So here I sit, trying not to make 6.5 lbs of fudge. Oh, but it's the perfect day for fudge. Elliot was extra aggressive and antagonistic. It was hot and humid and muggy. I got a sunburn. And a headache. The house is a disaster. Felix discovered jumping in his crib instead of napping (and even the bloody mouth he gave himself wouldn't dissuade him from doing it more.) Pure chaos. And chaos deserves fudge.
And how do I celebrate such a day? I decide to take the MEC jogging trailer out for a spin with the boys. We've been putting off using it as they sit shoulder to shoulder in it. Lots of opportunity for damage. In fact, we made it only 3 blocks before Elliot's whiny voice came up saying "Felix is touching me!" *sigh* I'm surprised it took that long. Actually, they did really well in the stroller. It was only after we got to the grocery store that Elliot started hitting and slapping and pinching his brother. And when I grabbed his wrist and sternly told him to be nice, he yelled "Don't do that - you're touching me wrong!"
Cheeky monkey, isn't he?
Listening to him bickering about Felix touching him made me remember my own childhood. Lots of car rides spent with the 3 of us in the back seat, breathing in as deeply as possible so that our ribs would touch the person next to us, setting off the next round of "He/she is on my siiiiiiide!" Ahhhhh, memories.
I put the fan in our room tonight, at the foot of the bed. I think I'll turn in early, get a bit further in the mystery novel I'm reading... and avoid making fudge again tonight. We'll see how long I can hold out. Not past this weekend, I know that. But if I can only make it until then...