This morning...

... E informed me she felt sick.

E often does this. E's version of an anxiety attack is to either feel like she is going to throw up or to have extremely itchy feet.

I told E that I could not tell if she was really sick and that she had to decide "which kind it was". She decided she was just nervous, and went to school.

I got home.

I got three children out of their carseats.

I fed S.

I luckily did not get M and GQ in the tub as quickly as I had planned.

The phone rang.

E had thrown up at school.

So.... I put on jeans and a sweatshirt, wiped off my eyes, made M put on a sweater to hide her pajamas, made GQ put boots over his sleeper jammies even though they squished his toes, and put S back in his carseat (can't be more constrictive than a womb... can it?) and off we went.

When we got home and I got everyone out again, I debated trying to accomplish all those things on my list or sitting on the heater vent and reading a book. Can't the day just be a lost cause at 9:00?

In furtherance of this theory I decided to finally eat my breakfast.

So what if it was a pint of Ben and Jerry's Phish food Justin gave me for Valentine's Day?

I bet it makes good milk.