Bossman's in Vegas til next week. Time to par-tay. And by "par-tay," I mean "organize and work on your own family court case that will, with any luck, be going to trial within the next week to 10 days."
Good times.
Bob got sent home early yesterday. First day back to preschool after a week and a half, and he can't even make it past noon. Fuck. So Ben went to pick him up, and he said the kid was lying on the floor in the coat room when he got there, looking dejected, sad, and exhausted. So Ben cut a one-time deal with him when they got home--he could either take a nap, or do time in The Chair. He chose the nap. And slept for three fucking hours. Three hours. The kid who doesn't nap period.
What the fuck is going on in that house that the kid isn't sleeping?
Anyway, he was plenty chipper when I got home. Wound up as all get out, but coherent. And willing to tell me without prodding why he'd gotten in trouble, unlike his usual "I don't know" and "I don't remember." He didn't have any problems all evening, except for when I told him he could not have a juice box 15 minutes before bathtime, and as he stomped to the kitchen to return it, he called me "liar, liar, liar." I ignored him. He got a drink of water in the bathroom (as I had suggested) and was then over it.
This morning I had to wake him up at 8:00. Jesus. But he was in seemingly good spirits, aside from when I turned off the tv and told him to go eat his breakfast. As he stormed past me, he raised his fist as if to hit me. I think the look on my face made him think better of it, because he dropped his hand almost as quickly as he raised it. And that was the last of that.
He exhausts me.
I opted not to go to the gym this morning, since it was Bob's first morning back in a while. The plan is for me to go this evening. Christ, I hope I make it that long. I've been kind of sleepy all day, strangely enough. And Ben and I had Mexican for lunch. Nasty, greasy Mexican food. Mmmm. (We did not sit at the Rape Table today. We sat at a booth in non-smoking sporting a painting of a well-endowed woman elbow-deep in, and surrounded by, clay pots. Which we have dubbed both "the Pot Table" and "the Jugs Table." We can't decide on just one moniker for this one. Who can blame us?)
My Fearless Lawyer appears to be avoiding me. Which I don't understand, because I've paid him in full. Pay attention to me, dammit.
I'm going to take a nap now.
Good times.
Bob got sent home early yesterday. First day back to preschool after a week and a half, and he can't even make it past noon. Fuck. So Ben went to pick him up, and he said the kid was lying on the floor in the coat room when he got there, looking dejected, sad, and exhausted. So Ben cut a one-time deal with him when they got home--he could either take a nap, or do time in The Chair. He chose the nap. And slept for three fucking hours. Three hours. The kid who doesn't nap period.
What the fuck is going on in that house that the kid isn't sleeping?
Anyway, he was plenty chipper when I got home. Wound up as all get out, but coherent. And willing to tell me without prodding why he'd gotten in trouble, unlike his usual "I don't know" and "I don't remember." He didn't have any problems all evening, except for when I told him he could not have a juice box 15 minutes before bathtime, and as he stomped to the kitchen to return it, he called me "liar, liar, liar." I ignored him. He got a drink of water in the bathroom (as I had suggested) and was then over it.
This morning I had to wake him up at 8:00. Jesus. But he was in seemingly good spirits, aside from when I turned off the tv and told him to go eat his breakfast. As he stormed past me, he raised his fist as if to hit me. I think the look on my face made him think better of it, because he dropped his hand almost as quickly as he raised it. And that was the last of that.
He exhausts me.
I opted not to go to the gym this morning, since it was Bob's first morning back in a while. The plan is for me to go this evening. Christ, I hope I make it that long. I've been kind of sleepy all day, strangely enough. And Ben and I had Mexican for lunch. Nasty, greasy Mexican food. Mmmm. (We did not sit at the Rape Table today. We sat at a booth in non-smoking sporting a painting of a well-endowed woman elbow-deep in, and surrounded by, clay pots. Which we have dubbed both "the Pot Table" and "the Jugs Table." We can't decide on just one moniker for this one. Who can blame us?)
My Fearless Lawyer appears to be avoiding me. Which I don't understand, because I've paid him in full. Pay attention to me, dammit.
I'm going to take a nap now.
posted by Mitzi Green at 2:42 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home