Feeling shitbeat today. That's all there is to it. Yesterday was full to overflowing and I am not forty anymore. Hell, I'm not even fifty-five anymore.
A scene from last night:
Lily had put the boys in my shower so that she could take them home clean and in pajamas so they'd be ready to pop into bed. My shower has clear glass doors and she came and got me and said, "Come look at this."
Jason was standing there, leaning up against the shower, watching his sons and they were putting on a show, standing under the water, pretending to be frogs, squishing my soap.
"Owen!" Lily said. "Don't squish Mer's soap!"
"It's okay," I said.
"But that's nice soap," Lily said.
"Yeah, Lis gave it to me for Christmas. Avocado soap. But it's all right."
Owen continued to mash the soap in his little fist, enjoying the way it felt, I'm sure.
"Sorry I'm squishing your special soap, Mer," he said.
I couldn't help but laugh.
Next thing I knew, every adult in the house AND Greta were crowded around the shower, watching two very tired and very wired boys entertain us in the shower.
And they were clean as beans when they got out and we wrapped towels around them and then put them in their pajamas. And they gave us all many kisses before they left.
They'll be back this afternoon. Perhaps I'll just let them play in the shower the entire time they're here. Sacrifice another bar of soap. Sleep on the floor of the bathroom with a folded up towel as a pillow while they're dancing around in there.
Nothing could go wrong with that, right?
(I can't even talk about what's going on in Missouri or the fact that Robin Williams had been diagnosed with Parkinson's or Ebola or the Middle East or the Ukraine and what the hell is the ice bucket challenge and no, don't tell me. I don't give a shit.)