now i can post it

Y'all have no idea how difficult blogging is for me sometimes.  I usually have blog posts running through my head All.  Day.  Long.  But when I finally have the time....well, I'm usually too exhausted to really care.  For shame.  I know.

But other times I just can't post right away.  Like last week.  My man was out of town.  And funny stuff just kept happening.  But it was really only funny b/c he was out of town.  And I was alone.  Alone.  With 3 kids.  But who wants to publicize their man is out of town?  (There are freaks out there, ya know.)

So now, a week after this happened, I'm sharing with you.

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Do you see this little Princess? 

Remember last week when she locked herself in my car?  With the keys?

That entire day with her was one for the record books. 

Here is the email I sent to a friend that very evening:

My day.  In 4-word vignettes, if you will.

Husband out of town.
Two in the bathtub.
Screams from the tub.
POOP in the tub.
(Not the first time.)
Caught drinking the water.
Two in the shower.
One on the toilet.
Two poops, 1 bathroom.
Aroma making me gag.
My cell phone rings.
She escapes from shower.
Pee on the floor.

*******************

This same day, Bruiser had his K5 physical at the dr's office.  (Yes, he starts kindergarten in the fall.  I can't quite talk about it yet.  Don't ask me.)

I had prepped this sweet boy for his shot in the arm.

With Dad out of town, I had to do the honors.  For the first time.  Ever.

Momma doesn't do shots.  I come in for the lovin' and snuggling post-shot.

Only today it wasn't just a shot.  It was 5.  In the leg.  12345.  Five.  FIVE.  I stared dumbly.  (NO comments on that one, people.)  We had been there 2 hours.  I held 2 tired, anxious, and VERY hungry kids.  Alone.  12345.

He was brave.  But it was rough.  Later that night, dragging his leg behind him, he said to me, "Momma, is my leg gonna hurt like this fo-evuh?"  I wept.  I won't lie.  And I praised God for vaccinations.   Because no, his leg won't hurt like that fo-evuh.  Praise God.

(By the way, that's my boy playing Angry Birds on his Daddy's phone.  Up until this past weekend, Daddy's phone has been off-limits.  So my phone has basically been Bruiser's phone since I got it.  But no longer.  And now, if it were at all possible, his Angry Birds addiction has grown even stronger.  We're considering a 12-step program.  Or a kindergarten taught completely with an Angry Birds curriculum.  Whichever is cheaper.)