Hee-hee. I made it rain on my page.

I don't know why I'm even writing right now. Perhaps I'm a bit punch-drunk because Zoe woke up around 2am (interrupting a very pleasant chat with Hippie, I might add). She fought in her usual crocodile fashion to avoid going back to sleep and just as I was getting comfortable Trent decided he'd had enough of this whole sleep thing, and instead of going around and quietly destroying my room like he usually does he proceeded to cry.

No, that's not accurate. See, with my children there is no simple cry or quiet, there are many subtle levels of sound. It varies from a small, minorly annoying tone I call the whimper of the wounded, to the brain crunching sonic assault I refer to as the scream of the scalded. If whimper = 1 on the sound-o-meter, then what my boy was doing last night was at least an 80 or so, almost enough to register on the Richter scale.

He dozed off for a little while, then woke up again at 5 am.

And he stayed up.

He has been crabby and hateful all day long. I was hoping to get a nap today because trapped as I was under the wall of sound, I slept a little less than two hours last night.

I'm feeling a tad bitchy right now, but if I go to bed early tonight I should feel better.

I think I'll watch Scooby Doo with the kids and turn in around 11, or whenever Zoe passes out. She's a nightowl like her mommy used to be once upon my adolescence.