Tough Times

Don't you hate it when your clothes just won't come off? What about when you can't get your clothes off and the lady who usually helps you is snickering and taking video of your struggles? Yeah, Griffin has it hard.

He is coming off of a wild and cranky 2 weeks that involved my insane last days of grad school, Jake's partial absence, visits from two sets of grandparents, and cutting molars. His usual sleep habits (8-7) disappeared in favor of a meth addict coming down off a bender. Instead of curling up in his bed and talking to himself about squirrels, Griffin would shriek, run back and forth in his crib and vomit all over himself. Eeeew.

It's one thing to let your kid cry it out, another to let him cry it out covered in milk puke and banging his head on the crib rail.

This is also an allegory for what the fourth graders in Room 43 were doing during the week.


Mom came and did all the dirty work, sleeping on the futon, wrangling Jezebel at 4 AM and waking up an hour later to appease the hostile toddler. She did it all without complaining (too much) and even cried when Griffin left with Grammy Barb and Pop Pop. It's true what they say about truly appreciating your parents only after you have kids of your own.