The kids wanted to have a camp out on the floor of their room tonight -- really on the stairs' landing, but I swayed them toward the bedroom. All afternoon, they played camp with imaginary "Olivia the camp mom." Playing in any imaginary world is unprecedented, much less one that involves a camp mom, whom Eden called on her imaginary phone every few minutes. (I loved this game). So, though I have a headache that has hovered for two weeks, and though I am worn out and feeling blah, I moved mattresses to the floor and rearranged their room.
Now it is night. Bedtime has been going on for an hour. I think everyone has gone to the bathroom at least three times a piece, and there has been much calling/yelling/crying/negotiating. I've already taken away the nightlight and overly-scolded. I partly need them to stop talking so that I can stop talking.
Earlier, after cleaning a kitchen that bordered on disaster area, I made some less than mediocre lasagna (ran out of tomato sauce halfway through and had to use a tomato paste concoction). In the process, I vigorously shook the can of Parmesan whose lid was not closed and, yes, cheese snowed all over the kitchen. Then a few minutes ago, while making myself a bowl of cereal and trying to block the insane yelling that had just erupted from upstairs, I knocked the can of chocolate milk powder out of the pantry. It fell, hit the floor, lost its lid, and, yes, rocketed chocolate powder all over the kitchen.
Now, I am sitting with my foggy headache trying to finish watching The Office. Out of a brief silence, Eden's voice just called down with a mouthful of pacifier. I have no idea what she's saying and I wish everyone would sleeeeeeeeeep. All I just heard is, "hey Mommy, would you? That would be so helpful." So whatever it is, I suppose I'd best go be "so helpful."
And then maybe we'll sleep.