Sift together five nights in a row of six hours of sleep or less with a steady diet of sugar and caffeine.
In a separate bowl, combine three big school projects, one school birthday party, and ushering for an 8:00 pm community theatre performance of "The Man Who Came to Dinner" with a great deal of scrambling to turn an outside parish yard/bake sale into an inside one when it starts pouring, and four soccer games.
Dump everything in whatever random container you can find and bake at 595 degrees for 72 hours or until the final result resembles this:
Tada! You will for sure know it's done if you feel like your head has split in two and your children's voices sound like air horns.
To "un-do" this mess, I suggest the following:
hot soup
hot tea
hot bath
and crashing into bed at 8:00pm, not regaining consciousness until 8:00 am the next morning.
On another note,
HAPPY 8th BIRTHDAY TO MY BENJI!!
You sure surprised the heck out of your dad and me. I mean, your sister was only six months old when you announced your presence in my already tired body. But, honest and true, I can't imagine my life without your bright, expressive face in it. When you were two days old, I wrote this country ballad for you:
Who knew my arms were simply aching for a little boy they could hold?
Who knew a new unwritten chapter of my life would soon unfold?
Who knew the heavens were smiling on me, that an angel they would send?
Who knew the joy that was awaiting in you, my gentle Ben?
Well, I've seen heartache, I've seen sorrow
I've seen a world that's cold and numb
But in your eyes, I see salvation
A promise of the light to come
O, gentle Ben, my sweet surprise,
I hope you one day realize
the gift you are,
the hope you bring,
the song you've made my heart to sing.
I can't stop humming it.
My thoughts are full of you.
