Four Ring Circus

I was feeding our little friend her morning bottle.  She was not into my plans.  I was concentrating, using every bit of my nursing skill and power of persuasion to coax the bottle into her.  Meanwhile, the kids were playing just outside my peripheral vision in the play tent I'd pitched the other day.  In the middle of the living room.  It sounded like everything was going all right until I caught a flash of red nylon out of the corner of my eye.  Henry was rolling the tent over and over, Cora (one-socked and snotty no matter how many times I wipe her nose and re-apply her socks today) inside tumbling around.  I was just opening my mouth to scold him when Thomas shrieked, "Mom!  Your coffee!"  I'd set my cold-again (I reheated it three times before I finally dumped it) coffee beside the record player next to the couch while I fed our friend.  The laptop was tucked away next to the couch.  I looked down to find the coffee cup wedged sideways between the record player and the couch, a stream of cold coffee trickling down the leather and onto the carpet--two inches from the laptop.  I set little miss down, mopped up the coffee, thanked Thomas for the word of warning, scolded Henry for tipping the tent (and knocking my coffee flying), made sure Cora wasn't too dizzy from her tumble, asked them to play nicely, picked up the baby again, and took a deep breath.

At naptime, while the kids shrieked and thumped upstairs instead of resting, I watched a documentary on solitary confinement.  Odd choice, I know.  The narrator went on and on about the harsh punishment, about the agony of solitary confinement.  I'm sure it is terrible.  On days like today, though, it sounds just a little like my ideal vacation...