My throat is sore. Not from the latest virus making its nasty way through the children's snot-filled classrooms, though I'm sure that joy is not far off.
(Deleted: a rant about people who cough into their hands rather than their elbows)
(Deleted: a rant about antibacterial soap, which people buy even though it's proven no more effective than normal soap and may instead be contributing to the rise of truly scary, resistant strains of bacteria -- and about the staggering arrogance of those who keep buying it even though they know that)
No. My throat is sore from yelling at my squabbling daughters. Because I am Mother of the Year.
I don't care which of them wasn't being nice. I don't care who walked away from the game; I don't care who touched what of whose; I don't care who said what, took what, did what, wanted and didn't get what.
I. Don't. Care.
Today I heard myself yell, among other things, "STOP YELLING!" And one of the less emotional voices in my head said, "well. That was dumb."
Ladies n' germs, I have lost my freakin' mind.
Monday's coming, Monday's coming, Monday's coming.
In the meantime, I feel a movie coming on.