yes sir

I have a sick husband on my hands, a somewhat fussy baby and the urge to smack the shit out of the population at large.
But instead of laying waste to the land I am going to stuff my face with jaffa cakes, watch some costume dramas and label the week with the comment, "Yeah? well fuck you clown." (best punchline to a joke)
The one thing I am learning about this Motherhood gig: Ain't no fucking medal at the end of the day for who can be the biggest damn martyr. Nor is there a prize for showing off how damn precocious little Othello or
Lucrecia is. Yes yes yes they started analyzing Goethe at nine months and they have never been in the presence of white granulated sugar and they prefer building models of DNA sequences to running around screaming but you know what? Who gives a flying fuck.
A parent has to do what they gotta do so they can keep their kid alive and keep a few strands of sanity intact. And most kids? they got their brand of unique going on (and that is great) but they are still just children and most are fairly common. Meaning little screaming folk who poop their pants and bitch and moan. Much like a lot of the human race.

Tales from Nurse Gennie

Mr. Jenner was a sick bunny today. Remember that scene from The Exorcist? It was like that only much scarier. I took care of him and got his electrolytes up again. My nursing skills are fierce. *does a superstar pose* I went out and got him gatorade, saltines and the paper so he could do the su doko puzzle.
Alex for the most part was a peach, other than insisting that he needed to be held all day long. Monkey baby! I nursed him all day long and made sure Mr. Jenner had plenty of clear liquids, rested and stayed comfortable.
I am going to take a long bath and then collapse.

I am reading this amazing book by Alistair Cooke that was published after he died. It documents the homefront of the United States during WWII. Cooke even talks about America just prior to Pearl Harbor. The stuff about Pearl Harbor day is so intriguing. He was a journalist in Washington so it is this spectacular fly on the wall account of the chaos of the day. (aspects make me think of Sept 11th) He was hired to write the book and it ended up taking him longer than planned and by the time he was finished the war was over and the feeling was, "Oh who wants to talk about the war, let's forget about how awful it was." Then a few weeks before Cooke died an assistant of his found the manuscript in a closet.
Talk about a real treasure.