There's something about an hour and a half

I am beginning to think that I should start marking my life in terms of ninety minutes rather than twenty four hours.  Lately, I find that, if I can just make it another hour and a half, everything starts all over again.

In the last 5,400 seconds, my children have driven me absolutely insane.  OK...further insane.  OK...way past insane. 

Early this morning, they wandered into the kitchen, bleary eyed (and completely uninvited) only to complain that the sun was too bright in their rooms & why isn't breakfast ready yet?  One, who shall completely remain nameless but was the first to be pulled through my abdomen, was sent from the table twice because she refused to stop glaring at me over the plate filled with her favorite breakfast.  One, who shall remain nameless but has hair like Rapunzel, seems completely incapable of covering her mouth while she hacks up a lung.  Which sends the other two screaming away and me diving over the plate of french toast in a vain attempt to block the cold germs from mingling with the blueberry sauce.  One, who shall remain nameless but may as well be sewn into her soccer jersey, threw herself on the floor in despair when asked to pick up her stinky socks.  They argued over who got to brush their teeth first.  They whined over having to brush their teeth.  They argued over who was encroaching on who's side of the room.  They cried over having to share a room.  I found an old pair of nasty panties shoved behind the drawers when I went to vacuum up the million tiny pieces of tissue that were thrown on the floor.  Her response to me freaking out... "those aren't from today!"  So, apparently, I will find the ones from today sometime next week.  One came screaming into the office to declare that she's mortally wounded.  The injuries???  Lines left by the sheets she slept in last night.  "NO!!!  Sofia did it!!!" 

In case you lost count... I have broken up 642 fights, sent 63 kids to their rooms, done 2 loads of laundry, made 2 loaves of french toast, vacuumed up 78 boxes of Kleenex, started packing someone's (be it mine or there's, it's irrelevant at this point) stuff 14 times, sent up 1,406 prayers for strength and/or patience, and wished 1,657,459,658 times that I hadn't gotten up this morning.

All in the last 1 1/2 hours.

Welcome to Saturday. 

And, it's a long weekend. 

If I make it through the next hour and a half, I expect someone to knight me.  Or canonize me.  Or, at the very least, tranquilize me.  Hell, at this point, I'd settle for tazering me.  As long as, while you're here, you take the next shift.