Sunday. Bloody Sunday.

My day started at 6:30 a.m., which was when Tweedle Dee an Tweedle Dum decided to wake up, come downstairs, and start playing Star Wars on the PS2, UFC style.

Then I taught 15 two year olds at church; 15. They just kept coming, like the robots in the future scenes in "Terminator 2". By the time the 13th kid was dropped off I was looking for the ghost of Alan Funt to jump out of a closet and tell me to smile: I was on Candid Camera.

The afternoon consisted of Ang and Trot taking a nap while I tried to watch the football game while Rakes asked me every question known to man. Seriously, I can't think of a single topic he DIDN'T bring up. Then we went over to my parents house for dinner where the combination of my three kids and my two nieces did a really nice job of sending my Dad's nerves into his 90's. And he's only 75.

Which all explains how I found myself sitting on the couch with Rakes where he somehow convinced me it was totally OK for him to watch "Iron Man".

I'm debating whether to change the name of the blog to "One Man's Journey Into Insanity: One Day at a Time".