We interrupt your regularly scheduled blog posts...

I usually try to blog in chronological order, but there has been so much excitement around here lately that I have kind of been overwhelmed and hence avoiding it all together. But tonight's events are just so blog-worthy I can't let it pass by.

Today was a long day, spent mostly outside. In fact, the kids and I spent the better part of 12 hours either in the garage or on the front lawn. In the hot sun. And so I don't really know what I was thinking when I allowed the kids to start watching SYTYCD at 8:30 pm. (Yeah, I know it was two hours long, but here's a tip: fast-forward through the judges' non-comments and you can bust it out in an hour.) Brooke and Andrew's inability to sit still or stop giggling through the show should have been a clue. But we powered through and by 9:30 we were ready to head upstairs for prayers.

It should have been quick and easy. But here's where things started falling apart. Brooke and Andrew (yes they are the stars of this story) are currently sharing a room while Grandma is here. The earlier horseplay and silliness warranted a warning that if the two of them could not settle down quickly, they would have to be separated. This sent Andrew into some sort of tailspin about who would be the one to leave the room. He then started insisting that he would sleep on the floor in the hallway (?). He was able to drop the whining and crying long enough for a prayer (barely) but picked it right back up when he decided he needed someone to lay with him. Sorry, Señor, but that is not going to happen at 9:45 at night.

In the midst of all this, the phone rings. And the young voice on the other end asks for Brooke. What? Huh? Why is Brooke getting a phone call at 9:45? What is this, 5 years from now? So it's Brooke's friend, asking if she can come over tomorrow from 5 till 8. Let me clarify those pronouns. She, Brooke's friend, was asking Brooke if she, Brooke's friend, could come over. This was not an invitation, but I think, a babysitting request. I explain to Brooke that we have plans tomorrow (pizza and movie night at the Chatty's, y'all!), but if she wanted to come to Andrew's baseball game that would be fine. So the friend says she'll call back. What? So that means that Brooke has to stay up even later to wait for this phone call?

Apparently our plans don't mesh with the friend's babysitting needs, and so during the second call she tells Brooke we're off the hook. There's one problem solved. Now, even though every fiber of my being is screaming for PJ's and some major couch time, I return to Andrew's room to put out the next fire. As I listen to him cry, I kind of feel like I might join in. I told him that I am sad that I let him stay up late to watch TV and he should not repay this great privilege with crying. I said, Look, dude, I can't do this anymore today. You just have to go to bed. On your own. I then made a general announcement to all within the sound of my voice that I was done being a mother until 6:30 tomorrow morning and I better not see or hear any more from any children until then.

At this point, any normal, non-Mormon person (yeah, I just admitted I'm weird) would have promptly gone downstairs and opened any form of alcohol available. Wine, beer, Nyquil, whatever. Anything to take the edge off. I, however, am not going to go that route. I opened any carton of ice cream available. Chocolate, cookies and cream, whatever. Anything to take the edge off. You can say what you want, but I felt a heckuva lot better after that full bowl.

Comfortably numb. Enough to get me through the next few hours till I'm back on the clock.