A summary of my day

J left before 7 for his "nerd conference" (technically referred to as a "Gaming Convention" - whatever. Nerd conference. Nerds like him congregate for an extended weekened and game. He does strategic gaming - apparently a more respectable version of gaming than the weirdos who dress up like Chewbaca).

I got the kids at 7:35 AM.

We went to Dunkin' Donuts.

We went to the park.

We went to the library.

We got three MILLION books on pythons, the planets, some Native American folklore, the ocean, fairy tales and cooking.

At some point in the late late morning, I put small male J (their names all begin with J - it's not fair) down for a small sleep while small female J watched a show. I, naively, thought I might also take a small nap. Hormones make a certain someone sleepy.

20 minutes later? SLAM (the door). He's up.

No way. This child, when he sleeps, sleeps for an hour. This stepmom? Desperately wanted an hour. So, she sends him back to bed.

20 minutes later? SLAM. Creak creak (on the stairs). I stomp from my bed to the door. SLAM (door opening). Sob sob sob. Small male J stands outside my door sobbing, "I have a button in my tummy. It hurts."

Combine fury (at being woken up. AGAIN.) with panic and you have a certain stepmom shouting "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVE A BUTTON IN YOUR TUMMY? DID YOU EAT A BUTTON?" (It's possible, really.)

wail wail wail, "I don't know."

Shout shout shout, "What do you mean you don't know? Did you chew on a button?"

wail, "no"

Shout: "Did you eat a button?"

wail, "I don't know?"

(vague wondering: how do you NOT know if you ATE a BUTTON.")

Continuation of same pattern until a certain stepmom says, "OK, I'm going to call Daddy and see if he thinks you need to go to the hospital."

At which time a certain 5 year old wails, "Don't tell Daddy! Don't tell Daddy!"

*eye squint*

"Lay down in bed while I call Daddy."

Panic: "Don't tell Daddy!"

"Did you really eat a button?"

wail. "I don't know. My tummy hurts."

Panic-fueled fury ensues.

Child is planted in bed. Small child's elder sister and daddy are consulted.

As it turns out, after the first time I sent the beloved child back to his bed, he laid there and cried and hissed himself into an absolute lather and stomach ache. He did not eat a button. He came up with that to avoid the nap. Which he then took for 45 minutes after being planted back into his bed, discussed with, and threatened to the very brink of his life. He's been a saint since.

Yes, he is still alive.

Dinner was not, as I was tempted to make, button soup.

It was, though, constituted by some phenomenal pork tenderloin, steamed green beans, yummy salad, and HOMEMADE (*bow bow*) garlic-herb butter. AND French rose wine. YUM.

*nonsensical griping deleted*

However, I do have my stepkids to care for. And something to sew for someone I've never met but care a great deal about.

Thank God in His mercy for giving us neighbors, lest we collapse in on ourselves.

So there we are. 9:07 PM on June 24, 2009.