Perspective.

6:45: Oliver awakes, 45 minutes earlier than usual..eh.

7:15: Get said, whining child out of bed.

7:30: Breakfast

8:00: Chores

9:15: Stetson awakes 2 hours later than usual, no complaints.

9:30: Breakfast, again, for him at least.

10:00: Chores

10:15: Screaming from the living room, Oliver, of course. Blood gushing. Stetson smiling, as usual.

10:30-11:30: Remains a blur, but from what I can gather, I spent about 30 minutes holding pressure to a superficial above the eye gash. With Oliver, this is no easy task. Holding pressure not only involves the obvious, but also holding down 34 pounds of flailing arms and legs. Tune out screaming. That's normal. Called Chad for a second opinion on stitches. He comes home and recommends them. Who's the nurse here?

11:30-12:15: Drive to Parkside. Love. that. place. Docs decide against stitches since crazy boy will probably yank them out. We go with super glue, ahem, Dermabond, instead. Good choice, looks great.

12:30: Lunch

1:30: Naps, ahh.

1:45: Pick out new paint color for kitchen. BIG source of frustration yesterday and today. Call in the pros (I love Rachel Howell!)

2:00: Go get said color. My accomplice and loyal helpmate, mom, stays with kids. LOVE. HER.

2:45: Hate said color, ERRG! Third color I hate to date.

3:00: Mom leaves, forget about stupid paint. Open fridge to brainstorm for dinner, decorative tin plate falls on my head then to the ground. Stitches for me too? Nah, not that bad. Headache sets in. Forget about dinner for now.

3:00-5:00: Laugh, play, tickle, read, put out small fires.

5:00: What's for dinner, again?

5:00-6:00: Scrounge up food.

6:30: Eat, super hyper time for kids. (Do your kids get crazy hyper after dinner?) Mine do.

7:00: Chad, he's awesome, mixes all the paint colors I hate, makes a concoction of one I love. Solved! Take to Home Depot tomorrow to get them to match it.

7:30: Stetson to bed, still smiling.

8:30: Chad reads "Cat in the Hat" to Oliver, rap style. Oliver and me make up our own routine, rap style, of course. Yo, dawg. Bedtime.

9:00: Grateful.

I think, "What a day!" Then, I think, and really think. Oliver could have been up earlier, the cut could have been worse. I really could be scrounging for food, in a much more literal sense. My mom could live thousands of miles away instead of 10. Chad could've of (but never would've of) belittled my "paint woes," instead of being my hero. All in all, I'd say it wasn't too bad of a day. It's all about perspective isn't it?