My brain/body have decided that 4.5 hours is plenty enough sleep thankyouverymuch and we’ll just get out of bed and get something done. This has left me with the emotional capacity of a cranky four year old, and the intellectual capacity of chewed gum. For example, moments ago I realized I forgot to turn off the spaghetti pan. I am happy to report the carbonized spaghetti sauce/noodle combination did not reduce me to tears. I am beyond tears because I’ve used the last remaining, well-rested braincell to realize today might not have been such a shitty day — incorrect URL going out in a client email even after I asked the client to check it to make sure it worked, a 25-minute traffic jam that turned my 7-minute commute into a 45-minute commute, and I very nearly made this post on a client’s website — but I just think it’s shitty because I’m fucking tired.
At least I can still figure that out. I call it an emotional victory.
Speaking of emotional victories, I managed to take all three talkative Tibbles to the library* and to CherryBerry with nary a meltdown by anyone (and I include myself in that list). We nearly had an incident when I declared each Tibble must check out at least one fiction book for the week’s reading. There were many shouts of derision that included “I hate fiction,” “fiction is boring,” and “fiction is for babies.”
Apparently, the most sophisticated of elementary school readers only read non-fiction books about eagles, how to draw wolves, how to draw creepy crawlies, how to draw bugs, and how to read music.
In fact the fiction declaration caused more of a stir than when Nolan dumped his entire CherryBerry concoction on the floor. Do you have CherryBerry where you are? It’s a ‘self-serve frozen yogurt bar’ and the very place to be if you live in Shakopee and are under driving age.
The place was crawling with the newly pubescent sans parents and a great gob of the pre-pubescent with parents. I can see the charm of the place. . . ice-cream-like substance that you can slather with anything you like (Liam headed right for the Cap’n Crunchberries), a teeny-bop soundtrack (I heard ‘Party in the USA’ and ‘Teenage Dream’ while we were there), and space-age-looking couches and chairs. It has the feel, but not the look, of a 50s malt shop.
My only complaint is that everyone who worked there was so young that I could have given birth to all of them without even being a teen mom.
I need to shutup now.