No, No It's Not

It has been a long and harried week around here. Extremely busy and stressful with high highs and low lows. There were appointments to be kept on top of track meets, mysterious hive breakouts in the classroom and field trips. All the normal stuff, plus some bonus monkey wrenches thrown in for good measure.

I have been up well past my bedtime just about every single night. Last night was no exception. Once I did get to sleep, I was woken up around midnight and it was a good hour before I was back to getting some blissful Zzzzzzs.

4am comes around and it's time to start my day. I grab my coffee and open the back door in the darkness to let Matilda The Hun out for her morning constitutional before she manages to make me spill my mug all over myself.

Of course, Matilda decided to turn it into a real morning constitutional and take herself for a walk through the neighborhood. Great! Now I have to get a robe and shoes on and go collect her in the blackness while trying to navigate the minefield of fertilizing goodness that she left in her wake.

Reclaiming the 100 lb. beast and dragging her back into the house, I discover that Smallest Weasel is awake and wanting to cuddle up with me because she is cold. Only she's not cold, she's burning up.

Within minutes of cuddling, Smallest Weasel starts running for the bathroom before she has an explosive experience in her pants. I may have to fumigate to get rid of the stench. No sooner do I get her back to the couch than she is running for the bathroom again. This time battling time from things coming out the other end. I run behind her and hold her hair back, while trying not to upchuck myself. Hmmm, I guess those hives aren't to mysterious after all and are part of a virus. Smallest Weasel won't be going to that really awesome, super cool birthday party today that she was invited too.

Hmm, better wake some more Weasels up for the two track meets and gymnastics class. Matilda is ringing the potty bell at the back door again.

It's 7 am and I am already haggard. Mr. Weasel makes his entrance into the living room after having leisurely woken up on a warm and sunny Saturday morning, just as I am cracking open a silver bullet. "Isn't it a bit early for beer? Even for you."

No, no it's not.