Monday, August 29, 2011

Breakfast of Champions

I had a horrible evening.  Rotten even.  I love my baby boy so much, but man oh man do I wish that kid would sleep!  He's closing in on five months old now and just when you think he's getting close to allowing me to sleep all night he goes and changes it right up.  

I feel bad for him though.  I think the little bugger is starting to teeth.  Although there are no signs of sharp daggers popping through his gums just yet, the drooling, whining, chewing and tugging on his ear are probable signs.  What it means for me, however, is that I'm up every hour to hour and a half at night trying to calm the little guy down so he can go back to sleep.  You get the picture.  I wake up looking and feeling like an angry super mutant from Fallout.  For those of you who don't know what that looks like, it goes a little something like this:

Yep, pretty scary, huh?  I just wish I had that body armor to protect myself from the day's events.

My children all get up at 6AM.  By then the baby is ready to eat and be changed.  In my mutant like state I yell at every little noise my children make.  If they fart I get angry.  I text my husband telling him how angry I am that he has to go to work and he's abandoned me sleepless with five children.  It's irrational, yes, but again... I'm not quite myself (refer back to the above photo).  The morning progresses and I do everything in my power to sneak in a few more opportunities to close my eyes.  It doesn't go well.    

An hour later, my eight year old asks me if he can walk to the bus stop by himself.  I decided in my very tired and fragile mutant state that this request was worth granting.  So I gave him a quick recap of the "stranger danger" speech and sent him on his way.  I then flopped (and yes, it was most definitely a flop) back on the couch to sleep for another thirty minutes before I had to put my two younger boys on the bus.  I can't let them walk by themselves yet.  They'd probably get lost and end up in Egypt.

Thirty minutes later, I change into a pair of jeans and put a sweater on over my newly stained white tank top (hating my washing machine blog to follow soon) and get the kids into the car to drive the half a block to the bus stop.  I really am that lazy.

While I'm sitting in the car waiting for the bus to mosey on down the road, I decide that I'm hungry.  My thirteen year old is at home with the baby, so I decide that a quick trip to Dunkin' Donuts is in order.  The boys skip onto the bus and I head the few blocks to the yummy donut shop.  

Upon arrival, I grab an orange juice and tell the guy I want a dozen donuts.  A lady grabs a box and asks me what ones I want.  I carefully select pretty much every donut with frosting and sprinkles (with the exception of 2 crullers) and avoid anything with filling.  Filling donuts are just gross.  They are.  She closes up the box, looks at me and says, "Yum!  I wish I worked where you work!".  I just gave her a sideways smile and walked out the door.  In my puked on jeans, stained tank top and over sized sweater she thought I was on my way into the office?  Not to mention my horrifying hair do' and bloodshot eyes.  Lady, I'm taking these puppies home.  To my quiet house.  To enjoy the sugary goodness all to myself.  So I can return to normal from my super mutant state.

Don't they look good?   


angel said...

I remember these mornings and I am SOOOOOO glad they are gone. I will have to join you one your "office" to enjoy some donuts with you. LOL

#5 said...

And thanks, by the way; now this fatty wants a doughnut.