It’s one of those days – Eamonn had a major meltdown over a Pop Tart at lunch time when Aidan ate the one he wanted. Nevermind that we had six more exactly like it. He wanted that one. Usually very reasonable about these things, he just couldn’t overcome his devastation at his brother’s inadvertent betrayal this time. I took the poor little bundle of emotion upstairs and cuddled with him for a while, during which time I ended up all weepy myself. I don’t know what it is today. I think we’re all a bit out-of-sorts. Maybe it’s impending school? Maybe it’s the fact that the house stinks of paint and the outdoors reeks of a dead animal, so there’s no place pleasant to go and just be?
The bug guy will be here any minute to figure out why we are still entertaining yellow jackets here at Casa Clarke after 8 days, and Neil is currently in the doctor’s waiting room, anticipating the answer to why a simple bruise now looks like a scary, hot, pulsating mound of doom. It’s just one of those days where things feel weird, I don’t think I really have much of a blog post in me, and I am looking forward to starting over with a brand new day tomorrow. One that feels productive and happy and normal.