It feels good to be loved

So, if you know me you know I bleed sarcasm.  The title of today's blog entry can be taken either way.

To start off the day, I get an email from my most recent boss, saying that there is a job opening and I was doing very well, fit right in, and basically if there were an increase could I be persuaded to return to work.  So all day I have been thinking of the job that could have been and the potential within said job.  It feels good to be loved.  I am going to call tomorrow to see what he had in mind and see how loved I am.  Maybe I will sleep tonight (don't bet on it).

So I should have known that the kids wouldn't get along today because Bayly went to school.  I know, a four year old should blossom from interaction with kids her own age and transition fine to and from social interactions at home.  Not the case, at least with her sister.  The normal drop off, pick up, get home, go for "relaxation time" for Bayly nap time for Cali while I fold laundry, chill out until the latter wakes up, and play/do projects/tear the house appart until dinner.  The first five in that list go fine.  Its the last one that gets their panties in a bunch every time.  I thought it was just the 4:30-daddy's making dinner time slot where something clicked in their little brains that every last rational thought went out the window and Bat Shit Crazy was the norm.  But I see today its just sisters "getting along" the way a shark and a bleeding seal do.  One antagonizes the other and vice versa.  And after numerous trips to the stairs, and subsequently to the bedroom without toys one would think it would set in.  But not today.

Finally bath time comes and get one in, out and into bed fine (guess which one).  Time for the 4 year old. Water's too hot.  "I'm cold!"  The soap is in my eyes -no soap has been applied yet.  Finally in, out, medicine, teeth brushed and story read (only 1 tonight because of the piss poor behavior).  Finally time to turn out the light and all hell breaks loose again.  She wants the light on in the hallway with the door open.  I calmly explain that because of her behavior today that it was not an option; also since her sister wasn't asleep yet the light would distract her from na-night bliss.  Screaming, yelling, kicking, face slapping ensues; yea, she slapped me, TWICE.  Now we have never raised our hands to either of our children so I blame society.  (not the place or the time for that fight)  Finally get her calmed down.  Go in to check on her sister who is now calling for "MOMMY."  I go in, in the dark, to reach out and find a naked but diaper clad baby in her crib.  How in God's name did she get out of her footie pajamas?  So finally get them back on her and back in to bed and , oh crap.  I forgot I have to get her Brobee.  One sec.....

So she managed to unbutton and unzip her P.J.'s again, at least she was still wearing them.  I hope they stay on for the duration of the night.  At least her diaper was still on.

It feels good to be loved, sarcastically for the second half of the day.

Yes, It feels good to be loved...