Wow. It has been “one of those days” at the Miller household today. My dear son child has been asking approximately CONSTANTLY to go “sauce”, which means to go outside, when we already went “sauce” earlier today and Mommy has things that she needs to get done inside, since Granddaddy and Grandma Beery and Quentin are coming to visit this weekend. So, while he’s not tearily asking to go “sauce” he is doing no-no things with his beloved drum-sticks, like hitting the already broken lampshade, giving the TV a good tap, and even an experimental tap to Mommy’s leg. All of these bad-boy ideas keep resulting in drumstick evacuation, which leads to lots of distressed screaming. Then there is the runs of “bann” said insistently and repeatedly, which neither Tim nor I have the vaguest idea of what in the world it means. When “bann” is not addressed, this is also quite distressing to the wee one, and leads to sad tears. When you ask him to “show Mommy”, he points vaguely at nothing and fusses. And Daddy has been gone all day for class, even over supper. MEANWHILE, I have been trying literally for hours, over the past several days, to upload the Gatlinburg pictures from our trip to Tennessee with Norm and Carol, and the computer takes at least 15 minutes a picture, and often times out, or says that it has loaded, and then the picture won’t appear, so you have to go through the whole process all over again…or the site won’t even load due to “technical problems”. It is absolutely maddening. And you would think I might just quit, or use just the pictures I have uploaded, but I have this obsessively perfectionistic streak when it comes to this blog, and ImustImustImust get all the pictures on there that I wanted on there. And then I’m trying to pick up Tim’s office, which has these random piles of old class papers that somehow he never manages to get sorted and I’m left trying to figure out what he wants to save, and what to do with them, not to mention 600 back issues of guitar magazines whose continued existence are somehow imperative to the survival of mankind (not that Dear Husband ever decides on a good place to put them other than random scatterings), and Gabriel keeps walking through and rescattering CD cases that I have repicked up about 4,000 times and I will just tell you that my eyes are taking on a permanently crossed position and my hair is standing on end and I am developing an agitated tremor. Ok, not really, but I’m close. If the next time you see me I have a nervous twitch in my shoulder, and an ongoing tic in my eye…you can just nod knowingly and pat me gently and direct me down the hall to my nice padded room. Twitch.

Praise the Lord, Tim just pulled into the drive. Sanity is mine. At least a while longer.