Remind me never, ever to agree to babysitting three small boys when I don't have a confirmation time for when the mother is coming home. I didn't get home until one or one-thirty or so.
And before the people who went and watched midnight X-men bitch at me about how they didn't get in until three, y'all didn't have to haul boys up and down the stairs, change diapers, keep boys from killing each other, make dinner, keep them from killing each other again, try to keep a contrary six-year old in his room for beating his brother up, watch the damn Wiggles, haul boys up and down the stairs again and try to get them all to sleep so you can finally go downstairs and collapse on the couch. And then when you finally get to sleep, one of them starts crying so you have to go up and see what's wrong, change more diapers, and get him back to sleep again.
Shit. No wonder I feel like I've been run over with a truck. How do mothers do this?
So today I am generally unthrilled with life, even though I will probably be going to see X3 tonight (OMFG YAY!) with my brother (*gag*) and I've been writing a lot so I have chapter updates for next week. *g*
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