Good Thursday Morning!

The 6 AM Me that woke up mad at the neighbors for disturbing my sleep a whole hour early has an evil twin. That bitch turned off my alarm! When I finally awoke pleasantly well-rested at 8 AM, I woke to chaos. Sometime in the night, my youngest had climbed up next to me in my bed, lovingly curled his sweet, little body next to mine, and dumped the entire contents of his bladder on my mattress. I popped little guy in the master bath and made a dash to the laundry area with the sheets. On my way there, I eyeballed a floor dotted with yellow confetti in the boys’ room. I dumped the sheets on the washer and figured-eighted back to the bedroom, stopping to see that last night, my next oldest had spilled his bag of corn all over his room. Corn?  Yeah, corn. Last fall, his class took a field trip to a farm.  He was "lucky" enough to bring home a ratty, wizened ear of “popping” corn. The ear had evolved to a Ziploc bag of shriveled up kernels that he would carry around, intermittently reminding me that I had not yet popped them. Feed the dog – pick up corn? Feed the dog – pick up corn? Dog.

The entire time, the image of the pieces of my nemesis, my coffee bean grinding jackal of a coffee maker, was dancing in my head, growing ever so farther away. Back to the bathroom, wrapped little guy in a towel, spiked his hair like the “big boys”, and jumped in the shower. Important parts, deodorant, thank god I was lazy and still had mascara from last night. Lipstick! Two more little boys dressed and sent to wake up their older brother a task they enjoy as it involves torture. Pants. No pants. Curses!  In the dead of night, an evil leprechaun had snuck in the house and shrunk all my work pants. Come to think of it, he’d shrunk most of my shirts, too. Shrunken pants, no coffee, and confetti are the themes we were working with as someone decided to empty the contents of the three-hole punch on the living room floor. Pesky leprechaun.  Hmmm…I think we’re a little early for Fiesta and cascarones. Shoes, coats, breakfast for boys. Purse, granola bar, keys for mom. Only a cursory glance at last night's half empty cappuchino sitting in the cupholder of the truck.  Botulism avoided.  Dropped off oldest boy, embarrassing PDA in front of his classmates.  Made it to work with five minutes to spare. Not bad, not bad at all for a brain on PTSD. Just think what I can accomplish when I make it back.