this is where we're at

Summer started.

Hubs is on the couch, reading.
Little Man is climbing on the couch, trying to grab Hubs' glasses, being told no, bursting into tears, crawling off the couch. He's done this four times. Currently he's between times, perched on the coffee table chewing on a toy teapot.
Pirate is trying to show me a box. It just arrived and contains my doTerra allergy pills that I'm praying and hoping and wishing and thinking will help with these seasonal allergies that have suddenly sprung into my life with cruel intention and malicious force.

Now Pirate is pulling on my body, momming me, asking for food because he's bored.

It's four o'clock.

I ran out of energy two hours ago.

My sink is stacked with dishes.

I have no idea what we'll do for dinner.

Little Man is grabbing for those glasses again.

And I'm off.

To.

Uh.

Sit here some more, wishing I could nap, knowing I can't, and counting the minutes and hours until seven when I can plop these boys in bed and...

Sit some more, avoiding the clean-up required from whatever I end up making for dinner, wishing I'd done the dishes earlier, and waiting until an appropriate time for bed.

Pirate is momming me again.

One hour. Forty three minutes. Seven seconds.