the art of living with caged animals

It's been raining.  Which is really good for the plants, but not so good for me.

The rain makes me feel like a complete blob of laziness.  I want to crawl back into bed with an old black and white movie and Milkduds.  And please don't bother me you needy children.

The rain also turns my kids into little crazed varmints.  Which in turn makes me want to flee the house.

It's an ugly business.  Rainy days.

Yesterday, the babies decided if they weren't allowed to go out, they would make as much noise as humanly possible.

They banged silverware on the tile. They screamed bloody murder at nap time. Birdie gave us a nice, albeit, very loud rendition of "Oh No".  A little known classic.

At three-thirty I realized I was pacing. Frantic, really to get out.  But there was nowhere dry to go. So I unloaded the dishwasher and changed wet diapers and sat slumped on the couch trying to tune out all the noise.

It turns out there is no art to living with caged animals.

Like I said, it's an ugly business.