I Have a Hangover and I Don't Even Drink.

So it is Monday night but I am still thinking about the weekend. Probably because I am wishing that it still WAS the weekend. I hate Mondays. Mondays = Real Life and a Really Messy House because I have spent the whole weekend avoiding any type of housework. That's just how I roll. But weekends? They are wonderful. Greg is home, we do fun things. The house gets trashed, but we enjoy ignoring that fact until Monday morning.

If we were grading on a scale of 1-10, 10 being the greatest day ever and 1 being the suckiest day ever, I would have to rate Friday as a 9.5 and Sunday evening as a 3. (2 being reserved for blood and carnage and/or a trip to the ER) Our weekend started out amazingly and ended less so.

Friday night Greg's sisters came to babysit the kids so we could go out on a hot date. It was the first time we attempted dinner AND a movie since way before Mini-Man was born. We did dinner and ate until we were actually incapable of lifting another forkful into our mouths, then attempted to walk it off at a local furniture store. Afterwards I made him go see Failure to Launch with me. I already saw it once and thought it was funny enough to see again. (It was) He was not as impressed. Probably because he doesn't think Matthew McConaughey is the hottest thing ever. He is though, well, except for my dear husband. After the movie we decided that gorging ourselves ONCE during the evening just wasn't enough, so off we went to a restaurant for dessert. I finally got the cheesecake I have been craving. It was a lovely, perfect evening. No kids climbing over us, no one screeching in my ear, no diapers to change. Nice conversation and excellent company. I did not want to go home. I did not want the night to end.

But, it did.

Saturday we were busy busy busy working in the yard. We pulled out trees, including The Weed. (Which, coincidentally, Greg now refers to as Satan's Weed, since he spent a good two hours trying to get it out of the ground.) We fertilized, planted, weeded, watered. We ran to SIX different stores during the day. Yup, six. We were very tired when the day ended. It was a good day though. One of those days where you feel like you accomplished something.

Sunday was going to be a good day. We were making record time getting ready for church. A-boy kept reaching out for me and making this sound with an extremely whiny voice, "eh he he. eh he he." I told him to quit whining and go wait for Daddy to dress him. All the sudden Greg yells for me. I run in there and Aidan has puked curdled Strawberry Quik all over our bedroom carpet. My first thought: So I guess there was a reason for his whining. My second thought: I am so friggin' glad we have a steam cleaner! This will sure be handy! (and I was right. It was!)

We decided it would probably be best for A-boy to stay home from church, so Greg volunteered to stay with both boys since I had do the Primary Music one last time. When I got home A-boy was acting okay, but still a little clingy. He took a long nap and we chalked his sickness up to being too excited too early in the morning. He is usually parked in front of Nickelodeon at 8 am, not getting dressed and certainly not eating breakfast. Too much action for the kid! (or so we thought)

Greg's sister Elaine invited us over for dinner Sunday night and since A-boy was acting fine we decided it would be okay. I kept thinking it was a bad idea but I wanted to see the fam so off we went. Elaine had a lovely meal prepared for us and was holding A-boy whilst putting the food on the table. He took one look at a bowl of Jello and tossed his cookies all over his unsuspecting aunt, all over himself, all over the table and IN one of the bowls of Jello. Good shot, Red 2!

Dinner was postponed while we did a little cleaning up. Greg and I took turns holding Aidan on the couch while the other one sat at the table and tried to eat. It's hard to eat after dealing with barf. You can smell it and taste it on everything. I finally gave up. We felt bad for ruining her dinner. It was probably very good, just not after the pukefest.

Luckily he hasn't puked since then. But, all day today he has been doing that thing where he cries for me to hold him, then I do and he cries because he doesn't want to be held. He moves away from me and shoves me with his feet. So I move away from him and he cries because he doesn't WANT me to leave or move, he just wants me to sit there. Probably so he can abuse me with his feet. I'm sure in his two year old gibberish he is calling me names.

And since he was feeling a bit better I thought he might enjoy some soup. (or soot as he calls it) I made him some Wyler's Mrs. Grass Noodle Soup. He wanted to feed himself, so I let him. I should have also paid attention, but I decided instead to make a casserole so I could stick it in the fridge, saving me from the 4:45 pm stress of "Crap, what's for dinner?!?!"

When I go back over to the table, this is what I see:

Those are noodles, if you can't tell. And when I moved the soup mug away from him, he tossed the noodles on the floor.

Apparently he is not old enough to be trusted alone with a bowl of soup. Duh. Do I NOT know my own child? One good thing came out of it though. It gave me motivation to mop my very sticky and disgusting kitchen floor! So....thanks? Hmm.

And don't be thinking that Mini-Man was sitting there all cute an innocent the whole time. Nope. He was wailing like a banshee. Which, if you didn't know, is a wailing female spirit and NOT a mountain goat-like animal.

And because once again I don't want Mini-Man to be left out:

He really enjoys climbing underneath beds. See the latter part of this post for another exciting under-the-bed pic.

Here's hoping that the rest of this week goes by fast!