Is 5:45 too early for wine?

I'm counting down the minutes (42) until the last bottle of the day, and the blessed, blessed moment when I can put these sweet darlin's down to bed, wash the chicken-noodle puree off my pants, jump into the tub, and loll off into a blissful sleep by the light of Sunday night television.

Good God, it's been one of those days. He must be getting some teeth, and he's certainly trying to crawl. MyBoy was up at {interruption: must go pick up all the mini plastic balls MyBoy has thrown off his exersaucer. Must attend to MyGirl in her johnny-jumper and wind her up so she can unwind with smiles and giggles. Oh no...not working. Screaming all around. LOUD.}

Anyway, MyBoy was up at least once an hour from two a.m. until seven a.m. J went to attend to him once (clearly he heard my screaming yesterday morning when I awoke, again, to MyBoy's early morning displeasure, to find him - J - asleep on the basement couch. NOT FAIR I told him), and I most of the other times. Which was lovely when we were supposed to be at church early for rehearsal at 8:15. I sent J ahead, and I made it there closer to 9, totally missing rehearsal, but had both babies fed, dressed, and with somewhat pleasant attitudes.

35 minutes to go. I'm sure J will arrive home at precisely 39 minutes. He's just like that.

Church was lovely, and as I took the babies home and got them fed, I thought about the nice leisurely walk we might all take up to the grocery store to get some essentials, and them stop off at our favorite pizza restaurant for a yummy slice. It was chilly outside, but the walk was good for all of us. Until we arrived at said restaurant, and read the sign with dismay. SUNDAY HOURS: 3-11 p.m. So, a freezer pizza it was, and a very, very quick walk home to attend to our starving adult bellies.

{oh, god, my head is splitting, and everyone is SCREAMING. I'm going to get the wine.}

Thank goodness there's only one glass left. Who knows what might happen if the bottle was full?

The afternoon has been full of some fun, but mostly discontent on the parts of these two pint-sized Mighty Mouths. We've dropped the third nap of the day, and it's times like these that I can tell they're, ummm, having some "problems" adjusting to the new schedule. If you want to call it that.

30 minutes to go.

I took some measurements and made a list of some items I'm hoping to get on Friday, when I take a short road trip to one of my favorite places on Earth. It is truly a paradise, full of delightful plastic and particleboard things I don't need, but the opportunity to leave the babes with a sitter so I can take a mini shopping extravaganza is just overwhelming me with excitement. I must start perusing the catalog to prepare.

Damn, wish I had another bottle of wine. I bet the babes wish I did too, because my evil glances are not going over well with them. Am I horrible that I wish, wish, wish for their bedtime? So that it can be my bedtime too???

It's Sunday. Aren't husbands supposed to be around on Sundays? You know, so it can be a day of rest. For me?

I can no longer pretend to ignore the screaming. Must go rescue the Mighty Mouths and continue studying pre-game coverage on the Red Carpet. Ta ta!

22 minutes and counting.