Well, the birthday party is over: at least I think it was a birthday party. If my relatives were not all present, I woulda sworn it was a riot in Bangladesh. It had all the elements of a full scale "international incident": there was screaming, crying, sudden loud noises, and breaking glass.
If you can't tell from the picture, Baby Trot was feeling a bit poorly, but enjoyed mashing cake all over himself all the same. If the rest of us had not been relatively healthy the last few months, I'd swear we were part of some Hazmat project gone array. As soon as the poor little fella gets over one thing, he picks up another. Boy is just like me instead: just plows ahead like a pack mule even though it's probably not the smart thing to do.
Toss in Rakes trying to outdo his little brother when it comes to scarfing down cake, as well as attacking the ice cream container with nothing more than a spoon and unbridled glee, and you get the makings of a Jackass movie gone horribly wrong.
Furniture Market + stressed to the gills + 17 people in my house + Trot's first birthday party + Rakes the Impaler = Ted twitching for the next 5 hours like some tweaker in search of his first hit of crank.
I need a nap. Or a drink. Or a lobotomy.
I'm just keeping my eyes on the prize: Curt Schilling, Kansas City, Monday at 4 p.m.