It's Sunday morning. The day of rest. After a long week back at work and with the little guy in daycare, this is supposed to be a relaxed, fun, family affair. For some reason the little one interpreted this as "day of mischief". Napping doesn't seem to figure into mischief days. Doesn't he recognize that mommy and daddy are tired following a busy Saturday that included a Beach Dodgeball tourney and his cousin's 3rd birthday? Maybe that is exactly what recognizes. Two parental units to be taken advantage of.
When we finally got him down, which took both of us, operating in shifts. Dad finally had a chance to cook burn some breakfast. I also managed to overflow the espresso. And re-dirty the clean dishes. Oh, and spill cheerios all over the kitchen. Great start. Too bad it was after noon and I was just trying to get myself fed. I'm allowed to be responsible for the entire existence of this wee person when I can't feed (or clothe - that's another story) myself? Caffeine where are you hiding . . .
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