Well, that was {not} fun

Some days start out fairly normal, then end like a train-wreck.  Oh wait, today didn’t even start normal.  It started with too few hours of sleep because both boys were up, then started with both boys screaming at the top of their lungs.

From there it actually did improve (though in our haste to get out the door, forgot one of T’s books  that was supposed to be returned today), and I thought that even though I was overly exhausted, today would be better than yesterday and without the shenanigans of Sunday (think angry child who gets herself locked into a bathroom that has very very old locks and doorknobs…).  We spent the morning sitting outside, just watching the lumberjacks cut down the huge tree in the corner of our yard, and regardless of how much I disagree with it coming down, it was nice to just sit outside and not have to blow bubbles for 2 hours.

I guess I should qualify the above by saying that the day improved only because the girls weren’t also screaming at me, and the boys stopped.

The rest?  Well, here is the rest. The Little Comedian wasn’t feeling so funny since his nap was interrupted by the noise of chainsaws.  The towering tree–which was healthy–was coming down and leaving a huge void in the yard.  Said tree was also home to a crow’s nest and two tiny baby crows, probably orphaned because their tree is gone and mama crow was sadly flying around in circles searching for her tree and babies.

The afternoon was mild…at the start.  The girls colored, Little Man took a nap, and I sat nursing the still-not-so-funny Comedian while reading a few magazines.  Then Little Man and the Comedian took a bath, splashed around quite a bit, came out feeling fine and fresh…

For a reason I can’t even remember, I knocked on the girls’ door.  They had been playing and laughing behind closed doors, and locked it.  You’d think a little one would have learned her lesson not to lock doors anymore…but that’s not the point.  T came running to the door crying and yelling, opened it, and I see her.

I see her dripping blood from her mouth, all over her hand, her jammies, the floor.  She’s screaming.  As any mother knows, head wounds bleed like crazy.  Her mouth was filling (so it seemed) with blood and I had no idea from where.  All in a matter of a split second, I saw her, put the Comedian down (who now was part of a tragic comedy and didn’t like it one bit, starting to scream himself), and rushed her to the bathroom.  I yelled for M, mostly to fill me in on what happened.  Knowing T, I figured it’d be a looooooooong time before she was ready to talk after trauma.  M refused.  I yelled again, and again, meanwhile running cold water on a washcloth to put on T’s mouth.  It was her lip.  It was fat, split on both side–in and out.  Shock of all, T told me what happened.  M threw a doll at her.  No wonder she wouldn’t come; she knew she screwed up and didn’t want to face the fury.

Little Man was screaming now with all the other screaming, and running around naked still.  M was pouting in her room.  T was freaking out every time she looked in the mirror at her fat lip.  I was freaking out about who to call, and whether or not I’d have to haul everyone in to the ER for T to get stitches.  I’m wondering if I should try to get the blood out of the carpet right away or not, and whether or not I’d just end up calling a carpet cleaner.

It was great.  Great for building patience.  Lord, I’m not even praying for patience anymore.  I don’t need this patience-buidling bootcamp.  What are you setting me up for?!  I’d like a break.  Please.

Anyway.  Thank goodness I was cooking beans in the crock-pot, and they were ready.  Oh yeah, baby.  Homemade refried beans are great.  The girls loved them, too.  I served some up for us, topped it with cheese, pulled out the Fritos…and made myself a margarita.  Yup.  Another first.  Fence has always made them before because I never went to the trouble.  Well, today was worth the trouble.  And it was good.  If I was any better at food photography, I’d have a photo to show for my dinner.  But I’m not, and since the photos look like the food styling of the 60s and 70s (totally unappetizing in my mind), I’m going to delete them all.  But just imagine a bowl full of amazing refried beans, covered in gooey cheese, just like the kind you’d find at a favorite Mexican restaurant, with a margarita to the side.  Thank goodness for a good dinner.  The kids are all back to normal now and enjoying a sword-fight and chase around the house.  I’m hoping for a quieter and boring Wednesday.