Comedy of Errors

With the usual craziness that invades my daily activities, I've become pretty accustomed to almost any unexpected, unusual, and sometimes messy occurance of events. Occasionally, however, this craziness turns into more of a comedy of errors, usually ending up with me treating my clothing with Shout.

I had two episodes this weekend that tested my patience, worked my nerves, and definitely resulted in soaking my jeans in Biz. First, I spent the majority of Saturday night tending the chaos otherwise known as my nieces and nephew. I am now in complete understanding of why my sister never gets anything done. Who has the time to clean when you are chasing three little ones, who miraculously move faster than you do? After five hours of wiping runny noses, changing poo-poo diapers, and rocking and singing every lullaby I can think of, I'm convinced that I'm never having kids.

On Sunday, I had a minor disagreement with my deep fryer while attempting to make apple fritters. I would never claim to be an excellent chef, but I like to think that I can follow directions in a recipe. However, after two batches of what can only be described as a congealed ball of glue and marvelling at how this insanity could result in anything edible (which, of course, it really didn't), I gave up and resorted to whipping up an old standby. Since I abandoned the mess, I think the aforementioned goo is now growing something entirely new in my kitchen sink.

Never let it be said that a day with me is boring....