It went something like this: Friday morning I woke up energized and ready to tackle the world, or at least the potty-training of my toddler. After 2 1/2 hours of paranoia that he would pee on the floor, alternating with trying to coax him to let the water out of his body and into the toilet, I decided that was a horrible way to start the weekend and put the kid in a diaper, having guaranteed myself a frazzled brain that would last the rest of the day.

Then we headed off to the museum for a few hours of contact with the outside world. I had low expectations for our experience at the museum, mostly because I thought it would be crawling with kids by the time we got there, but it wasn’t too bad, and better yet! there was a “lively reading” of The Tale of Peter Rabbit followed by a meet-and-greet (and get your picture snapped for $7) with the bunny himself. It wasn’t until we were comfortably seated in the theater and the story well underway that I noticed Squish looking a little nervous. And then it occurred to me that animals the size of people really aren’t his thing. Not. At. All. So he spent the story with his head in my shoulder, trying not to look. His brother enjoyed it immensely, however. After that they both had a great time playing in the play garden. Right up until Manchild realized he should have started making his way to the restroom a little bit quicker and we suddenly had an emergency on our hands. Unfortunately, the emergency ended with a wet pair of pants and a quick end to the museum trip. But not before Manchild convinced me to support our local girl scout troop by purchasing my first ever box of Girl Scout Cookies — he chose trefoils, and we’ve eaten exactly three since then. There is too much other sugar to compete with, what with the two Easter egg hunts we went to on Saturday, the cookies I made on Friday, and the pound cake I made on Sunday.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. We were leaving the museum. And when we got home I put Squish down for a nap and started making these cookies I mentioned. In my frazzled state, I accidentally added an extra egg white, and just today Manchild reminded me that I should not do that next time I make those cookies. Noted. Also in my frazzled state I somehow made Manchild sad. So sad that his only means of recourse was to turn the water on in the bathroom sink (which has a slow drain) and leave it until I heard water falling to the floor. Rest assured, the boy had to clean it up himself. And then the boys went to bed early.

Saturday, aside from all the events — an Easter egg hunt and a birthday party/Easter egg hunt — was uneventful. The most exciting thing was that I made pizza and scorched my knuckle on a 450 degree cast iron skillet. No biggie. Just a gaping hole in my skin is all. Oh, and my DVD player wouldn’t play Roman Holiday. But I did make a dress for the baby. So there’s that.

And Sunday I managed to get me and the boys to church on time. And then to wrangle them during the linger-longer after the meetings. And then to get them home afterward. I did not feel like taking a nap. Not a bit. So I made chocolate orange cream cheese pound cake to celebrate the return of the king (aka Micah) and street meat for dinner. Because Micah thought it would be a good idea to find a good recipe for such a thing. I was pretty pumped that we’d made it so far and I wasn’t even tired and we’d gotten out and had fun and I’d even taken the boys for a run on Saturday.

And then Micah walked in the door. And suddenly I felt very, very tired. And I’m still recovering.

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