I’m really just piling it on deep, this week.

We had a houseguest all week. A very nice, low-key friend, but an extra soul in the house nonetheless.

I had a nasty head cold.

A friend needed someone to watch her kids for most of the day, Wednesday. They’re friends of ours, and we go to the same music class on Wednesday morning, so I happily volunteered. At just before 7AM, I welcomed another pair of 2.5-year-old twins into my house.  I fed all four of them breakfast, took them all to music class, and then took them all to Starbucks (because it was cleaning-ladies day and I had to keep them out of the house).  I fed them all lunch, and miraculously got them to all take a nap at the same time.  And then wanted to fall down, dead.  They were all well-behaved and, despite my van resembling a clown car, the day went well. But holy crap was that exhausting.

Thursday, we went to Trader Joe’s and I decided to let the kids push their own carts. Daniel tipped his over five times, splitting his lip and prompting the nice manager to ask if I wanted a bag of peas for his face.  Instead, we got balloons. Which they spent the rest of the day fighting over.

Friday, I took the kids (by myself) to their first dentist appointment. As expected, Daniel was super outgoing and cooperative, if a little wriggly. I had made the appointment out of a concern for Daniel’s bite (turns out his front teeth simply do not come together when he bites down). Dentist says it’s a result of him chewing on his blanket, and will resolve itself when we get rid of the habit, which she didn’t seem to think was of immediate importance.

Rebecca talked a big game about it when we were at home.  Got to the office and she didn’t want to leave the lobby. Come to her turn in the chair and she had a complete freak-out.  At least when she’s crying, her mouth is open. So as long as I held her forehead in the right direction, the super-kind hygienist was able to do a quick teeth-cleaning.  It was great.

But, you know, I’m really not quite exhausted enough.

Tomorrow morning, M is going to leave the house as early as he can, and take Daniel to the museum. Because Becca and I are having potty-training boot camp this weekend.  That’s right. Cold turkey. Goodbye diapers. We’ve got the undies, the potty seat, and the M&Ms.  Wish me luck.

And if you don’t hear from me by Monday night, send a St. Bernard with a barrel of whiskey or something. I’ll be the one passed out in the corner.