nap.  I am looking forward to getting some work done, as I have a deadline looming for a freelance project and I can't seem to get my act together or find more than 15 consecutive minutes to sit at my computer.

I get ready to start typing on my laptop and I realize the 'r' key doesn't work.  Or the 'e.'  Or any of the keys on the left half of the keyboard.

I call out for my husband and we can't figure out the problem.

Until we remember that in his lysol happy state, he lysoled the computer keyboard.

Bad idea, by the way.

I start to have a minor panic attack.

I so don't have time for this.  I so don't have time for this.  

I try to remain calm.  I have to get this work done.  I need a computer.

We have an old computer that I break out of the proverbial vault.  It takes 25 minutes to turn on, but it works.

I relax and load Word and try to open my document.

I hear Braden screaming for me - he has been in his room for 45 minutes and it's clear the nap is not going to happen.

Which has been happening more and more lately.  As in, almost every day.  

Word won't open the document because it is so freaking old that it's some ancient version of Word, and why Word, whatever version, can't open another Word document is lost on me, but that's beside the point.

Nervous breakdown arrives.

I start to cry.

Braden continues to call for me.

My husband goes out to buy me a new computer.

Braden joins me in the living room and we watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse (which has replaced YGG as his favorite show which is slightly devastating).

I fantasize about seeing the Hunger Games by myself.  Maybe my husband would be kind and let me go to the evening showing.

But I just had a night out last night.  I don't deserve another break.  

And I start to cry again.

My husband returns with the new computer.  He is super excited.  I just want to get work done.

Or actually, I don't want to work at all.  I just want to go see the Hunger Games.

But instead I work.

And watch the kids.

And then stop working and watching the kids and write this post.

And I feel incredibly guilty for not working.

And ignoring the kids.

And I'm tired.

So tired.

In every way.

We order pizza.

We bathe the kids.

I put both kids to bed and get the most amazing cuddles.

I smile.

I know it's just one of those days.

Bring on tomorrow.