Some days, it really doesn't pay to get out of bed. Max thinks so, too.
Co-teacher called in sick for the eighth day in a row with the flu.
No substitute could be found until 9:35. A first-timer, but at least she didn't stand around waiting to be asked to disentangle the usual suspects from the puppy pile on the floor, admire a cooperative building project, or see why there was giggling coming from the sink area.
Huge family program scheduled for tomorrow at school. Guess who did all the preparation?
Paper for my grad school class is due in three weeks. Thus far, it largely exists only in my brain.
My irregular cycle was earlier rather than later this month. TMI? Deal.
My mother-in-law announced she's coming up to spend Mother's Day weekend with us. I have 16 Developmental Assessments due that Monday.
Eighteen people are expecting to come to my house for Seder Saturday night. At this point, I have not cleaned for Pesach, shopped, or planned a menu.
My eldest son just told me I'm signed up to have brownies for the Mock Trial "Send Us to the National Championships" Bake Sale tomorrow. I said, here's a recipe, drive yourself to the supermarket. Because I am a Bad Mom.
We're out of scotch.