This is not good.
Against my better judgment, I am upstairs blogging.
Something else downstairs will likely break while I am up here.
My husband's will to live.
It is 10:30 am, and our oldest son is BORED. He has nothing to DO. There is nothing FUN in this WORLD. This is the WORST. DAY. EVER. He and his brother have knocked a glass picture frame off the wall (playing hockey in the hallway).
We have swept up the glass.
As I was putting the finishing touches on my Her Nashville post this morning, I heard, again, the sound of breaking glass.
Gus has put yet another body part through the front door. An arm this time. Last time it was his head. The time before that, I don't even remember which body part it was. I do know that Frank the Fixit Man is now Frank my Facebook Friend. And I have posted a cry for help on his wall.
I have screamed at the boys and made them cry.
Then settled down to assess the need for stitches.
No need for stitches. Just a makeshift cast fashioned from a brown wash cloth and blue painter's tape-
I go downstairs to refill my coffee and Larry is grumbling about wanting to cancel a gig--a gig that no one will come to see today, because it is cold and raining--and Gus sidles up behind Larry and Larry doesn't see him, and Larry turns. And knocks into Gus's head. And Gus is covered in hot coffee.
And now Gus is really mad.
TODAY IS HORRIBLE.
FREAKING GOSH, he says, holding his hot coffee hockey jersey away from his skin
while Larry stands on the back deck mouthing curse words into the heavens, and I just
it would stop raining.