the one in which I whine and then ask you for a favor

Husband has this new thing where he WANTS me to hit the garbage cans when I back out the van in the morning. He's been taking the garbage and recycle cans and spacing them a good 3 feet apart from each other in the street near the end of our driveway, leaving me a tiny crack to back through.

Two absolute truths Husband should know, seeing as we've been married for about 5 billion years, is:

#1- I have no depth perception.  It wasn't that great before the Glaucoma, and now, non-existant.  (This I have proven by the numerous times I've hit our wall when pulling the van into the garage.  Dents totally count as proof.)

#2- A chimpanzee could drive a car backwards better than I could.  I just don't posses that particular driving skill.  (That and parallel parking.  Which requires backing AND depth perception, so that's probably why.  Also I was too lazy to ever actually learn how.)

I think it's totally rude that Husband is setting me up like this.  I mean, what - does he think I want to hit the garbage can and send our trash flying all over the road?  DOES HE?  It sure seems like that.

I'm running off of 2.6 hours of sleep this morning.  It's been a "strap yourself to your computer" week.  Which isn't really that unlike most other weeks, except that on most other weeks I actually get more than 2.6 hours of sleep at night.  (I usually get more like 5.6 hours.)

Also, Number Four is sick.  Breathing problems, fever AND puke.  Because why not throw in puke?  It sounds like a perfectly great symptom to just randomly toss in with a cold.  She's been whining and screaming non-stop for days.  So I guess I should have seen the actual sickness coming.  But still.  Not cool.

The puking started about 75 minutes into my 2.6 hours of sleep.  She was screaming, "MOMMEEEE MOMMEEEE!!!!"  through the baby monitor.  So I rolled over, elbowed Husband and said, "She's calling for you."

Then I guess she threw up again a little bit after that.  But I kind of wonder if it's because Husband's first reaction was, "Hey, she still has a fever, let's give her more Ibuprofen, but this time on a completely empty stomach!"

Actually, his first reaction was, "Hey Melissa, wake up, Number Four puked and her bed's a mess."  But yeah, 75 minutes of sleep.  There was no way I was getting out of bed to clean up puke.  Now, if he had said, "Number Four is dying and needs CPR!"  I might have thought about getting up.

After I dropped the kids off at school I had to stop at the grocery store and grab some Sprite and crackers.  Number Four had no shoes.  And also, I found that people are whole lot less friendly when you look like a greasy-haired psychopath - which is usually the look I'm sporting when I've only gotten a couple hours of sleep.  And did you know it took every ounce of will power in existence to not empty the store's shelves of all chocolate products to take home with me?  Because it did.

So yeah, back to the "strapping myself to my computer" thing.

I have a magazine to wrap up this weekend, but (along with about 50 other things) I'm lacking a good "Potty Talk" story.  So, if you really love me (which you really REALLY should)  find me a good potty themed blog post and email me the link:

melissabastow @ hotmail . com

And I don't even care if you're the one that wrote it, so it's not like you had to even look that hard.

Really.

Anything potty themed.

Just imagine me, a picture of sleep-deprived parenthood washing puke filled sheets and holding my whiny 2 year old while we watch Strawberry Shortcake.  Or, if that doesn't properly motivate you; imagine me, a picture of greasy-haired emotional instability bordering on raging psychopathic tendencies.  Yeah, that should scare you into doing it.

Oh, and thanks.  (I mean it.)