Why I Lock the Door

I must lock my bedroom door if I don't want to be experimented on during the three hours that I get to sleep.

After a week of intense heat, brisk winds, more heat, chills, birthday parties, shopping, cleaning, errands, blah, blah, and more blah, I'm worn out. My nose is stuffy which is a sure sign I'm getting some nasty summer cold. I always do.

The Kids knew I wasn't feeling well and that I put J in charge so I could rest. I was sleeping in this morning when I was woken by an annoying fake spanish accent. "¡Yo quiero Taco Bell!" Just the kind of morning greeting a mother gets used to.

A friend gave Mooch a Taco Bell dog. Which, most likely was the genius plant of the girl's mother. It was on my floor and Snoo kept stepping on it. Why was it there? Like, doesn't every grown woman have a stuffed Taco Bell dog on their bedroom floor? I have no idea. Because I haven't run the stupid thing over yet? Because I have four children and they keep retrieving things from the trash? When they ask me how certain items get into the trash, I just shrug and tell them their friend, I Don't Know or Not Me, must have put it in there. And then I change the subject by suggesting poptarts for snack.

When I finally peeled my eyes open I realized that I had been violated. I've always been told that I'm a deep sleeper. I miss those days. Uninterrupted sleep is now a hobby of mine. However, add illness and cold medicine to the mix and voila, I resemble a coma patient.

Snoo had painted my toes with red polka dots, put earrings on me, foundation, eye shadow, a ring, and shimmer lotion. The sad thing is, her make-up job made me look better then I usually do lately. Yes, all this was done while I was sleeping. This sort of thing is a hobby of hers. Sleeping people are never safe when she is in the house. The very normally loud and hyper child seems to possess stealth-like magical powers over the slumbering. And she needs people to test her own secret perfume and lotion creations on. So far, even with six family members in the house, conscious people haven't been an option.

I was afraid to come downstairs, and for very good reason. Lil J ran in the sprinklers, leaving a puddle by the back door next to his now ruined suede shoes. He attempted to make himself a PB & J sandwich, and in doing so, he fed the ants lots of yummy, sticky raspberry jam. He's three. He's kind to nature and ants are his friends.

Our cross dressing cats tore apart the gift bag I was planning on returning. Toys were scattered everywhere. And my watermelon is leaking. Yes, you read that right. It's leaking. How in the heck it split, only 'not me' knows, but it's leaking just the same. A thick, sticky brownish- pink foul-smelling substance. Maybe it needs a tampon? I'm afraid to look inside.

There goes any chance I had of getting ride of the ants.

This all transpired while LiL J's big sister and ThE Oldest were 'holding the fort'. Fort TV. Good thing in America 14 year olds can't be drafted as child soldiers. If they could, they'd be trying to shoot the enemy with remote controls while yelling DON'T TOUCH THAT DIAL!

Moms are not allowed to be sick. Not even if their children are old enough to take care of themselves. I hope my husband doesn't read this post today. It will only confirm his suspicions that I'm losing my edge.