My teenage daughter ran away, my fine young son has turned out gay*

So, my morning was less than stellar. Actually, let's back up to last night, which was the third night in a row that my daughter did not sleep. As in, she said she didn't sleep all night long, and I have no evidence to contradict and plenty to support. Since no sleep means that she will be slightly more fragile (see yesterday's meltdown during the game of SmartAss), I kept her home from school today, which means some strategic planning. Fortunately, I still have a wife around the corner from me, since Margaret is kind enough to function in that role until she gets a better paying gig. There was always the chance that she would slam the door in my face, though. Unlikely, but possible.

And this morning didn't improve when I woke up 5 minutes after Dude was supposed to be at school. Eight minutes before the tardy, but no way were we getting there on time. As I was rousting the troops, I managed to drop a glass in Dude's room; shards of cobalt blue across his wood floor. Cleaning up, I cut my foot.

I won't mention that I did have to take several potty trips as this was going on, because that might be TMI.

I couldn't find my phone OR my car keys, so I took the second spare set. My co-blogger has the first spare set, but I might have to rethink this. We got halfway to school when The Dude speaks up.

"Mom? You didn't give me any breakfast this morning!"

And while I know that it is the most important meal of the day, I was going to make him suck it up and deal with the gnawing hunger, until I remembered that when I give him his food, I also give him his Adderall. It's just not fair to him or the school to send him without it. I pulled a 180. . .well, a 47-point turn; remember, I drive a minivan. Back home to get breakfast and medicine.

Once at home, I realize that the housekeys on that second set do not fit my door. I yank Dude out of the van and make him climb in the window to his room, which is about 5 feet off the ground, both inside and out. He unlocked the door and found my keys. Why he couldn't have done that before we left the first time, I do not know. Worthless kid.

At that point, I called the office and told them I was going to be late. My actual words were "I don't think you would believe me if I described my morning."  If you can't be at work on time, be entertaining. That's my motto, at least.

I did have to walk Dude into school & sign him in, all the while listening to him mutter about how much trouble he is going to be in for being tardy. I'm thinking, Dude. You are in the second grade. This is maybe your 3rd tardy of the year.  No one is going to bat an eye. The wise woman said nothing, as she was happy that Dude cares if he's late or not.

I got to the Cistern's house, and threw myself on her mercy. Fortunately, she was still half asleep & didn't really understand what I was saying until after I drove away, which was too late for her to do anything about it.

I only had one near-miss MVA, which is about par for my 6 mile drive to work. But I did notice that the pants I pulled out of the dryer this morning had a grease splotch that didn't come out in the wash. That was okay, though, because I had on my scrub jacket. (That right there is called foreshadowing, for those of you playing along at home.) When I did get to work, I sat in the parking lot for a couple of minutes taking deep breaths. Work is stressful these days, and even when it is not (if there is such a time), I need to leave home stress at home and work stress at work.

I got to work and was working away, whistling like a good dwarf, finding the spoonful of sugar, blah blah blah. I was looking at someone's chart, put it back in file and left the chart room. The pocket of my scrub jacket tried to stay behind. Big gaping seam rip.

So do I safety pin the jacket and hide the grease, or do I take off the jacket and let the greasy food splotch show? (Answer: some of each.)

After that, it calmed down a bit. Until I got the phone call from Dude's school that he'd been in a small kerfluffle with another boy. Said other boy now has goose egg on back of his head. Stories vary. This is a blog post of its own, but the bottom line is that tomorrow morning, my wife gets to keep another child. The sitter is coming noonish.

The last thing that happened was that as I pulled up to the house I noticed that Dude's window was still open. That means three things: Fertile Cat has been going in and out of the window. (Don't hate. I have made two appointments to get her uterus ripped out, but she has some kind of skin disorder going on, and she never goes outside, unless Dude's window is open.) Also that I have been trying to cool the world, since I just turned the AC on. And finally, since today was the Highest Pollen Count Ever, I now have pollen in my house.

I am looking forward to bedtime. Not just the kids' bedtime. My bedtime.

*The title does not describe my life, it's a hat-tip to my 80s roots. It could describe my life in a few years. Stay tuned.

Harrumph

Obviously, there is something terribly wrong here.

Error the first: my sister posted first. Which was fine, considering that she set the blog up & invited me to post and was all excited about it. Except she asked me to take a look at it when I am in the middle of finishing up my week of exhaustion, the week I have the kids. (Whatshisname has them on the other weeks, it's not like I have a deal with the goblin king or anything.)

Error the second: when Margaret invited me to post, she didn't give me any tweaking permissions. All I can do is post. So fine, I will post a rambley ramble, and then at some point over the weekend, I will force her to give me tweaking permissions so I can do things like add a blogroll, so everyone can tell that we are addicted to folks like The Bloggess and Mir. Yeah, (she said nonchalantly) we've met Mir. We went to Athens to see the play that makes my daughter Writhe! In! Horrified! Discomfort! when it is mentioned by title.

Let's see, everything else looks pretty okay. I like the background, but I agree with her, it would be better in purples or blues. She did change the name from Twisted Cisterns, after I pointed out to her that just as brethren is plural, so is cistern. She did it with pretty good grace.

We're going to have to do something about the contributors and profiles bit, too. Good thing I don't have anything else computer related going on this month. (Wait a minute. . .)