Yesterday, the screaming. Oy. It began in the morning and you can fill in the rest. All day long with the fevers, and the coughing, and the snot and the miserability. Tempers were short, and a lot of ugly things were said, like if you touch my game i will punch out your head and no you willnt punch out my head tobe you eeeeeeeeeeeeee (mutual choking sounds) and so on.

Then R2 started coughing and screeching, and then Brynn couldn't sleep because she couldn't breathe and so I held her and gave her nose drops, which elevated me to Public Enemy #1. Then, all night, the coughing and the snorting and gagging and crying.

Clearly, logically I needed to take these children to the doctor. I spent the morning wrangling them into clothes, and then back into those clothes, and brushing hair, maintaining my Public Enemy status. To the car, to the doctor.

We waited in the waiting room full of sick little kids, ALL of them appearing sicker than mine. My kids ran around and joked and talked to people and, in general, were not sick. It's a good thing the MOG and I enjoy sitting in waiting rooms for hours.

Once we finally got back to the room, through the decoy doc and on to the real doc, no one had a fever, or any other apparent sickness as they chatted with the doctor. We explained that they had, in fact, been ill, previously. Like, a couple hours ago. She believed us. She knows all about the miracle cure. Lucky for us, Toby did have gunk in his lungs and Brynn had an ear infection, so we were fairly legit. Sheesh.

The thing about going on trips is, somehow we always come home to a house with no clean clothes and all the groceries are gone. It's not like anyone is eating the food or wearing the clothes. I mean, Liz comes over here, but all she eats is oatmeal and ginger beer, and she has her own clothes. So, it's a puzzlement.

Anyways, typically the first day back in KC I go to Walmart, that Imperialist paradise. I have to work it a little, to try to shop with a minimum of childrens. The amount of time and effort involved in shopping is directly proportional to the amount of people riding on and around my basket. Anyways, I got to go solo yesterday during naptime, and I went down basically every aisle, because I could and there was no little genius type crossing items off my list and griping about me going off-list and no little other person exclaiming about see THE BALLOON MOM SEE THE BALLOON I NEED THAT BALLOON IS THAT A BIRD MOM I WANN GED OUT MOM I NEED HODE THE CORN MOM.

I got lots of what we need, primarily frozen pizza, peanut butter and bread. And bread, and bread and bread. After a leisurely hour.5, I arrived at the register, loaded the conveyor belt, attempted to engage the surly cashier, and after another YEAR of waiting, I reach for the trusty wallet. Oh, right. The wallet that's at my house. FAIL FAIL FAIL.

Fail fail fail. Even now, it frustrates me. I had to drive back to my house and do some serious convincing to get the MOG and the wee ones in the van for a 2 part errand which involved a)paying for my melted groceries and b)procuring a Christmas tree. More about that "later".

So, then we get back to Walmart and I realize I have forgotten my wallet, again. For which I am mocked unmercifully by the SAME person who stored my wallet in a random backpack while "cleaning". That same person forgets their wallet MOST days, but had luckily for us, remembered it and went in, with no small fuss, and paid for the groceries. Sheesh.

I toy with being SuperMom, but sometimes I just want a nanny and a nap. I don't know how single parents do it.. I need a second adult around here or I just start getting MEAN. I end up just like them, saying Mine! about my sandwich and pushing and arguing. Sheesh. 

This conference has started here at the Thunder School. It is consuming 115% of the MOG's time and I am tired and grumpy. I'm fine. I just need some chocolate and a little alone time. 

Sheesh.

Today, I took on Nashville and went to get the boys haircuts. First, I made a plan using Google Maps... then off we went. And for once, I got there. Exactly where I was going without driving the wrong direction, or finding the place I mapped to closed down in 1998. Well, there was ONE U-turn. But basically, I rocked the map. We went to a Great Clips. Which is, for you Texans, kinda Supercuts. But the one we went to in KC was super friendly and did a good job... they got it when I said "My kids are rockstars... they can't have geeky hair." Here, not so much.

I refer to that scourge of motherhood... the hostile stylist. She looks skeptically at the picture I have chosen. Yeah, lady. I don't want a buzz cut or a bowl cut with straight bangs. I want my sons to look like PEOPLE. She accepts, and then once Toby is in the chair with the FISH FISH FISH cape on, she asks... "Now, what did you want?"... and I show the picture again. She scoffs... "That haircut is longer than what he has now!"

I spit me of rude customer service. But we forged on. He ended up getting a semi-geeky normal cut. Hopefully, with a little gel and a side part he will be back to rocker. R2 got spikes. By this point I was so intimidated by the woman controlling my son's hair, I just backed down. Sheesh. We might be going back tomorrow to get some corrections done. Or not. Sheesh. Sheesh sheesh sheesh.

The MOG graduated from his class today. While they were having their celebratory potluck, I was at the DMV.
The amount of violent hatred that I hold for the DMV is .... well, violent. WHY does it have to take so long? WHY does it have to be so frustrating? And WHY for the sake of all that is holy is it so complicated??? I can feel my blood pressure rising. Or something.

So anyways. This morning we set off for the DMV at the break of day, 9 am. I got there the first time and realized pre-child removal that I was missing a document. So I drive back home. I then go back and remove children 1,2 and 3. Assign to stroller locations, front seat, back in infant carrier seat, and holding on to the handle and jumping position. Go in, grab desperately for a number... 04. 94 being served. Retreat into hallway with massive stroller and barely-pantsed R2. Sit down, wait. Repeat for infinity. Oh, hey the potluck just started! Early! Who'da thunk? Continue waiting.

Toby: wants out, in, up, down. Eat raisins. Read a book. Sing on toy microphone. Turn mike into guitar, do some wailing solos which include falling on knees and screaming. Eat gummy bears. Color on grocery list. Climb on stroller, poke baby in head. Discuss. Climb on bench, stare in fire extinguisher window. Play guitar some more, pretend to fall down. Fake cry. Talk to creepy people. Discuss.
R2: Stare at people and breathe loud. Eat gummy bears. Make "eat" sign every 36 seconds. Repeat.
Bean: Eat seat belt. Get poked in head. Squeal. Switch from Ah-da to ma ma ma ma. Mildly protest being in car seat. Repeat.
FOR ONE HOUR. Oh my holy freaking government bureaucracy. Finally get called. Go to desk, driving over rows of people with massive stroller. Sit down for 1.5 seconds, to be informed that my name is not on the lien and I cannot do the paperwork to get a license plate.
Arrive at potluck when it is over. The end.

In other news, I need to pack for 4 weeks. How does one do this? It seems like I would need all my stuff.