I got up too early this morning. 6:15. That, for me, is too early. And what's worse, I didn't sleep well last night because I was so worried about getting up early. "If I fall asleep now I'll get 7 1/2 hours of sleep. If I fall asleep now I'll get 7 hours of sleep." Then I'd wake up in the night and check the clock to make sure I hadn't overslept. I'm not sure where that paranoia comes from, because I've overslept maybe once in my life--I just can't sleep when I know I've got somewhere to be or something to do.
Add to all that the nightmare I had. A girl's family had been murdered in various gory ways (I'll spare you the details) and she had gone back to live in the house where they were murdered. It was disturbing.
The silver lining to getting up early was that after Jeremy left for work I should have had about an hour before the kids got up, to do with what I'd like.
But two minutes after he walked out the door Tyler woke up coughing and crying. I laid in my bed with him for the next hour while he sang to himself and kicked me in the side, back, side, face. Then he poked himself in the eye and refused to stop crying. I finally fled the room, upset and tired, only to return ten minutes later to a boy with a leaky diaper and diarrhea on my bed.
I threw my sheets in the wash, brought him downstairs, where his bowels let loose again in his diaper, and then again on the living room floor during the one second between removing his old diaper and replacing it with a new one.
And now he's beside me, needing ANOTHER diaper change, making a minor mess of my desk drawer while chanting, "mommy, I WANT a piece of candy."
I'm considering calling in and using one of my vacation days. Oh wait...I don't really get those.
p.s. The bread was delicious. Oh crap.