I have approximately a bazillion hours of things I need to sit here and type.

I have every molecule of my being straining to levitate off of this chair and out the window.

I am starting to think that I'm regressing. The last time in my life that I recall feeling this benignly antsy was about fourth grade. I am just...silly. Yes, that is the word. Silly.

This morning, I woke up refreshed, despite having our four-year-old wedged against my side most of the night. I curled her against me, and leaned over to give her a kiss. She spun her head around faster than Linda Blair and planted a giant raspberry on my cheek, at which point the game was ON.

Snarling and smacking my lips, I attacked her with kisses and blew raspberries on her cheeks. She squealed and flailed. When I broke free for a moment to plan my next attack, she leaped onto my chest, mooing like a deranged cow. I tossed her off and we rolled around tickling and mooing and snorting and snarling.

The dog was completely confused by all this action, and wanted to join in, so we were getting random licks and occasional tail-whippings. Then the other two kids came barrelling in, and we were all one snorting, heaving, giggling mass of limbs for a few minutes there.

Then I got a kick to the left knee, and a couple of the kids knocked heads and it was over.

I think I won.