7:35. Arrive home from work.
7:36. Rakes verbally assaults my eardrums with the tale of how he got 1,000,000 coins on "Star Wars Legos" to be Luke Skywalkers ghost. I have no freaking clue what he's talking about, but congratulate him on his good fortune and try to figure out what Ang left me for dinner. (She's at choir practice, my Dad is watching the kids with a look on his face that is a cross between the dude that has the monster come out of his stomach in "Alien" and one of utter pity for me.)
7:49. After hugging everyone, taking off my coat, and telling my Dad, who is interested in how many dishes I can fit in the dishwasher at one time, how my day went, I find my dinner in the microwave.
8:02. I sit down to eat after having to watch Rakes blow up a storm trooper repeatedly and get Trot off the kitchen table.
8:03. Trot and Rakes ask for a fudgecicle.
8:05. Finally get to eat. And I only had to stop 23 times to tell Trot to get off the bar and Rakes to hold his head over his napkin.
8:09. Angie gets home, my Dad leaves a vapor trail in his wake as he leaves, and I'm sitting in the toy room somehow playing the PS2 with Rakes while Trot eats a sucker and randomly yells out "Kill that man now, Dad!"
8:31. Get both boys upstairs and try to get them both to brush their teeth and go to the bathroom at the same time without making a mess. I'd have better luck tying 2 mongoose together by the tail and letting them loose in a china cabinet.
8:52. Finish reading Rakes his books (only after I'd answered 429 questions about "To Think That I Saw It On Mulberry Street").
8:53. Tell Trot, for the first time tonight, to get back in bed.
8:55. Tell Trot if he DOESN'T get back in bed I'm busting his tail.
8:59. Bust his tail.
9:00. Kiss Ciera goodnight, say prayers, and spend the next 10 minutes hearing about what happened at school and how excited she is about a sleep over she's having on Saturday at a friends.
9:10. Sit down on the bed and talk with Ang about her day, my day, the kids day, and I think Mayday, but I'm not entirely sure.
9:30. Leave bedroom and find Trot, sitting on the sofa and watching the movie "Heat" which I'd left on. When I asked him, in the most angry, grown up voice I could muster what in God's name was he doing still up? He replies with the following.
"Watching tv now, Dad."
9:32. Ang, worried I'm about to stroke out, carries Trot upstairs, tells him I'm going to sell him to gypsies come the morning, and puts him back in bed.
It's now 9:55. He hasn't come out again, but I'm staying right where I am until 11 o'clock just to make sure.
I'm currently accepting applications for a Nanny position at the website doyouhaveamentalproblem.com.
There’s Not Enough
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