There is a strange rhythm to my days lately. After Slobgate 2006, I've been struggling to fit writing into my daily life, without upsetting the apple cart. I've been horrible about responding to email, and I've been unable to visit my favorite blogs. It's sort of bumming me out.

I'm determined to spread some of my martyr-like responsibilites out to my family, and it's not going so well. I'm going to have to try the apple cart analogy out on them. See here, children. If we all pick the apples and slice them and bake the pies together, then we all get pie! Yum yum! Otherwise, I'm going to make one pie, and let the other apples rot!

Yeah, that'll teach 'em.

I spent yesterday stuffing candy and bandaids into plastic eggs for the kindergarten egg hunt today. Why bandaids? Because I figure we'll get 'em hopped up on sugar and then turn 'em loose on the playground. There's gonna be bloodshed. Besides, they seem to really get excited over bandaids, more so than stickers. I don't know why, but there you have it.

The other day, I found a couple of balloons in a drawer. The kids had fun trying to blow them up demanded that I blow them up, after the sucked on them and got them nice and spitty and then they were popped and then there was crying. I try to be stoic about these things, but after 15 minutes of la la la la la they were just silly balloons la la la la la what did you think would happen if you stuck it with a pencil la la la la la I got my husband on his cell phone.

"Hi, honey! How was your day? Oh, yes, the kids, yeah, they are expressing their emotions! Ooh, you can hear that? Yes. Will you be a love and stop at the store and pick up some balloons? Great. Love you!"

Daddy was the hero when he handed over a package of 100 assorted balloons. Within an hour, my house was littered with rubber globes and sausages. Weeeeeeners! Ah yes. We bopped each other with them. We batted them around. We stuffed them into our clothing. We rubbed them on each other's heads. At one point, I was wearing about 10 balloons static clinged to my head. So pretty!

The game lost the thrill shortly thereafter, leaving the house covered in balloons. I only mention this because I keep stepping on them by accident and scaring the crap out of myself as they explode. I've taken to tiptoe, in the hopes of avoiding unexpected BLAM! noises.

People, that isn't a metaphor, but it sorta fits better than that apple cart farce.