i think i've decided that my tag line is 'so that happened'

Where do I even begin to describe the past two weeks to you? I've been racking (wracking?) my brains, soggy mess that they are, to find a word or a group of words that even comes close to describing the crazyridiculousnonsense-enduring that I have done.

Also? Where's my medal?

Not really. I don't want a medal. I'm not a medal kind of girl.

Last Tuesday, Hanna's babe (and Hanna, too) were driven away from my house in an ambulance. That was NOT awesome at all. Mr. Baby extended his Go-Go-Gadget Arms and pulled a scalding hot bowl of soup on himself. It was awful. He has a second degree burn on one of his arms and he has to have all kinds of washing and wrapping and dressings and specialists and whatnot. Not. Awesome. At. All.

On Wednesday, we paid a TON of money to get The Mister's truck in excellent working condition. A big butt-load.

On Thursday, we paid a tiny ton of money to get my supersweet minivancooper inspected, and replace blahblah pump blahblah filter blahblah pay up sucka.

On Friday, The Mister wrapped the front of his truck around a telephone pole. He's fine. The sound gear in the truck and attached trailer? Also fine, thanks. The truck? Totaled. Please note this happened two days after paying a big butt-load of money to make it all better again. Meh. Go look at the picture. It's something.

Also on Friday, The Birthday Boy (remember him?) climbed in my car and punched my daughter as she sat there, all buckled in her seat, waiting for me. Punched her. And laughed. Until I used the Bad Dog voice, and then he was not so chipper. And don't even comment about this. Just send me your thoughts via the Jedi Mind Thingy we do, and I'll get the message.

Also on Friday, Wee Man turned into The World's Greatest Living Expert On Torturing One's Siblings and also Screaming and Tantruming and Generally Being A Shit. Poor kid just can't do the right thing. Yes, I called him a shit and poor kid in the same breath. But seriously, people, it's the truth. Dude knows the rules, he is very sorry when he does the wrong things, and he just can't help himself.

How do you even begin dealing with that? Yesterday he spent 40 minutes alone (time out, solitary, whatever you call it) before 9 am. Which is, coincidentally, BEFORE COFFEE and BEFORE PATIENCE and BEFORE I'M TRULY AWAKE AND ABLE TO DEAL WITH THINGS IN GENERAL.

I'm really awake before 9 am every day, up and making breakfast and wiping keisters and things. Just not awake awake.

He does really awesome things like this: Climb into the baby's crib, while the baby is asleep, jump and shout and make a terrible racket, thereby terrifying the baby. Then, for extra beauty, he vaults into his bed, takes his shoes off and throws them at the now-screaming baby. NOT AWESOME. Also not awesome? You'd probably think getting four spanks on the bottom with the shoe you used to hit the baby was not awesome. He probably thinks that's not awesome, too, but he's not telling.

I was giving you a run-down of the past two weeks. This behavior nonsense has pretty much been kicking my ass for over a week now. I even read this post here to remind myself where I stand, and it hasn't been much help. I am tired and ornery. And also, I hurt everywhere. Every joint in my body is inflamed. My hands are so swollen I had to take my wedding ring off. The superdeeduper painkillers the doctor gave me barely touch it.

Please don't think I'm whining... Or not. You can think what you want. You will anyway, regardless of the permission I grant you, and if things around here are any indication, my permission is not worth all that much anyway.

So that's the news from my neck of the woods.