I am re-naming it Gym of Death

I am sure my kids are saying something cute today. And doing something uttewy pwecious.

I just have no idea what it is.

This morning, I made the discovery that being in the pool during water aerobics is the worst possible place to discover that you are the next lucky family member to be stricken with 'squishy poop.'

So I hung out in the locker room to avoid picking up my children until they'd been in the gym child care for 1 hour, 59 minutes, and 48 seconds of the alloted 2 hours, then came home, dropped Charlie in his crib, stuck the girls in front of the TV (fortunately, no glue gun was required), and began calling people until one of them came to take them all away.

I vaguely remember peering out of my pile of blankets to tell Melody to put pants on and to tell Dixie not to eat something she found in the couch, then re-buried myself, clung to the heating pad and resumed shivering.

I am assuming that, at some point, whoever took my children will return them. If not, I assume that my husband will, at some point, go looking for them.

If you are reading this and have my children--Dowlan will be home at 6:30.