Wake up little Susie, wake up...

So I took a nap today. (Isn't it cute how I say that like it's a rare occurance? Chock it up to one more reason why I hesitate to procreate again!) Really, I hardly slept last night. Most people need a good solid 7 or 8 hours of sleep. Some lucky friends can get by on less and the REALLY lucky (as in, so-lucky-I'm-not-sure-I-even-like-you)friends can get by with much, much less. To you I say, well, something spiteful but clever. Personally, I need closer to 9. Of course having a child means that I'm more likely to win a free lipo than to actually GET that much sleep. This is my new motto: Peggy: Exhausted since 2004! Anyway, so I took a nap today instead of doing things that REALLY needed to be done and this makes The Boy crazy. Personally, I think he's jealous. I actually had to bring to his attention the cold, hard facts: he gets to leave the house. EVERYDAY! He gets to go to work (funny that "going to work" is suddenly some sort of a priviledge!) and talk to grownups and can actually hear himself think. Because he can still think--his brain wasn't whisked away with the placenta after our darling angel made his ever-so-delicate appearance into this great big world. I get...a nap. Well, and to hear the funny things Jack says ("Get out of town! This is Jesus' town and I'M Jesus so get out of my town!") and to get the cute snuggly kisses, however rare they may be these days. So it's a trade-off. I love being home and I love being a Mommy but those wretched Calgon commercials are LIES! ALL LIES! When I need to be "taken away" I can't just make myself a bubble bath and soak away my troubles. I'd be in the tub approximately 30 seconds before Jack'd jimmy the lock and slam me with a barage of questions and demands: "WhatareyoudoingareyoutakingabathcanItakeabathcanIhavesomeorangejuicecanIhavesome
bananabreadI'msooohungryLucybitmeyesterdayinthelivingroomcanIpetrosie'spuppiesareyou
almostdonedoyouwantmycrayonscanIwatchamovieIwanttowatchthemonkeywillyouputitinwillyou
playthehippogamewithmeIwanttoplaythecariboogameisdaddyhomeyetmommywhyareyousobbing
hystericallyandtalkingtoyourselfarethevoicesbackareyougoingtostartdrinkinglikeyoualwaysthreaten
youwillifyoudocanIhavesometoowillyoushareitmakesmemadwhenyoudon'tshare...blah blah blah.
Pretty soon, I'd be flying out of the tub screaming like a wild, naked banshee. Our neighbors would call the cops (not that that is a new thing in our neighborhood) and when DCFS came to visit, they'd want to know why our house smells like a side-of-the-road urinal. Scott, on the other hand, calmly ducks out the door with an alibi, "I have to go to work!" And you know the whole way there he is thanking God that he's a man, not a woman.
In other news, my underground zit has officially set up shop. I am here to tell you the thing is nothing short of a boil! CALL OUT THE SNAKE HANDLERS!! I need a priest, a rabbi and a midget here stat to get this thing taken care of before it completely takes over and I become known, lovingly, as the "poor girl who must be somehow related to Aaron Neville, although her complexion is so much lighter. Sheesh. Another day another...day.