I'll stay with 2008, thank you very much . . .

4:50 pm:  Babysitter calls David at work to say that Max got sick all over the dining room rug.  What should she do?  (It's a good thing she didn't call me with this particular question; that's all I'm gonna say about that.)

5:15 pm: David heads to the corner grocery store to buy rug cleaner.  He stands in line for 30 minutes.  Bee and I enjoy a few minutes together. We read lots of books. Eat brie on crackers.

6:15 pm: Minor kitchen fire. (The oil was too hot and the tomatoes too wet.  Kerblam! Splatter! Giant orange flames shooting out of the pan.  Me yelling, "Cover the pan! Cover the pan!"  Bee yelling, "Daddy, fire!"  It was very dramatic.)

6:20 pm: David pours himself a big glass of red wine. . .

7:20 pm:  We finally eat dinner for a grand total of five minutes before it's time to whisk Bee off to bed.

Now Bee is sleeping and there are chores to do and an oily floor to mop.  Right now, I am really wishing it was still last weekend and I am curled up on the couch with my sister, reading a magazine.  Reality has interceded at last.  Party's over folks.  Back to work.