I cannot be held responsible for this post...

...because I may or may not be aware that I'm even writing it.

I'm in full on zombie mode today. I awoke at 3am to the dog wanting to go out. Five minutes later, the boys' door opened and I heard the blessed sound of post nightmare crying. Soon, they're both awake and struggling to go back to sleep. Finally, Thing One nodded off and Thing Two settled into his bed, quietly whining "I wanna get up." I was just about to nod off, when Husband started coughing, a lovely after effect of his cold. And when Husband coughs, it's eardrum shattering. Then I had to go to the bathroom. Then Sweet Tart (which is what Thing One requested we name the baby) wouldn't allow me to get comfortable. And then my brain started racing. I mentally reorganized every room of our house, settled on a floor plan and who would sleep where, fretted about money for about an hour and a half and cursed my allergies for flaring up.

I didn't go back to sleep, except to doze for about half an hour while the Things ate breakfast. And when I did doze, I had crazy weird dreams. Ya know, the ones where everything's sorta slanty and sharp and you're still about 18% awake, so you're sort of aware you're dreaming but at the same time you're not positive, so you keep telling yourself you're pretty sure this is a dream, so that small military plane thing that's hovering by your window isn't really there, staring at you and possibly recording you for who knows what purpose. And Tim Allen isn't really delivering your baby.

This morning, I had to run to the grocery store, which was delightful in my comatose state. I downed some coffee and managed to get the boys ready, even taking the time to do my makeup. I don't really remember much of what happened after that, except my children were annoying and I wanted to crawl back into bed and not talk to anybody for about thirteen years.

I think it's movie time. Mama needs sleep.