I had four minutes of sweet beautiful peace and quiet. And then, the chaos of Hurricane Children struck with gale force. In the past hour since the storm hit:
- My younger son went potty without instruction, supervision, cajoling, or bribing. Having no fanfare, he brought me the poop instead. And then wiped his hands on my lap.
- My other son, who always has to go the exact same time as his brother, decided not to use the upstairs bathroom and instead peed in my shower.
- The dog just barfed on my carpet. I'm pretty sure what I thought was a stick is actually a bird's leg.
- I just realized the washing machine has been running for, oh, 11 hours. Upside is I now know what cotton looks like before it's turned into fabric. It looks like the inside of my washing machine.
- I need to fix dinner. Besides condiments, the fridge has tomatoes, orange juice, raisins, milk, a block of gorgonzola, squishy pears and what possibly used to be ham. For Martha Stewart, that's all the ingredients for a spectacular al fresco, apres-theatre meal. For me, it just means the pizza place is about to get more money.