You know what’s funny, Internetz?  What’s funny is that, before I had kids, I used to complain that I was busy.  Ha!  Me, busy!!  I know, right?  Sure, I’d be doing two or three shows at a time, working 50-60 hours a week, and whatever else I could manage to toss in there, but.. STILL!  I had NO IDEA what busy was!

Today is one of those days that seems to have gone on forever.  Bryan and I both have the crud; I ventured out into the world today to buy $35 worth of drugs to try and knock this monster of a cold out.  I say it’s a cold.. hell, it could be the flu.  We’re both on-again-off-again feverish.  

The baby was up for the day at 4:30 a.m.  So was his mom.  Thus began the day that never ended.

Also, as I mentioned, The Boy is grounded.  From, like, everything.  This stems from a boiling point we’ve been battling .. well, I take it back.  It’s a point I’ve been FRETTING about for years, but I’ll be damned if anyone in a position of power does anything about it.  Long story short, he punched a dog.  The prologue: this is not the most violent thing he’s done in the past month.  The epilogue: Sarah is becoming increasingly bitchy about someone doing something proactive before it spirals out of control.

We’re having extreme issues with this.  To put it simply, he is not that child when he’s over here.  He is not even rough over here, much less violent.  He doesn’t throw temper tantrums.  He doesn’t sass us.  He would never, EVER lay a hand to either of us (or Binja).  I wonder if this is: A) a result of our fabulous parenting, B) a simple math statistic of the ratio of time he’s actually over here, or C) his knowledge that I would LAY HIS ASS OUT if he ever did.  As much as I’d like to believe it’s due in large part to A, I’m realistic enough to realize that it’s a combination of B and C.

So how do you go about telling your spouse and some other woman that something needs to be done about their child’s violent outbursts?  I’ve found that there is no good way.  And I know it’s oh-so-easy to sit on the other side of the fence and spout knowledge, but there are so many eggshells to tiptoe on.

BUT, back to his being grounded.  Let’s put an eight year old boy, a teething 11-month old, and two sick adults in one house.  Add rain and two dogs.  And a cat who is needier than any of the above.  Now take away the Wii, the TV, and anything construed as “fun”.

Yeah.

I’m going fucking nuts over here.

And that’s not to say that anyone is being horrible.  To the contrary, The Boy has been great about entertaining the grumpy baby, playing with him for long stints at a time in another room.  The baby has been great about napping.  The dogs have been fairly lethargic.  And Bryan and I are dosed up to the max.  

But all I want to do is curl up into a ball with some cider and a gossip magazine, and sleep like I did before I had kids.

Ah.  Exhale.

I know I didn’t give you a post yesterday.  I didn’t, because I was cooking from 6:30 in the morning until 4:40 in the afternoon.  And then we ate for two hours, and then there was clean-up.  Then I passed out.

Because fate finds our misfortune entertaining, Bryan and I both woke up Thursday morning feeling like crap.  We’re pretty sure we’re sharing some sort of sinus infection, more than likely given to us by the babeh.  But we powered through, and I think dinner turned out marvelously well.  Tons of great food, lots of laughs, and everyone ate entirely too much.

We did have the minor setback of the LESSON OF THANKSGIVING: we do not put potato peels down the disposal.  As it turns out?  It clogs your drain up.  Thank God my husband is the hottest man with a massive pipe snake. (That’s what she said.) 

It’s Christmas, and that means I’m not only ecstatic about the season, but EXTREMELY emotional.  I’ve cried at the drop of a hat for the last two days, from anything like Toys for Tots commericals to a baby crying in Costco today.  A BABY CRYING.  I know.  It’s retarded.  I think I may be tired.

Tomorrow’s the Iron Bowl, and we have had a few really great offers to go watch the game, but .. as it seems to happen every single weekend we have him .. The Boy is grounded.  For pretty much the same reason.  I’m trying not to get frustrated with it, but it is insanely frustrating.

“Two and a Half Men” is so unfunny.  

I have got to get to the gym tomorrow.  It’s been days since I’ve gotten any exercise, and I feel so slovenly.  

Bryan helped someone at work this week who works in a casino on the Gulf Coast.  The guy seemed pretty genuine about Bryan calling if he ever headed that way for the hookup.  I think we may put aside some money and take a long vacation in the spring down there.  

I’m considering using a Neti pot.  That’s how crappy I feel.

I’ll post some pictures of the Thanksgiving day festivities and spread when I get them from Mom.  Until then, I plan to curl up in front of our fireplace and nap with a kitty.

Damn, Wordpress.  I JUST installed the latest update.  And I so enjoyed our three days together without you bitching me out that ANOTHER update is available and why won’t I just upgrade already?  I have enough guilt in my life, thankyouverymuch, and I don’t need your finger wagging at me to be as cool as the other kids.

In other news, WHO WATCHED THE FUCKING HILLS THIS WEEK?!  Did y’all see Audrina go batshit crazy?  For real, she was rocking the crazy skinny brunette vibe, with her wide eyes and violent outbursts and insanely insecure “don’t you think I’M hurting?!” rantings.  SO COMPLETELY AWESOME.

And also: Speidi has joined to become one.  And a good point was raised: we prohibit gay/lesbian people from joining in a legal union, but allow Heidi Montag and Spencer Douchebag Pratt to commence nupti nuptua marriage?

Also: The Real Housewives of Atlanta Reunion.  Not enough weave-pulling, in my humble opinion.  Not nearly enough threats of violence.  I so hoped a drink would be thrown.  Haven’t these ladies watched Rock of Love and Flavor of Love reunion shows?  We’re tuning in for the throw-down.  OOH, OOH, but Kim?  Crazy ole bad wig wearin’ Kim?  Who sorta had cancer but Chilli’s somehow saved her and the wig is related to something else that she doesn’t want to talk about?  Kim is FUCKING NUTS, that’s what.

I was talking to Jae, my favorite Target cashier, today about names of children.  He said he would like to name his potential future daughter Arietta, because he plays a video game with a character who has that name.  And she’s pretty.  I don’t know.  I think that’s kinda porn-y, to name your baby after a girl you want to bang.  Maybe I’m just a prude that way.  You go, Jae.

Why is that people forget humanity around the holidays?  Open doors.  Offer help.  Don’t, you know, laugh when a girl screams at some Christmas music display that suddenly goes off in her ear as she’s trying to concentrate on her grocery list for Thanksgiving.  That poor girl is already self-conscious enough that she’s wearing a houndstooth beret, for Crissakes.

Also, did you know that Target organizes their buggies first thing in the morning?  Hell yes.  They do.  There are rows of toddler-carrying buggies, rows of infant-carrier buggies, and rows of just regular buggies.  I found this fascinating.  I am also lame.

Also v2.0, the workers at Target are SUPER HELPFUL first thing in the morning.  If you even look starry-eyed for a moment, even if you’re just thinking about how many of the items you are currently wearing that you purchased from Target and do they wonder if I shoplifted these today or do they just assume I’m lame, then suddenly four associates will approach you and ask you if they can find something for you.  After the first few times, I just started making shit up to see if they could find it.  ”Yes, I’m looking for short cut cinnamon sticks, but they MUST be in a glass jar because plastic interferes with the purity of the spice..” and I’ll be damned, THEY FOUND IT.

I wonder if they get flare for it. (Flare?  Flair?  Damn, you’d think with all the Facebook notices, I’d remember.)

I sat down to this post thinking, “Jesus, I so hate NaBloPoMo for making me write tonight when I have nothing to say.”  Turns out, a glass or two of white zin will get me chattering like a monkey.

Happy Thanks.  Be blessed and count your blessing.