I Blame the Tazo

The inmates are running the asylum, y’all.

My youngest is pantless.  My son is hanging from the entertainment armoire.  And my eldest is chowing down Halloween candy faster than I can say, “Hold the hoot on…”

Maybe it started this morning as I was breathing like a WWF champion, lying on the floor and pathetically attempting my in-home PT exercises when I see my son’s little face hover over mine and hear a strained, “Mom, are you dead?”

Maybe it kicked off with Round 3 of let’s-throw-a-fit-in-every-room-of-the-house-because-my-mean-mom-cut-me-off-at-Dum-Dum-number-ten by my baby.  (By-the-by sister, you should have just waited a few hours because now I don’t care if you eat twenty.)

Maybe it’s this blooming not-so-perky weather that puts mommies to sleep but apparently lights a small fire under the backside of the smaller set.

Seriously, Tazo Pumpkin Chai from Costco.

You and I are in need of some serious caffeine content discussion.  When it says it has four out of five circles of caffeine, I assume that gives me 4 out of 5 mom lay-ups in a day.

And the score at last count?

ME, 0. THE CHILDREN, 2089.

Why, Tazo? WHY!?!?!!?!?

Yes, the inmates are running the asylum.

Someone is reading sight words and I don’t know why.  Someone is asking me how to spell “while” and I don’t know how.  And someone else is pleading for juice and I don’t know what that is.

Rack the tired brain.

Brain. Brain. Brain.

That reminds me of something.

A dance.  A song. A scarecrow.

I turn from “La, la, la!” into full-on Garland songbird when someone yells,

“Mom, WHAT are you doing?!?!?!”

I blame the Tazo.

Four out of five circles, my foot.

Yes, the inmates are running the asylum.

So if you see smoke, please come find us.

I’ll be the one lying on the floor.

NOT DEAD.

Just doing my PT exercises.

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