I’m tired. Overwhelmed by too much housework and not enough workwork.
Jack is home, whining, because 1) he is tired and 2) he is constipated.
It’s not funny. A constipated four year old is not funny at all. He’s freaking out, scared to poop, and my fuse, she is not so long.
I should go; he wants to watch a VHS (even constipated, the brother is ol’skool) and the only VCR is in my bedroom. I have to go hide vibrators and lube.