So. Yeah.

So I was pretty sad this week.

I feel like I only write here now when I’m feeling upset or sentimental, and you all have to put up with all the sturm und drang. It’s not like that all the time, I swear.

The thing is, there isn’t a spare minute to record the daily chaos. I’m working what are essentially three full-time jobs, plus raising these two hellions. My children have suddenly become quite willful, indeed, and insist on things like clean clothes and hot meals served at tables and regular bathing.

I know! The nerve.

And have I mentioned the cyclone that is The Babyman? Shit, that child would make Mary Poppins scream for mercy — or at the very least, rethink her stance on corporal punishment. He has a big, giant and rather devious brain in a 2-year-old body and I’m 99 percent sure his main goal is to kill me and eat me.

Meanwhile, his sister has decided she is suddenly 15. Last week she told me that the crust on her sandwich was — and I quote — her natural enemy. I’m about ready to send her off to boarding school. Lucky for her, she happens to be unintentionally, hysterically funny. Case-in-point:

Me: I can’t believe you’re 5 years old!
Her: I know! But I still have the smile of a 1-year-old.

Then, while we were at the Indiana State Fair, this:

Her: Look at all these parents having so much fun!
Me: Yeah, they sure look happy.
Her: They’re happy because their kids are having such a good time. It’s a win-win for everyone!

Someone, please kill me.

She started school on Aug. 5, was in school for two days, and got the chicken pox. I know! The chicken pox! Who the hell gets the chicken pox anymore? No one! No one but my kids, that is. So she was off school for four days for The Great Pox Outbreak of 2010, and then her grandparents showed up and she had three more days off, one of which was spent at the Art Institute of Chicago.

I had to stay home, but I heard tell that the child was unimpressed by “A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jette” (according to her, Seurat decided to do the whole pointillism thing because his “girlfriend was named Dot”), but fell in love with “Death On A Pale Horse.”

She is so totally my kid.

Anyways, after our mini-holiday in Indiana (wow, there’s a string of words I never thought would come out of my mouth), she and her brother came down with some other kind of plague that involves rivers of snot and unfortunate bowel movements, and thus, the girl was home from school AGAIN this week.

Alas, now she is well! And she will go back to school on Monday, for a full goddamn week, or I am running away to Aruba.

Speaking of running away, I’m going to Type A Mom in September and I cannot wait. I had such a good time at Blissdom (even though I really missed my babies, yes, I really did, I am THAT MOM), and I hear that some of my favorite people will be there, too. Marty, I’m looking at you.

So that’s what’s up. Mostly I wrote this so I didn’t have to look at that sad post here at the top of the page anymore. Well, that, and I wanted to thank whoever showed Redbook this post, because they linked up to me and I almost fainted when I saw A Major Periodical Read By Many People in my stats. So thank you, whoever you are.

Oh, and one last thing: If you’re feeling gloomy over the loss of a dear, dear loved one and you want to watch a movie to cheer you up?

Do not rent “A Single Man.”

Trust me on this one.