This is just to say

Michael does a hell of a lot of housework and childcare. I have plenty of friends whose domestic burdens would not be appreciably increased if their husbands were out of commission, but I am not one of them.

Also there is only so long that I can tolerate a four-year-old who is unwilling to settle for being the center of attention less than 100% of the time. To the extent that she shoves her face in the baby's face to distract him from nursing. And throws "I HATE PLAYING ALONE!!!!" tantrums if asked to play by herself for five freaking minutes.

And our house is a pit.

And Colin is getting another cold (I don't think it's the flu) and I just had to make extensive use of saline nose drops and the bulb syringe. As I've had cause to say before, if my children put me in a substandard nursing home when I am old it will be because of that damned snotsucker.

I remind myself firmly that getting the flu myself would not be as relaxing as it seems from my current vantage point.

My glamorous evening.

Since coming home from work, not in order:

Play I Spy bingo.
Read aloud three chapters of More All of a Kind Family.
Bring up "new" toys and books from the basement.
Make first proper dinner since Michael got sick: roast beef with dijon horseradish sauce, baked potatoes, and peas for them as gots teeth; sweet potato slices and Cheerios for them as don't.
Put up leftovers.
Wash dishes and the day's bottles, bibs, and pump parts.
Wipe down highchair and sweep dining room floor.
Wipe Colin down with wet paper towels although he really needs a bath.
Bathe Alex, brush her teeth, and dress her for bed.
Read stories. Sing songs.
Put away two baskets of clean laundry.
Collect and wash a new loadtwo new loads of laundry.
Change and pajama Colin.
Saline-drop and bulb-syringe Colin's nose, twice.
Nurse.
Nurse.
Nurse.
Nurse.
Nurse.
Nurse.