Spinning my wheels ...

I'm to the point where I feel like I may be sleepwalking. That is, when I'm not yelling.

Bruise's thumb is healing ... not as well as I'd like (What I'd most like would be for it to never have happened in the first place. But you know what they say ['They' being Jayne on "Firefly"], "If wishes were horses, we'd all be eating steak."). That little flap? It's a goner. The blood vessels were too well-severed. So, my son may have a little gimp-thumb-pad for a little while. Good thing he's so cute. Maybe nobody will notice.

Bucket was very well-behaved while we were at the doctor's (to have the thumb-of-dooooooooooooom!!!) assessed and rewrapped. She read (i.e., looked at) a book for a little, got me a tissue to wipe up Bruise's drool and snot when I asked her to, and didn't scream and cry (mostly because Bruise was crying ... and she came up to the exam table where he was sitting and entreated him, "No cry, Bruise. It 'kay." Yes, yet another reason that I DO love my children ... even when they are driving me UP. A. FRIGGIN'. WALL.).

But with Bruise being a little more ... whiney than usual ... I just feel like I'm rather tapped out.

The last couple of nights, he's had trouble going to sleep. There's really nothing that I can really do. But, I'm his mom. I've got to at least give it a try. So I'll try and soothe him with murmured words, pet his hair, rub his tummy (<-- Dude, it sounds like I think he's a DOG or something. Next on "The Animal-NO!-Child Whisperer") ... but after so much of him crying, crying, crying and me being totally and completely helpless ... Yeah, I'm rather exhausted.

And I'm about set up for having the missionaries come over for dinner. No, we're not eating THEM (thought I hear they're good with gravy :P). I'm making a BBQ chicken pizza. The crust is done (and made my kitchen smell so nice and yeasty. I like the smell of yeast, what's up with me?), the chicken is cooked and cut up, the BBQ sauce is at the ready, the cheese is pre-shredded. All I'll have to do is put all the stuff on the crust, stick it in the oven, and serve. Well, and cut it up. And vacuum the dining room floor. And set the table.

I'm tired again.

I got caught up with the dishes. I'm still Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay behind on the laundry.

I just told my son that if his sister kicks him again, he should bite her toes.

Yup, I'm sure that's a Dr. Phil-approved method of conflict resolution.

I should make something for dessert. Or serve some salad with the pizza. I should do something. But I'm just wiped out at the moment. (So tired I almost spelled it "whiped out," but I think I'll leave that to Devo.)

The nice thing is that Michael'll have tomorrow and Friday off. (He's taking tomorrow off ... just because he can, really. And because he's been working hard. I'm looking forward to having him around.)

Bucket has refused to nap. And I'm an enabler today. So she is going through her Pixar collection. Bruise, however, slept on the carpet in the living room. For over two hours. He seems a lot happier. Bucket did catch a few winks in the van on the way to the doctor's office. I think she's also gotten over her doctor-phobia. She was very chipper and calm. Thanks be.

Well, I need to put together a pizza, unload the dishwasher, and vacuum the carpet.

Give me strength. And some energy.

And maybe a banana creme pie.