Further evidence that I should not be left alone for anything resembling “time” with my children.

After the coffee this morning (ok, they didn’t drink the whole pot, but you shoulda seen them clean house. It was like watching Benny Hill. If Benny had ever cleaned house) we…

…had the baby’s hair done!

Yes, ninety minutes (I think, I must have blacked out a few times) at a hair salon with three kids who are “so cute” according to the stylist, cute enough to be handed candy at random intervals, apparently. Plus we were allowed to play with rubber bands. And read People magazine. And when the baby got a little impatient, sitting on her throne chair, her brother would whisper in her ear “Since you are being so good, we’re going to McDonalds!” I swear I don’t know where he gets that from.

Her hair is lovely, but the camera has gone into hiding again, so I can’t show it to you yet.

Anyway, on the way to McDonalds? We stopped at Wal-Mart. Because I kinda-sorta promised the kids a reward if they would clean house like Benny Hill this morning.

Yes, Wal-Fucking-Mart, on a Saturday. At least it’s not a home game this weekend, so it wasn’t TOO bad. Of course two of the three had to go to the restroom (kids are drawn to the stinky wal-mart restroom like moths to a flame, or rats to poison). Then we go to McDonalds, and apparently I have the only three children in town who were not invited to a birthday party at McDonalds at 1:00 today. But that’s OK, we had so much fun screaming on the playland we didn’t realize we weren’t allowed any cake and we were the only kids not wearing an official Ronald McDonald hat.

Then we come home, and thirty seconds after my butt finally hit the couch (after swapping laundry, etc.) my five year old looks at me and whines: “What can we DO today?”