Scattered Sunday.

Twice last week I fell asleep at 3 am.


I was also awoken at barely 6 am, like every morning prior, to three bouncy, chatty little girls. 


Who needs a rooster, right?   


Oh, wait. I have one of those too. ..



Today consisted of racing thoughts of horror as I realized, after the birthday fog had cleared from our latest celebration, that I had absolutely NOTHING to fix for breakfast.  


I even had an extra mouth to feed as the boys' best friend came to spend the night.  


I scrambled for any sort of "breakfasty" recipe I could find. All of them called for the all-inclusive ingredient: butter. 


I didn't have any butter. 


So I found this muffin recipe. Perfect.  


Except it needed another buttery-type ingredient, only the peanutty version. 


Awesome. Breakfast Fail #2: no peanut butter.

So I substituted those for cookie butter. You know, that crazy evil tub of heaven?! Yeah, cookie butter muffins.  


Don't worry, they weren't as tasty as they sound like they should be. 


Anxiety-crazy me had three full days of go, go, go that began with a YMCA trip on a Friday morning/swim party/trying to avoid the Seniors water aerobics class (side note: it's hard work to keep a handful of boys from splashing too close to the perfectly coiffed "do's"  Of half a dozen baby boomers), culminating with a hectic hour of MagiQuest the following morning at "check out time" at Great Wolf Lodge (who planned that anyway?!?) to a sleepover and today's ridiculousness. 



We braved a new church; I forgot my phone.

Lunch was delicious, but my youngest was hormonal the whole time and my oldest four each used the bathroom twice. 

By the time we began pulling out of the parking lot to head to his parents house, I felt that unwelcome friend trying to break in. The moment we pulled into their driveway, I had a full blown panic attack. I was certain it was death coming to usher me on to the next life. 


But my husband did the thing that calmed me most. He just hugged me tight while the children all ran around him to burst thru the door.  


It didn't end there.  


An inevitable Aldi trip awaited us and I never do the checkout very well. The lights, the way the cashier moves at warp speed, the commotion from the kids "helping" me, the "everything" about it.  


We get home, begin unloading, my girls are underfoot doing all three of the following simultaneously: whining, stripping, and grabbing for food.  


Meanwhile, the husband is feeding the chickens and finds them in a most fragile state. Our rooster may not make it thru the night. 


The oldest child runs inside sobbing because his brothers "face is really bloody" he says. I run outside to find a horror movie scene and scream.  


At the same moment, I later find out, my husband was locked in the chicken coop and couldn't find the stick to unlock the door. So he heard our many screams and couldn't get to us.  


After I assessed the injury and doctored my baby's head up, I felt another panic attack coming on. Please, just no. 


Its just one of those days where the creepy guy that hit on me in Aldi was supposed to be the icing on the cupcake for me. (He probably wouldn't have said anything if he encountered me with all five of my children and not just the two he saw) But it just kinda got worse. And then better.  And then kinda crappy again. 


Because, I got a birthday package from my sister. And she got me a number seven from Magnolia Market. But, it broke in half in transit. Of course.  



Joy, anyway. Right?!