A day

I am tired. A good tired, though. We were busy and invested in much generating of paperwork which was filed away when we were done for the day. (And note how handily I avoided a comma splice in that last sentence. I almost left out the "and" but caught myself just in time. Must. set. good. example.) Frankly, I'm glad we were all still liking each other at the close of things. The volume of work we plowed through left us with some moments of adamant frustration. In fact, at one point K asked me, in a very sweet voice, "Are you having a bad day?" (No, sweetie. We're all having a bad day.) E spent some time frothing at the mouth, G wasn't going to do another thing, thanks for playing, mom. We fixed that right up with potato leek soup and apple crisp with ice cream. You'd be happier too, wouldn't you?

Nonetheless, the effort and accomplishment made me proud and I told them so. I'll tell them again in the morning.

This tired is a nice contrast to the exhaustion of the weekend wherein, Mr. Q got up at 3:45 Sunday morning. I managed to get him back to sleep finally by stroking his ears (my heavens but they're just like his daddy's) when S got up. It was about 5:30. K followed at about 6. I bundled the Q up and propped him on pillows with an overhead toy playing music and found a CBC station playing kids programming. And I pulled a blanket over my head and collapsed on the couch.

And, now he's up again. Coughing. (Yes, that's a sentence fragment. What're ya gonna make of it!?) Poor baby. This cold is a nasty, evil, excessively phlegmy bug.

I had planned to get some writing done, maybe go to bed early enough to want to get up. Ah, well. There's always later. Heh.

Peace.