Today

HAPPY 1st BIRTHDAY to HOBO!!

So along with being a momentous one year birthday day for Hobo, it's also the day after that day. Remember my day yesterday? Well today happened. It rained last night and for awhile this morning. While the rain last night did help me sleep some and momentarily made me forget about my fear of all things night, it also meant that the boys and I were trapped inside this ever shrinking house. I'm glad for the rain, really. But after a week of no outside play, muddy paw prints, and muggy air, I am ready for it to go back to Oregon.

When Stuart got home at 10:45 am, he literally fell asleep on the couch while taking off his boots. It was kinda pathetic in a sweet way. So I thought some good outside therapy would be to load up the boys and take them to a very nice, fine dining experience. An experience that is rivaled by many but prides itself in it's fried potatoes pieces, non-chicken meat, red and yellow sporting grown man and of course, it's indoor playground. Yes my few readers, I am referring to M-C-D, Mickey D's, the place where everyone goes when it's yucky outside because they too are tired of hearing their children scream inside their own house, McDonald's.

I really don't know why we ever go there. The food is horrible. The boys never eat anything except for the milk and a couple of fires. There is always some mother there with >5 kids whom is just looking for a cheap babysitter for a couple of hours. But the boys love the playground. And I love getting out of the house. So we go, occasionally.

After ordering our food and precariously making my way back to the play area, I noted that there was an entire children's soccer team playing inside. Wonderful. Lucky for McDonald's. Not fun for me. I sit, the boys take off up the tunnel of germ infested horror, and thus we begin the ritual of saying "Hi mommy" and "bye mommy" with every exit and entry of the aforementioned black hole.

Speaking of, I have a hunch that good 'ole Ronald pipes something in thru the vents that makes all children inside scream at the top of the lungs, rendering their parents deaf and making these parents non-existant to their children. Except me. I can hear ALL THE SCREAMING. And I of course, ACTUALLY WATCH MY CHILDREN.

I finish eating and have done all the parents-not-parenting gazing that I can handle for one month, when Tucker comes running off the slide to greet me. Just as he gets to the table, he trips and falls head first into the stool. I jump up and in the two seconds it takes me to pick him up his eye is already purple and swelling-fast. Great. Great. Great. I yell (along with all the other yelling voices) for Tyson to come, NOW and clean up what's left of our mess all the while holding a screaming and swelling Tucker.

We make it home to wake up daddy and tell him that I broke his son. He barely wakes from his coma to see the shiner on Tucker's eye and say, "Night-Night boys." I find and administer the Tylenol and grab an ice pack. Of course Tucker wants nothing to do with the ice, but he gladly takes the Tylenol (a phenomenon that has just taken root) and I settle with him on the couch for some mommy therapy.


**Note to self-when having a bad weekend, expect for things to get worse.