The past few days have been ridiculous, ranging from a seven-hour E.R. visit for Nanny involving extreme memory loss (she told me she was born on Christmas of 1900—her real birthday is Dec. 26, 1925) to a 45-minute tantrum from Ethan.
Please excuse me for a day or two while I attempt to access Zen. Or, if that fails, stomp around the backyard screaming and shaking my fist at the universe. The choice is yours. <--Not really, but that sounds more ominous, right?