So, in case you were wondering, T.R. is not getting a crash test dummy for Christmas. He could get a car for less, but he’s not getting one of those either. I’ve now fulfilled my mom duties by checking.

It has not been a good weekend for being a mom. The good news is that it is over. I adore my kids. Lots. But dealing with them yesterday seemed less pleasant than banging my head on the floor. Besides, I could always stop banging my head on the floor.

In retrospect, it is odd and somewhat funny that I spent about an hour standing in my driveway reading while T.R., in pajamas, wrapped in a blanket, practiced his flute aggressively at me because I thought he should do his homework. I’d rather not do it again.

I am presently praying for a miracle to occur downstairs: I reminded T. to do the rest of the things on his list so he’s ready to go to school on time and left him to do it. I apologize in advance to his teachers for his (probably) unbrushed teeth.

It could be worse. He could be a crash test dummy.