I'm laying quietly in bed while Rad barks "Mom mom mom mom mom" outside the bedroom door, then runs away when I don't respond. I love that kid, but nothing is going to take away from my morning to sleep in. I love Sundays.
I also love the fact that Connor slept well after Saturday's failure of a day. I spent most of yesterday with Rad on my hip or in my arms, trying to soothe the mysteriously whiny beast. It didn't help that he bit it trying to step over a branch in the yard; when he's not in a good mood, his little stumbles and tumbles just send him overboard. I was happy when it was just time for bed so we could get working on today's clean slate.
Somedays, the stress of a needy, clingy baby trickles down, blinding me or making me otherwise irrationally irritable. When Z declared that he thought he touched poison ivy, all I thought of was how that was a perfect excuse to not have to deal with a crying Rad and what an inconvenience that would be for me (he did help with Rad - after at least 30 minutes of "poison ivy" internet searching). I don't want to keep track of who does what for Rad, but my mind just can't help but to take score. With that mental list, I usually have to fight to not spout out a number of reasons why it's Z's turn to do his or that and not mine. So immature.
I suppose it's time to get up, make some coffee and cinnamon rolls, watch a little CBS Sunday morning, and answer Rad's "Mom mom mom moms" with a mama. Happy fall Sunday, mamas!
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