Because it’s going to happen. Best to maintain some distance. (April 2016)

Last week was a challenge. Work was crazy and I’m pretty sure I was operating, due to stress levels, on “batshit crazy” mode. Wednesday was the worst and after peaking by yelling at no less than two unsuspecting people with vigorous jazz hands to express my complete frustration, I simply logged off my computer, picked up my purse and B-lined it for the parking lot. I was looking forward to just relaxing at home with my sweet baby girls. I went to open the front door and the handle came off in my hand. I stood there staring at it for a moment and then just shrugged, placed on the porch and walked in to freshly painted home– it looked wonderful and I wandered room to room congratulating myself for the amazing color choices I had made. Then I discovered the 3×3 patch of wall where The Kraken and a green crayon had met and frolicked with reckless abandon. (Note: Much like the parents of Sleeping Beauty rounded up the spinning wheels, I had sequestered what I thought was all the crayons in the house and locked them away. It was if some Crayola Maleficent had willed The Kraken to the wall, eyes glazed over, arm out stretched and fingers clutched around the green crayon). Meh. I shrugged and decided that it was nothing a little left over paint couldn’t fix. I made some chicken for dinner and a little extra for my lunch the next day. After picking up the edemame shells that The Kraken had thrown on the floor at dinner, I found myself in an argument with Emily about why she couldn’t eat a whole big of candy for dessert. Mongo stopped by the house to see the girls, kissed them good night and left while I put them to bed. Emily was upset with me, convinced my argument that candy rots your teeth (and is generally unhealthy for you), was utter bullshit. She sulked while I put The Kraken down. I crawled into to The Kraken’s bed, looking forward to the peace and quiet and sweetness that comes with listening to a two year old slipping off to sleep. “I want Princess Baby. I want Princess Baby. I want Princess Baby”- she repeated this no less that 17 times until I finally said no and told her to go to sleep. Silence. Then, “I want bear. I want bear.” I stopped her at the 8th time, “GO. TO. SLEEP.” She began several other rounds from wanting milk to wanting sheep until finally, my eye twitching, I decided it was in our collective best interests for me to just leave. Emily was sleep sulking, arms crossed and mouth agape, even her soft snoring was windy with distain. Vivienne, my cousin and nanny, had set the alarm and gone to her room and I went in the kitchen to clean up dinner and clean out my lunch bag. The extra chicken I had made for my lunch was gone and I texted the suspected offender. “That was my lunch”. Mongo replied “No. That. Was. Delicious.” Eye beginning to twitch again, I began to rinse out my lunch bag (even though I now had no lunch to put in it) when the house alarm went off. I jumped three feet and then dashed to the pinpad to disarm it quickly as it was wailing at eardrum-crushing decibels and I didn’t want the girls to wake up. The code said the basement window was open. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I shouted upstairs for Vivienne, several times, but no answer. The door to the basement was open so I quickly made the decision to close it and wedge my thick flip flops under the door to prevent anyone from opening it easily or quietly. I ran and got my gun from the safe and then ran up stairs to Vivienne’s room–she was blow drying her hair. I brought her up to speed on the alarm situation told her to call Mongo, put him on speaker phone and follow me downstairs. She was sufficiently freaked out. I opened the basement door and because I lacked the creativity to say anything witty, shouted, “Hey asshole! I’ve got a gun.” Using my extensive room-clearing training from watching multiple Law & Order marathons, I burst into every room while Vivienne followed behind me. At one point, I turned around to find her, wide-eyed, head on a swivel and holding a South African bottle of Grenache. “What are going to do with that?” To which replied she would (duh) defend herself. “Goddamn it, Vivienne, grab the cheap shit. That’s why God made Yellowtail merlot.” We looked everywhere but there was no one down there, the windows and doors were locked and nothing looked disturbed. But our adrenaline was high and so I decided to move the girls into my room where I could easily defend us should Hannibal Lector be lurking in the house somewhere. I had just finished tucking the girls in my bed when I heard Vivienne screaming from the kitchen. I ran, gun in hand and ready to give a lead tasting to what I thought was an intruder attacking Vivienne, only to find her standing in a flooded kitchen. I realized that I had never turned off the water when the alarm went of and it had been running for 10 minutes with my lunch bag plugging the drain. We used every towel in the house to soak up the water and the next morning after my shower, I had to dry myself off with a sweatshirt. I was exhausted, it was now after 10pm and I looked forward to just laying down with my slumbering cherubs. No sooner did my head hit the pillow, The Kraken pointed out that she had to go potty. So we went. Back to bed, not more than 2 minutes had transpired and The Kraken declared she had to go potty again. “No you don’t, now go to sleep”. We went back and forth a few times before she stood up, pulled her diaper half way down and began to pee. In my bed. I grabbed her and she peed on me for a few seconds before I plopped her down on the toilet to catch the last two drops of urine. “I peed in the potty!” she cheerfully exclaimed. I was so tired I simply threw some dirty laundry and the spot she peed in my bed and found a dry spot on the end of the bed. The Kraken crawled up next to me and we laid nose to nose. I wrapped my arms around her to cuddle and she responded by sticking her fingers in my eyes, nose and ears, identifying each. Then she began: “I want Princess Baby.” 
To say that I am overdue for a vacation is an understatement.