AHHHHHHHH!

Hormones. Are. An. Ugly. Thing.

Must control.

Half way to the grocery store (a one hour round trip -- not counting the time in the store), I realized that we still had to do Valentine's for school tomorrow. Great.

Then the grocery store was ridiculously crowded (nothing says, "I love you" like last minute flowers from Safeway?????) and despite the fact that we were $37 in groceries, we had to wait 20 minutes in line. Then food for dinner -- fast food. Then home. I griped and moaned the whole way (see comment above on Hormones!).

My little darlings ran into the house and told me not to look while they proceeded to clean the living room. Now, they did it their way which meant that many things were missed and some odd choices were made but this was clear evidence that they a) recognized my grumpiness and b) wanted to do something to help and c) realized that cleaning up a mess they made was a good way to accomplish that. Evidence of higher thinking!!!

So, we sat down and cranked out a bunch of Ninja Turtle and Polly Pocket valentines. Then The Princess made two handmade cards (with a little help from moi) for her Big Buddies at school. And, then I finally herded them to bed . . . an hour late. Sigh. When I went to gripe at The Boy Wonder for not being asleep yet, he said, "But I wanted to show you something." I stifled a sigh and went into to see. He was writing in his journal and had written . . . by his little kindergarten self, mind you . . . the following: "I love u Mom. Gage." And, then he told me that he wrote his name in case I forgot. What a doll.

So, my babies are growing up. The Princess prances around here looking adorable with her long, leggy body that at 7.5 makes it all to easy for me to envision her at 14 and therefore scares the crap out of me. And, The Boy Wonder proves to me over and over again that boys are not inherently less loving and demonstrative but that our society must beat it out of them and I wonder how I can possibly keep him from turning out that way. His dad is pretty good and getting better so maybe there is hope.

And, despite all that, my hormones rage. And, when Mr W does come home, I'm sitting all grumpy on the couch watching the Olympics and not wanting to be touched.

Hormones suck.