This is the moment that I call "mercy!":
Gage has an accident, smears snot all over his face with a DVD (this takes extreme dexterity) while I'm trying to clean up the floor while simultaneously undressing him for a bath. He doesn't want to have to stand still, so while he's jiggling around, trying to escape, thonks me on the head with Airplane. Meanwhile, someone is knocking on the door, both phones are ringing, and there is a random alarm clock going off somewhere in the apartment. One of those 'melt your insides and burn your legs off' contractions is peaking, and I have to pee so bad I am going to die.
On the broader spectrum, I am in the process of trying to get some of our tenants out of a sensitive and dangerous situation that involves medieval weaponry. Long story, can't go into details now. Maybe next year.
Thank heavens last week is over. I truly screamed "MERCY!" at the top of my lungs at one point. Do you remember that game? The one that older brothers used to torment their younger sisters, and when Mom hollered back, "What is going on in there?" your brother would call, "Oh, we're just playing a game, Mom." And that answer would somehow satisfy said parent, even though you were literally writhing in pain, having your wrists stretched as far back as they could go without snapping off? Was that just my childhood?
Catastrophes attract themselves. Don't you think? I'll say it again, thank heavens last week is over and that no one under my care contracted the plague.