Once again, I just made an emergency trip to the store because the dog ate the damn raw pork chops off the counter before I could cook them.
Jack put on my rollerblades from college, flew down the sidewalk and immediately fell and "broke his butt." He's now lying on the couch, with his tushie up in the air, shrieking, "I NEED A BAND AID!" Seriously? For WHAT? He's in kindergarten. He thinks a band aid cures everything.
Caroline hasn't spoken one word to me since 8:00 this morning. I think it's because I accidentally brushed through a knot when I was putting her hair up in a ponytail, but it could just as easily have been that the cadence of my breathing was irritating her. Doesn't take much these days.
And then there's Whit. "Long day, meetings until late, I won't be home anytime soon." Great.
I had decided to not drink wine on week nights, but screw it.
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