When you measure life in increments between bedtime and naptime

It is two hours past bedtime, your Tyrant Tot won't go to sleep. You have dealt with scary monsters, nightlight phobias, and one out of bounds 11 year old trying to sneak in computer time. You have made the trip upstairs carrying a 50 lb tot roughly 20 times, then jelly legged it back downstairs the same number.

You have a dream...you do the dishes tonight...tomorrow your sink will be empty....the path to your coffee pot clear...you will know how Martha feels everyday.

You give up on said dream, you decide to let the roaches have the dirty dishes all to themselves, tomorrow they will probably be as clean as if the dogs had licked them. You manage to carry the Tyrant Tot up the stairs one last time, sheer willpower keeping you from tumbling down like Jack and Jill. You let him sleep in your bed, because toddler beds are really uncomfortable for 5'6" mommies that have to share them with a 50lb toddler, 2 dogs, and a cat. You settle in for the night, tuck in you and your tot, make pillow nests for a cat and one dog, crook your arm just so for your spoiled Jack Russell to curl around. Your precious, sweet child leans over to give you one last kiss...and bam! He splits open your lip and knocks your front tooth loose. You decide that even though the cut is really deep and there are copious amounts of blood on everything, waking up five children (because the Tyrant Tot fell asleep while watching you ice your lip) to go have your lip stitched up isn't a priority.

One day, I will laugh. Probably. Assuming the swelling ever goes down enough and I don't end up losing my front tooth. One day...