"How'd it go?" asks Husband, in a text from a hotel room in Boston.
My email from Baltimore in response:
"They didn't nap . . . which would explain why after bath time, with both naked and needing their teeth brushed, with Winton slamming the toilet lid repeatedly as Clara inquired about his toothpaste preferences--"Thomas OR STRAWBERRY??"-- at high decibels, I screamed at them loudly making both of them cry and myself retreat into a cloud of self loathing."
Aside from the noise, and the fact that it had been a long afternoon, they were both being good: Winton peed in the toilet just minutes before indulging in repeated lid-slamming; Clara was trying to be toothpaste helper.
I am under the impression that most people have longer fuses than I do.
Anyway. Husband is away, and there are cats to be fed in myriad complicated locations, dinner dishes to be done, laundry to be folded and my mother needs to be phoned as per Sunday routine. I'd also like to wash my hair. All before the Amazing Race at 8 . . . Hmm.