The air conditioner is broken for the gazillionth time at the hellhole in which we live.
At least this time I'm not eight months pregnant.
But that doesn't mean we're not miserable, and when I'm miserable, I turn into a horrible mother.
Case in point:
I couldn't move from the couch when I saw Lola looting my purse. When she came up with a stick of gum in each hand, I let her suck/chew away.
Then she got the blue, sticky stuff on her dress, so I ripped it from her death grip.
And then I laughed.
Because she's so cute when she's mad.
When she pulled herself onto the coffee table to pull the cat's tail, I let nature take it's course.
When she broke through the barrier I built to keep her out of the kitchen...
I let her poke at the ants crawling around on the kitchen floor. The same kitchen floor that hasn't been mopped since she was four months old.
When she got sick of that, she moved on to the cat food. Did you know that the only thing more entertaining than sorting through little kitty kibbles is watching your 11-month-old sort through little kitty kibbles?
Facilitating mischief of this degree wears a person out. Especially in gazillion-degree conditions.
So I stuck the child in her crib for a nap around 5:30, two hours later than usual, listened to her cry for a few minutes and proceeded to throw myself on the floor by the fan.
Haven't moved since.
Good thing both my camera and computer were within arms reach.
Let's just hope the air conditioner gets fixed by tomorrow, or Lola and I may camp out in the freezer.