On day 39 of what could very well be 956, give or take a couple hundred, I observed a developing pattern in our new way of life:

One day will be so great that I’m on top of the world! Nikki, the MVP. I CAN DO ANYTHING. Everyone gets along, school work is completed, I keep up with work responsibilities, and Phoebe only eats edible things. Jeff comes home and we have a nice family dinner; we’re basically a Rockwell painting.

The next day, the kids are at each other’s throats, none schooling is completed, work explodes, and the dog eats the remote control and three-quarters of the sofa. Then vomits those up and attempts to eat them again while the rest of us collectively gag. On these days, Jeff comes home to a mess of girls that need his help and attention and puke stained carpet. I see the look in his eyes as he approaches the house, “What wife am I getting today? Carol Brady or 2007 Britney Spears? Come on, Carol!”

The good news is, the stay-at-home order is most likely probably going to be lifted or not at some point in the near to very distant future, so perhaps I’ll have time to improve. Or not.

Stay. Home.
Wash. Your. Hands.