Some of you may know that Paul is away on business this weekend. Here lies Lori, taking the kids everywhere and making dinners (insert violin music here) while he's "working" at the 4-star resort in sunny Phoenix, AZ (insert violin music here). I think he thought I'd feel better last night when he informed me that he was "tired and wanted to come home." I almost felt better, but he's is in a hotel where they make his bed, clean his bathroom, wipe his ass, pick up his towels off the ground, etc., where I'm all driving J to school and waking up at the ass crack of dawn for Mamo-fun. Did I mention I have a meeting until 8 tonight, then I have to pick Paul up from the airport, then I have to bake cookies for a meeting at 8:30 tomorrow? Oh the humanity. Oh wail, wail is the work of the mother-of-the-year ever done?
(Yes, I'm joking.)
Since the week has been all out of whack, I've been finding myself extremely tired. Just last night I wondered "is it normal to barely make it through the Wheel of Fortune before wanting to crawl into bed?" I persevered of course. I mean, go to bed before the kids? That's crazy talk. So I went at 9:30 after watching what I found to be a disappointing Modern Family.
Where we are at now is me counting down the days until I can sleep in again. Or take a nap. I don't forsee it happening this weekend as I have a baby shower, then Duncan's b-day party (13, woot woot), and on Sunday I'm taking my mom to the casino (someone has to picket it right?) Paul has a great weekend of fun ahead of him too. I have a small list (read: scroll) of things for him to do Saturday morning.
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