Now Tornado S has a fever. And Tornado A has colic. And Tornado E . . . well, he’s just Tornado E. And Tornado S is having problems remembering to get to the potty, peeing all over my mom’s family room. All. Over. The. Floor. Like a finger painting. And Tornado A cries so long that I actually run out of songs to sing as I pace him. And Tornado E . . . um, he’s loving doing his workbook, insisting on doing seven pages. And . . . ok, I actually think this isn’t that bad. I could rant about The Husband, but I’m sure that’ll bore the few readers I have. I could rant about where my readers went, but since I can’t comment on everyone’s post lately, I’ll assume they can’t comment on mine or my stats are off. I could rant about my health insurance company, but I don’t have the time. But that day will becoming. Bastards. And believe me, I’ll name names. And my mom is asking me to find a pickle recipe from Martha Stewart.