19 - The number of times Caleb has thrown a tantrum over something totally pointless, such as his pajamas being too long, or running out of wheat thins because that is the ONLY thing he wants to eat right now.
2 - The number of loads of laundry that I should be doing right now.
0 - The number of things I have gotten done today.
1 - Dishwasher full of dishes waiting to be put up.
1.5 - Sink-fuls of dishes (when you count the counter overflow around the sink) waiting to be placed in the dishwasher.
47 - The number of times per day that I thank God that I have a dishwasher.
162 - The number of toys on the floor.
5 - The hours of sleep I got last night
3 - The number of times Caleb woke up between 2 and 4am before I brought him to bed with me.
86 - The number of times I got kicked between 4 and 7am.
96 - The ‘feels like’ temperature outside, thus the reason we are inside.
22 - The number of times I have checked to make sure the doors are locked today (see explanation below).
2.5 - The number hour hours before my dad arrives, in which I need to get baths for both of us, clean the house, do the chores listed above and clean the bathroom.
15 - The number of times I have wanted to slam my head into the wall. This number is a rough estimate, and seeing as it is only 3:49pm, I predict that this number shall no less than double by bedtime.

Explanation of the “Are the doors locked?” obsession: Last night I was laying in bed trying to get to sleep. Around 1:15am, something caught my eye, a light on the wall. It looked bright enough to be a flashlight pretty close, and the angle it came in the window, there is no way it could have been headlights on the road. It had flashed a few times and disappeared, twice. So I stared out the window for a while, and saw nothing. I came back in here to ask Scott if he had been outside, and he had not. So I went back to bed. This morning I opened the blinds and looked at our dog. He was pawing at the air trying to catch the edge of his water bucket. Now I filled this water bucket yesterday while Caleb and I were outside playing. I watched him drink from it. I KNOW he could reach it. It is a huge metal washtub, and filled probably weighs well over 20 pounds, I think it is 7 gallons. It had been moved just out of his reach. Uphill. It was clear that someone had moved it. I asked Scott, and he looked at me like I was crazy. So both of us are a little weirded out now. We’re wondering if someone was in our yard in the middle of the night. Weird.

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7 the number of times Scott has been by the window on the lawnmower since I’ve been sitting here.

1,529,763 the number of times the dog has barked at the lawnmower.

1,529,763 the number of times I have wanted to shoot the dog today.

37 the number of times I’ve seen today’s episode of Dora.

4 the number of times Caleb stuck his finger in my eye or up my nose when going down for a nap.

3 the number of times our life has been crapped upon in the past 10 days: Scott’s cell phone stolen right out of his van by someone who lived at a house where he was fixing the heat; unpaid car tax by Scott’s exwife keeping us from getting our tags renewed; the lawnmower just fuckin blew up. Ain’t life grand.

89 the number of times I’ve cussed in the last 10 minutes.

46 the number of miles to be driven to grandmother’s house after Caleb’s nap.

6 the number of flaming torches I plan to feel like shooting from the vehicle at gas stations selling gas for $2.89/gallon.

9 the number of times I’ve sneezed today due to allergies.

57 the number of times I’ve felt like slamming my head through a plate glass window this week.

Update: the lawnmower may not be blown up after all, but is still in need of a part, thus leaving the yard half mowed.

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