Sometimes my life is ... insane.

SOOOOOOO ... My mom-in-law's friend was going to drop a package by our house for us to take down to Michael's folks.

I FINALLY get around to getting a shower. The kids are not quite napping, so I am singing and not listening for the door.

Next thing I know, as I'm putting a robe on over my bathtowel is that someone's in the hall.

Turns out that MIL's friend is worried since my daughter (who doesn't want to take a nap) is crying in the window (next to her bubbly and happy brother) and calls my MIL, who lets her know how to get into the house since I'm not answering the door (being in the shower and all, of course).

Michael calls and is like "FINALLY, you've answered the phone. Mom's worried! Grandpa and Grandma are going to check on you."

So, I respond full of maturosity and poise (read: with cursings and threats to our strong-willed daughter) and assure him that I'm okay as I throw on any quick clothes that I can, since I've finished entertaining my mom-in-law's friend in two towels and a robe.

I call my MIL, to assure her that I'm okay and to give her the backstory. Then I proceed to give my girl-spawn a FIRM talking to, involving raised voices and ending in the too-calm, icy, hiss that you dread ever hearing from a parent.

My children are hunkered in their beds waiting for the other show to drop.

My tears of anger have not spilled over.

I'm wearing sweats and haven't combed my hair.

I may never take a shower again.

I may invest in an extra-large pet carrier for my children. And keep it in a deep dark basement.
(note to self: buy a basement. Preferably one that is deep and dark. And somewhat soundproof. ... Those baby monitor that we got when the kids were born will come in handy.)

As I told my MIL, "There go my chances for getting karaoke installed in the bathroom."

The kids, after my copious amounts of yelling/talking/hissing, are pretty quiet.

Yes, my life is awesome.

And if this scenario appears in any movies, I'm totally suing for that. This is MY life. If I'm dealing with this amount of crazy, I'd better be compensated for it. I'm just sayin'. It's not like I'm going to say, "No, you can't use it." But if you do, I'm not going to say no to receiving tens of thousands of dollars when you sell your manuscript. ... And that fee is per instance of my life. Just so you know.
(Swiper, no swiping!!)

Now, I would stick my head in the oven. But we have electric, so it'd just ruin my hair.
I think I'm going to take some drugs (read: a couple of Tylenol) ... since I have a wild headache.

(Seriously, people without children, kids are the BEST birth control. ... I do mostly love my hellacious devil-spawn *gritted teeth* little angels ... but sometimes I could envision myself gleefully dancing over their prone forms. A sailor's hornpipe, per se.)

(This is why the Lord, in His infinite wisdom, made kids so funny and cute and sweet. So that, on the occasions when they fail to be ANY of the above, we don't kill them. Like hamsters do.)

(This is also why God created the intertubes. And Tylenol. And chocolate. And books. ... As rewards for not killing our children. :P ... I really do love them. I just wish that I could have children AND what small semblances I had left of my sanity. At the same time. ... but you can't have everything. Where would you PUT it?)

*headdesk*
*headdesk*

*headdesk*